lovely woman in her late thirties, and an experienced servant Venetia had trusted for years with the secrets of her heart.
“Would you retrieve my riding habit, Phoebe? I am to go out with Lord Latham.”
Phoebe halted abruptly before she reached the armoire. “You’re what?” Phoebe demanded, then apparently realized she’d overstepped and cleared her throat. “That is to say, what could he have offered to make that worth doing?”
Venetia sat down at her vanity table and buried her face in her hands. She pressed hard against her closed eyelids until she saw flashes of white. Then she breathed deeply and faced her maid.
“I am buying us time, Phoebe. We are to quit this place. While I ride this afternoon, you are to assist the dowager countess with packing as much as you can.”
“Now that makes far more sense,” Phoebe muttered. “Best to leave that man far behind.” The maid continued to mutter vigorously as she helped Venetia change into a blue riding habit with black braided frogging. When they finished, Venetia put her train over one arm and returned downstairs. Patrick was pacing at the entranceway, slapping his brown riding gloves against his palms. The harsh action of that single movement belied his congenial smile.
“There you are. We are running late. I told Bernard we would meet him at half past two.”
“I’m so sorry,” Venetia apologized, though she didn’t mean it at all. She forced a smile so genuine that Gwen would have been proud.
“Shall we be off? I had the horses brought round.”
“Of course.” Venetia was helped into the saddle by one of the grooms, and then they headed for Hyde Park, which thankfully was not far.
Venetia had not met many of Patrick’s friends. Between being in mourning for the last year and the fact that Patrick clearly preferred his club for socialization than with her and Gran, it meant they shared no social circles at all. Given Patrick’s choice of friends, it was no doubt a blessing to avoid any connections with the majority of them.
“Ah, there he is.” Patrick pointed at a distant rider at the opening to the park. A man astride a roan gelding waved his crop at them. Venetia tried to keep calm and remember that Patrick would not attempt some scheme in such a public place. He was a fool, but he was not stupid. Still, Venetia kept a tight grip on her riding crop. She would use it as a whip if they tried to manhandle her.
“Hello, Bernard. May I present my fair cousin, Venetia? Venetia, Mr. Bernard Kenyon.”
The man, not unpleasant in looks, offered her a dangerous smile. “It is indeed my greatest pleasure to meet you. Patrick has done nothing but sing your praises. I find his description of you falls quite short, however. He failed to mention your sunny-colored hair or those rich doe-brown eyes. You are quite enchanting.”
Simpering compliments, just as her father had said. But beneath those compliments, what lay in Bernard’s heart? Was he in league with her cousin to get her fortune? She’d wager anything that he was.
“Thank you, Mr. Kenyon. I am sure we shall become better acquainted in time, but if you do not mind, I would very much like to exercise my horse.” She gave the beast, a lovely white mare named Snow, a gentle pat on the neck, then urged the horse into a brisk trot. As much as she knew she needed to delay things to give Gran time to pack, she did not want this fortune hunter attempting to compose more false compliments. It made her uncomfortable. The two gentlemen soon caught up and settled on either side of her, which left her feeling distinctly trapped.
Do not panic, she reminded herself. But it was hard to convince her heart to listen. It was beating too fast, and an unwelcome heat flushed her cheeks as she soon became flustered. She tried to picture Gran marshaling the servants to pack faster, and a feeling of hope briefly distracted her from her rising panic.
“Will you be in London this fall?” Bernard asked her.
“Yes, of course.” Another lie, but she carried it off beautifully. If she and Gran were successful, perhaps they could even purchase a place in the country for a year and avoid Patrick entirely.
“That is excellent news indeed. I have high hopes that you and I will see more of each other.” Bernard offered her what she supposed was meant to be a charming grin. However, it was so clearly