twenty. I have no need to let anyone force me into marriage simply out of a desire to avoid scandal. Society can hang itself.”
Her father had warned her before her first season that men usually did not like intelligent wives, nor wives who wanted to be considered a partner rather than a servant within the marriage. He’d warned her that many men would say pleasing things, and promise the moon, but that once married, she would find her wings clipped like a songbird trapped in a cage.
The thought had so frightened her at seventeen that Venetia had happily avoided all but the most necessary appearances during her first season. She’d garnered no suitors due to her almost hermit-like behavior, but that had been her intention. It was better to be alone than to sacrifice her happiness simply to marry.
Gwen sighed heavily. “My dear, listen to an old woman when she tells you that men like Patrick are dangerous, especially when they believe they stand no chance of getting what they want through civility. You must never assume you are safe from his schemes. Forced marriages can be achieved, and men of the cloth can be bribed. No, I think we must find a solution, but I know you will make a fuss over it when I speak it.”
Sudden realization of her grandmother’s intentions made Venetia shake her head frantically. “No, no, no, Gran.”
“Yes, my dear. It’s time we find you a husband. One who is up to scratch, and one of your own choosing, of course. But more importantly, one who can give Patrick a good thrashing when we need him to.” She whipped her cane in the air as though whacking an invisible Patrick on the head.
“You know my feelings on marriage. It is a trap, a devaluation of a woman’s already limited independence.”
“Yes, I know. But, Venetia, love, not all men are like that buffoon you call a cousin.”
“He’s your grandson,” Venetia reminded Gwen.
“Yes, and his father, was such a good lad. It makes one wonder if the poor man was cuckolded, because that boy is a terrible creature, and I would do anything to disclaim a connection to him.” Her grandmother covered Venetia’s shoulders with a gentle arm. “Go riding if you must, and I will have all of our things packed before you return. We won’t stay here another night, we’ll move out at once. We’ll go to the house party in the country, and I will find us a home elsewhere in London so that we won’t have to return here. With your trust, we will be able to afford something quite suitable.”
Venetia didn’t want to leave this house. It was her home, not Patrick’s, though she had no legal claim upon it. Patrick was free to tear it down to rubble if he so desired.
“How can we manage, Gran?” Venetia asked in a quiet voice. She didn’t mean the question in matters of money. Patrick was their only male relative, and it would be expected that they would have some dealings with him, yet neither she nor Gwen desired that. Two women alone in society, the youngest soon to be an old spinster, although she hated the thought of men labeling her such when she felt neither old nor spinsterish. She felt as though the disapproving gaze of all London society would burn them to ash if they attempted to declare their independence from men.
“How can we manage?” Gwen gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Because we’re Dunham ladies. We stand tall in the face of adversity. We may bend when we must, but we never break.”
Venetia tried to find a smile, but it never found her lips. She left the drawing room and headed to her bedchamber to change into her riding habit. She found her lady’s maid, Phoebe Upton, sorting out gowns on her bed. She was relieved not to have to ring the bell. Patrick had been attempting to reduce the staff, and Gran fought him on the matter frequently. He’d already terminated several of the upstairs maids, even though he was not the one who paid for their services. Each time this happened, Gran left the house to find the servants and bring them back. All of the servants now dreaded the ring of any upstairs bell. For them it had come to toll their employment doom. It was another reminder that it was time to leave this house and escape its great unhappiness.
“Afternoon, my lady.” Phoebe smiled. She was a