That single ephemeral connection nearly made her gasp. It was only by the grace of God that neither Lady Devon nor Gran noticed.
Baffled, Venetia tried to focus on the conversation, but all she could think about was how she’d never felt like this around any man before. It was one of the reasons she’d so easily dismissed desire and love as a component of marriage. Because until that moment, she’d never felt such attraction before.
This stirring of hope, so new, like a fledgling bird, had nowhere to go but to plummet to its death upon the ground. This perfect Adonis was a footman, after all. A domestic servant in the employ of Lady Devon. Stealing him away as a husband would be considered a cardinal sin. The unfortunate truth was that he was lowborn. Though she despised that phrase immensely, and would be content to tell society to hang if they dared to voice their opinions on her choice of husband, any children they had would be subjected to the cruelties of others whispering about their parents.
But even thinking of this was silly. Venetia was still hoping to avoid matrimony if at all possible, and a fine pair of shoulders and a face to make angels weep was not something she should be obsessing over. Her father had raised her to be a strong, independent woman, and he had created the financial trust to protect her as best he could.
The truth was, once she was married, most of her money would belong to her husband, for good or ill. Venetia could not ever imagine trusting any man with that power over her and Gran’s future.
Lady Devon tapped her chin in thought before pouring their cups of tea. “I believe Lord Essex might make a good match. He’s twenty-nine, dark-haired, stunning green eyes, a bit brooding perhaps—but oh wait, he has a mistress, some French creature. No, that won’t do.”
“Best to stay away from any man with a mistress,” Gran added. “I want a loyal man for Venetia. She won’t take to just any randy young buck who makes a good ride. She needs steadiness, faithfulness.”
Venetia was about to interrupt and tell Lady Devon that Gran didn’t make all of her decisions, when they were all distracted by an odd noise.
There was a choking sound outside the open drawing room door, and the afternoon sunlight illuminated the shadow of the footman lingering in his appropriate place, within hearing distance should his mistress need him.
Gwen paused at the choking sound but then continued. “As I was saying, looks aren’t enough. So, what young men do you have in mind whom Venetia might sample this week?”
Lady Devon burst into laughter. “Oh heavens, Gwen, I always forget how much I adore you. But Venetia cannot sample men—they aren’t fruit tarts. She must study them, converse with them, see if there is a natural attraction. Sampling makes it sound as though you expect her to tuck them away in the alcoves after dinner for stolen kisses so she might compare them later on.”
Gwen played with her cane. “That might be yet what the child needs. She’s never been suitably courted. A kiss goes quite a way to tell how a man might perform his marital duties. Will he sweep her off her feet? Bore her with a chaste and brotherly kiss? Or slobber over her like some odious hound?”
Again, the poor footman outside was choking, and this time it was so distracting that Gwen stood.
“You there, footman. Come in here and have a cup of tea before you perish.” Gwen turned to Lady Devon. “That’s all right with you, isn’t it? The poor man’s face is bright red, and I do believe he needs it.”
Lady Devon turned to look over her shoulder toward the doorway. “Adrian, do come in and have some tea if you need it.”
The footman, Adrian, slipped back into the room, red-faced and still coughing as he hastily collected his drink and tried to dash back into the hall, but Gwen was too fast. She thrust her cane out, rapping at his chest and bringing him to a halt.
“See, this is what I’m looking for, Marrian. A lovely, handsome young buck, but a respectful and polite one.”
“But not a footman, surely,” Lady Devon said with a chuckle. “Though I must admit, Adrian is rather dashing, isn’t he? Oh, do forgive us, Adrian. We ladies are most rude, aren’t we? Speaking of your gender as if you were horseflesh. Please take your tea and return to your post. If Mr. Reeves gets on you, I shall have a word with him.”
With a bashful glance at the three ladies, the handsome footman vanished into the hall. Venetia watched him go and was still staring at his shadow outside as her grandmother coughed politely to get her attention.
“So, you do have a type of man after all,” Gwen mused, giving a smile that meant trouble for Venetia. “Dark hair and fine eyes? Well, I shall make a note of that, my dear. You shall have only the best.” Gwen walked back to her couch and sat down with a smugness that ordinarily would have left Venetia giggling. But the current situation was too dire to find even a tiny bit of this amusing.
“So, Marrian, tell us who we can expect to arrive this evening.”
Venetia rose and made her apologies to Lady Devon and Gran before excusing herself from the room. The footman was gone and the hall was empty. That was a small relief. She wasn’t sure she could face him after her grandmother’s inappropriate comments.
She wandered through the house until she found a pair of terrace doors that led outside. She took in the fresh air with relief and walked toward the distant gardens. Only then did she have a moment to enjoy Hartland Abbey. It reminded her of her beloved family’s country home, Latham House, the one Patrick had so callously sold only a month after her father had been laid to rest.
Hartland was a vision from a dream. Bathed in sunlight, the house hovered at the end of a golden autumn glade, its architecture frozen in time, the trees casting long, glorious shadows upon the well-tended lawns. The scent of fruit hung heavy in the air, and distant orchards at the far end of the garden lured visitors with their sweetness. The flowers along the walking path were drenched with a heavy dew that only now was starting to fade. Venetia adored life in a country house. This quiet world was full of golden joys, and moonlit winters were eternally present. Life and its inherent stresses were happily avoided here.
Turning down another path, she wandered out into a field to admire the vista. With an impulsive shriek of delight, she lifted her skirts and sprinted down the hill. She reached the bottom in just a few minutes and laughed with silly delight as she spun in circles and then collapsed on the ground to stare up at the clouds.
She must have dozed off in that sunny meadow because she woke to the prickling of wet, cold rain upon her face. She bolted upright and noted, with no small amount of shock, the rolling waves of rain rising up from the distant valley toward her.
She scrambled to her feet and started to run. She had made it halfway up the hill when the rain struck, and the once welcoming hillside turned treacherously slick. She slipped, scrabbling against the steep hill, and cried out as her ankle turned sharply. She felt a horrifying pop. She collapsed, her mind blank with numbing pain. She had no breath to even scream.
She rolled over onto her back, every muscle now seized with violent pain. Her mouth stretched in a silent scream until she lay shivering hard enough to rattle her teeth. All she could think about was the pain in her ankle. She could not stand, and she could not walk in the rain, which was now falling in heavy torrential waves across the field.
3
“Is there a reason you are drinking from one of Her Grace’s teacups?” Mr. Reeves’s disapproving tone jolted Adrian from his thoughts. He hastily lowered the teacup.
“I . . . I had a coughing fit, Mr. Reeves. Her Grace invited me to drink so that it might relieve it.”
Mr. Reeves raised a dark brow, his hazel eyes quite severe and his expression most stern. “I suggest you take that down to the kitchen at once and have it washed. Then have Mrs. Webster make you tea in a more appropriate cup.”
“Yes, sir.” Adrian left his position outside the drawing room, but Mr. Reeves’s admonishment was already forgotten. He was lost in dreams of that lovely young woman. He hadn’t been able to avoid overhearin
g the duchess and her guests’ conversation. The older woman, the Dowager Countess of Latham, was quite a firebrand. He liked spirit in a woman of any age, and humor even more. It was why he had choked on his own stifled laughter when she had been discussing her criteria in a man suitable for her granddaughter.
Adrian would have loved to be the man for Lady Venetia. She was exquisite. There were others who could be considered more beautiful, perhaps, but there was a kindness in Lady Venetia’s face and a genuineness about her that was appealing. She was shy, it seemed, yet openhearted. She was easy to read and yet not simpleminded as some ladies could be.
Not that he had any right to think of Lady Venetia in such a way. She was the daughter of an earl, a finely bred gentlewoman. No matter what he wanted, Lady Venetia could give nothing to him, not her heart, and not her body. She shone bright like a winter star. Brilliant, beautiful, and very much out of reach.
Adrian sank into a chair at the servants’ table near the kitchen in the basement of the house. He still held Lady Devon’s dainty white-and-blue china teacup. Lord William’s valet, Phillip Webster, was seated across from him, a polishing cloth in one hand and a boot in the other.
“Adrian, are you all right?” Phillip asked.
“What? Oh yes, I’m all right.”
Phillip grinned. “Having tea with Her Grace?” He nodded at the cup.
“No,” he chuckled. “But Mr. Reeves thought so. I’ll be paying for that, I’m sure.”
“He’ll make you polish the silver teapots again,” Phillip guessed.
“Probably.” Adrian laughed and then winced. The elaborate silver teapots were hard to polish because of the intricate metalwork that allowed the tarnish to set in deeply. Any servant who had been on Mr. Reeves’s bad side was often relegated to this task as punishment.
“Is your mother ready for the party this week?” Adrian asked the valet.
“Oh yes, I think so. She’s been gushing over her planned menus with Lady Devon and Mrs. Miller for the last two days. The upstairs crowd will be dining well, that’s for certain.”
Adrian sighed and got back on his feet. “Don’t they always?” It was time to return upstairs.
He had just entered the grand entryway when the Dowager Countess of Latham exited the drawing room.
“Ah, you again, young man. Come here.” She rapped her cane on the floor like a king, summoning him.
“Yes, your ladyship?” Adrian kept hands behind his back in a respectful stance.
“Do you know where my granddaughter is?”
“I’m afraid I do not, but I would be happy to find her for you.”
“Yes, please do that. I will be in my chambers.” Lady Latham nodded at him like a general, then proceeded up the stairs. She moved quickly for someone who appeared so frail.
Adrian spent the next quarter of an hour searching for Lady Venetia. It wasn’t until he found one of the grooms, who said he’d seen her in the gardens, that Adrian believed he knew where to find her.
“Lady Venetia?” He called out her name as he explored the towering maze of hedgerows and the flowering walkways. He checked the orchard next as heavy storm clouds rumbled overhead. The rain, it seemed, had passed, which left him wondering where the young lady was. He was positive she wasn’t inside the Abbey, because no one had seen her. So where—?
A distant cry caught his attention. It came from behind the gardens, deep into the meadow that sloped down to the valley below the Abbey. He thought that one of the sheep, possibly a young ewe, had become stranded in the rain. He wiped his face with his sleeve and stripped out of his coat in case he needed to carry the distressed animal to the nearest tenant farm. He crossed the meadow and reached the spot where the hills sloped down, and then he halted. A creature lay huddled halfway down the slope, but the distressed creature was not a lamb—it was a young lady.
“Hello there! I’m coming down!” He started to run, but the young lady shouted for him to stop.
“Please, be careful. It’s very slick!” she cried out.
Adrian checked himself and found as he proceeded more cautiously that she was indeed right. The rain had sluiced down the golden grass, forming a treacherous path. It took him a few minutes to reach her.
“My lady,” he gasped as he realized she was Lady Venetia. Her gown, once a bright blue, was now darkened with rain and clung to her form, teasing him with far too much of a view of her curves.
He knelt beside her. Her face was tight with pain and white as a sheet. “Are you able to walk?”
“I am not sure, Mr. . . .”
“Montague. But please, call me Adrian. May I see?” He pointed to her ankle. She nodded but did not move. He raised her skirts up to her calves and assessed her legs. He tried not to notice just how fine they were and felt like a bounder for noticing anyway. Her right ankle was swelling, however, and likely would swell much more by this evening.
“I can carry you, my lady.” He started to reach for her, but she shook her head.
“It isn’t safe. At least, not on the hill.”
“Why don’t we get you on your feet? I can put my arm around your waist, and you can lean on me. We should be able to climb the hill if we move carefully enough.”
“Yes, all right.” Her brown eyes grew wide as he put his arms around her back and lifted her up against him to stand. Her hands fluttered against his chest.
“Lean on me, and I’ll be able to hold you up.” She weighed little, and as soon as he had them safely on top of the hill, he planned to carry her whether she liked it or not.
“I’m ready,” Lady Venetia said.
“All right.” He put her by his side and kept one arm around her back and under her arms, then lifted her. She made not one sound of pain, though she swayed into him, her wet skin chilly against his when her face brushed against his neck. Her body trembled as she tried to hobble one step forward.
“I cannot put any weight down,” Lady Venetia whispered.
“Hold on to me, sweetheart,” Adrian murmured, not even pausing to think about his breach of etiquette. Mr. Reeves would do more than have him polish silver teapots if he ever heard about it.
They moved up the hill, slow step by slow step, and Adrian held on to her tightly, afraid of doubling her pain if she were to stumble again. When they reached the top of the hill and Hartland Abbey with its rain-soaked gardens came into view, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“The ground is even now. Allow me to carry you the rest of the way, my lady.”
She bit her lip and seemed ready to protest, but before she could answer, he swept her up into the cradle of his arms.
Lady Venetia put her arms around his neck, her breathing shallow as she held tightly to him. After years of carrying heavy trunks up and down the stairs for guests, carrying this petite woman was an easy task. He had no trouble doubling his pace once he was on flat land. They were halfway into the gardens when Phillip and Benjamin rushed to meet them.
“Good God!” Phillip muttered. “What the devil happened?”
“There was an accident,” Adrian cut in. Lady Venetia looked even more upset. “We need the doctor. She might have a broken ankle.”
“I’ll fetch the doctor and tell Mr. Reeves,” Benjamin said.
Phillip opened the terrace doors for Adrian. “Let me help you get her settled in, then I’ll find her maid.”
“Phoebe,” Venetia murmured in a slightly dazed voice. “Phoebe is my maid.”
“Yes, of course,” Phillip said.
Adrian carried Venetia up the stairs and into the east wing, where her bedchamber was located. Phillip opened the door, and Adrian eased the lady down upon the bed, then he left to go find Phoebe. Her clothing was soaked clear through, her teeth still chattering. Adrian knew he was supposed to wait for her maid, but the longer they waited, the more Venetia risked illness.
“My lady, at the risk of losing my employment here, I believe we need to undress you. Those clothes are dr
enched, and you could catch a chill. As soon as your maid arrives, I will leave, but please let me help you remove some of the clothing.”
Venetia nodded and fumbled for the buttons on her pelisse. Adrian pushed her hands away and made quick work of the buttons. Then he peeled the dark-blue velvet pelisse off her arms. It hit the floor with a wet slapping sound. He then carefully removed her slippers to avoid hurting her swollen ankle.
“It was very foolish of me. I fell asleep in the meadow,” she whispered, shivering in a way that made his heart clench with concern.
“It wasn’t foolish, my lady,” he reassured her as his hands stroked her calves while he rolled down her stockings. She was cold to the touch, yet her eyes were heated as she looked up at him in quiet surprise.
“You’re very gentle,” she said, as though confused by her own statement.
“Of course, my lady. One should always be gentle with a woman.”
“I wish I knew more about men.” This last statement was uttered so quietly that he thought perhaps he’d misheard her.
Adrian moved away from her to hang the stockings to dry. A moment later, Lady Venetia’s maid burst in.
“My lady!” Phoebe rushed straight to Venetia and didn’t notice Adrian laying the stockings on the top of the fire grate to dry them.
“Oh, Phoebe, you will laugh at me. It was so very silly. I slipped on the grass and hurt my ankle.” All of this was spoken through Lady Venetia’s chattering teeth and shivering lips.
“I would never laugh.” Phoebe began undoing the laces of the gown as she rolled her mistress over. Adrian froze at the sight of Lady Venetia’s body being bared to him.
“Thank you . . . Adrian,” Venetia said drowsily at him.
Phoebe whirled and gasped. “What the devil are you doing here? Out with you! Out!” She chased Adrian from the room and slammed the door. Phillip was waiting for him outside, half grinning.
“Saw a bit more of the lady than you should have, eh?”
Adrian chuckled. “Definitely more than I should have, but the lady was going to catch a chill, and I wasn’t sure how quickly you would find her maid.”
Tempting the Footman: The House of Devon Book 5 Page 3
