Gail Eastwood (22 page)

His words were quite unexceptional in themselves. It was the emphasis he placed on the word “almost” and the look he directed toward Venetia that made her think his reply seemed exceedingly rude. She began to wish that the other guests—indeed,
any
of the other guests—would appear quickly.

“What delights have you ladies in store for us later tonight and tomorrow?” Lord Amberton queried. He took a sip of his tea as if he had only just remembered it was there.

“I don’t know about ‘delights,’” Venetia replied, fed up with the pretense of courtesy to the fellow. “You’ll be treated to the honor of dining with His Grace this evening, and as I am sure you know, he will not suffer any sort of idiocy. I believe there is to be mutton, onion pie, and—oh, what else was on the menu, Vivian? Some more of that stringy venison we had the other night?”

Lord Amberton laughed uneasily. “Your sense of humor is well-known, Lady Venetia, ha ha. Stringy venison indeed.”

Venetia summoned her most exquisitely charming smile and turned the full force of her dramatic, dark-lashed eyes upon the poor man. “Oh, but would I jest with you about such a serious matter? Perhaps you were not aware that my father has very simple tastes.”

She paused to let her comment take effect. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Nicholas approaching. “Tomorrow I think the gentlemen are invited to go swimming while the ladies tour the park.”

“Swimming?” Lord Amberton blanched. “I—I don’t swim. Do you not think it is a bit early in the season for swimming? A—a bit cold?”

Vivian joined forces with her sister. “Oh, we do so admire hardy men.”

“As they do admire men with a fine sense of humor,” said Nicholas as he joined them. He darted a telling look at Venetia. “You may judge for yourself, Lord Amberton, my father’s ‘simple’ tastes.” With a broad sweep of his hands he called to their attention the vast expanse of building that bordered the terrace on three sides, and the gardens and park that extended in front of them as far as the eye can see.”

“Yes, of course, ha ha,” responded Lord Amberton unhappily. “And swimming?”

“Is not among the plans for tomorrow, as far as I am aware. We do not generally count pneumonia as something we wish to send home with our guests.”

Venetia gave her brother a dark look as she turned back to reach for the teapot. “Not generally,” she muttered under her breath. “Tea, Nicholas? In a cup, I mean.”

“That is how I prefer it, yes, thank you.” He quirked an eyebrow at her and grinned as he reached for the cup.

As a handful of other guests began to filter out onto the terrace, Lord Amberton retreated to the safety of conversing with them. Watching him go, Venetia shook her head. “This could be the longest two weeks we’ve ever survived.”

It was a thoughtless statement, an exaggeration that she hadn’t really meant. Six years ago they had suffered through agonizing weeks that had tested them all and still gave her occasional nightmares. She regretted the words as soon as they slipped out of her mouth, but it was too late to recall them.

“I can remember worse,” Nicholas said, glancing pointedly at Vivian. The mood between them was suddenly somber, and Vivian spoke up as if to break it.

“I am surprised that your friend Lord Cranford did not come down with you, Nicholas.” Nicholas sipped his tea. “He is getting settled in his room. I had him put in one of the tower bedrooms. He is likely to become absorbed in studying the design of the place, but I’ve no doubt he will appear soon—Cranford is no slacker when it comes to food.”

Venetia was relieved to have the conversation move on. “He does not look like as if he would have much of an appetite. His interest in architecture is far more obvious.”

“Why would you say that, Netia? There is nothing wrong with the way he looks. He is slender but he has lovely broad shoulders.” How quickly Vivian came to Lord Cranford’s defense! Venetia looked at her sister in surprise and noticed that Nicholas was looking at her that way, too.

“Did I say there was anything wrong with him, Vivi? He just looks like an underfed Viking. With spectacles.”

“Do not underestimate my friend Cranford, ladies,” Nicholas cautioned. “He is likely to surprise you.” As if on cue, Venetia’s underfed Viking appeared in the entrance to the terrace, putting an abrupt end to the discussion. Before he could join his hosts, however, he was drawn aside by a matronly woman standing at the edge of a small knot of guests. Venetia noticed that he seemed surprised to be drawn into a conversation.

“Are you pouring, my dear?”

“Oh!” Venetia realized with a start that she had utterly failed to notice the approach of Lady FitzHarris and a few other guests seeking tea. “Yes. Yes, of course, Lady FitzHarris.” She busied herself with the task of filling cups. That was easier than asking herself how she could have been so preoccupied with watching Lord Cranford.

The guests seemed to have become unusually thirsty and Venetia doled out countless cups of tea. It amused her to notice how many people failed to address her or Vivian by name, undoubtedly to be safe in case they had gotten the twins mixed up. She lost track of the minutes and was caught by surprise when she looked up into the face of the next person to discover Lord Cranford. He was smiling and observing her over the top of his small spectacles with his striking blue-green eyes—eyes she had noticed immediately when they had first been introduced in the hall. She wondered if Vivian had noticed them. There had been no time to compare impressions.

“You are very gracious to be doing the honors, Lady Venetia,” he said politely as she poured for him. She gave him a demure smile that she thought would rival one of Vivian’s. “La, sir, are you certain you are addressing the right twin?”

He studied her for a moment before replying, and she struggled to maintain the look of innocence on her face. Then he leaned over close to her and spoke in the low voice of a conspirator.

“If you wish to pass as your sister, Lady Venetia, you would do well to disguise the look of mischief in your lovely eyes. It must give you away every time.” His closeness and the intimate tone of his voice startled Venetia as much as his words. She felt her pulse leap and was relieved when he straightened and stepped back.

“I—I will keep that in mind, Lord Cranford.” She had to give him credit for being quite certain, even though he was dead wrong about her ability to masquerade. How surprised he would be if he knew how often she was called upon to use it. “Do you take cream? Sugar? Lemon?” She passed his cup to Vivian even though he shook his head. He had not choice but to follow it and move along down the table.

***

When his plate was fully loaded, Gilbey moved away from the table, prepared to balance his teacup precariously beside his food if anyone approached with whom he must shake hands. However, Nicholas came up to him almost immediately.

“My sister thinks you look like an underfed Viking,” the duke’s son reported. “She should only see you now.”

“Which sister?”

“Venetia.”

“I should have known.”

“Yes, and Vivian seems to be ready to leap to your defense at the slightest hint of criticism. You seem to have made an impression on both of them.”

Gilbey groaned. “That is not good, Nicholas. It would be far better if they had scarcely noticed me at all. What have I done? I’ve barely met them. I will have to try harder to be invisible. I’ll try not to engage in even polite small talk with them.”

Nicholas hardly seemed to be listening. “It certainly makes things interesting,” he said, almost to himself. He gestured toward the stone balustrade at the edge of the terrace and herded Gilbey in its direction, away from the press of other guests.

“You know, my friend, a great game is afoot.” He settled himself against the balustrade, looking out at the gardens laid out below. He waved his teacup back and forth, as if pointing out the opponents in an invisible wrestling match. “On one side is my father, determined that my sisters shall put off becoming betrothed no longer. He has decreed that they shall choose husbands from the lot of suitors at this party or forfeit their right to choose at all. On the other side you have my sisters, who have found fault with every man who has ever tried to woo them and who are highly unlikely to bend to my father’s wishes.

“I want you to know that I am not the only St. Aldwyn who can be stubborn. You are likely to witness a great clash of wills before these two weeks are finished. Throw into the balance each one of the suitors here who thinks he will win one of my sisters, and it makes for an interesting mix, don’t you think? But I confess that I had not anticipated that you might wind up in the middle of it.”