Tempting the Footman (House of Devon #5) - Lauren Smith Page 0,38

make matters worse because Mr. Reeves would actually believe him, and having to meet with Lady Devon to tell her about a guest’s attempt at seduction would be an uncomfortable discussion. They’d had to deal with this before. It wasn’t something Adrian liked, and he and Mr. Reeves usually kept the matter between the two of them when they felt they could.

“I believe Benjamin has it handled for now. Is there anything I can do here, Mr. Reeves?” He nodded down the stairs toward the kitchens.

“You may help prepare the dining room for the ladies’ luncheon,” Mr. Reeves said.

With an air of relief, Adrian retreated to the kitchens, where the aroma of roasted duck in orange marmalade welcomed him. He tried to push away thoughts of Mrs. Hamill and how she would no doubt seek out some kind of revenge. The question was, how and when would she strike?

Venetia watched the door of the long picture gallery, waiting for Mrs. Hamill and Adrian to return. Mrs. Hamill returned almost at once, but Adrian did not. Venetia tried to read the woman’s expression. Mrs. Hamill was a pretty woman, auburn-haired with pale-blue eyes, but she wasn’t the nicest of women. She was prone to gossip, at least according to Venetia’s grandmother. Just then, Mrs. Hamill’s lips were pinched into a tight pout, and her eyes grew hard as they swept the room. Venetia focused on the paintings, staying close to her grandmother and Lady Devon.

“What the devil is this one wearing?” Gwen pointed her cane at a portrait of a man from the 1620s. He wore breeches that stopped just above his knees and an ornate red velvet doublet. The breeches puffed out around his rather slender legs in a decidedly comical fashion.

“That is Sir Poncenby’s ancestor. I can’t recall his name. I have no idea why we even have this portrait, to be honest.”

“I mean, what is he on about with those ridiculous pants?” her grandmother asked. “Does he have pillows puffed inside there to protect his bony posterior when he sits down?”

Venetia stifled a giggle.

“I suppose the fashion was to appear like he was a Christmas turkey with two meaty thighs and bony little shins,” Gwen mused.

Lady Devon bit her lip to hide a smile. “The Poncenbys have always been most interested in the latest fashion trends, even ill-advised ones.”

“My dear,” Gwen said to Lady Devon, “I would suggest packing that painting up at once and sending it back to Sir Poncenby. I feel that no matter where I stand”—Gwen moved back and forth, still looking at the painting—“those puffy breeches quite follow me about.”

Lady Devon shared a twinkling gaze with Venetia. “I’ll speak to my husband about the matter when he returns from the hunt.”

Mrs. Hamill moved away from the main group of ladies to speak to Mrs. Leslie, her friend. The two tucked themselves into a corner and spoke in hushed tones. Venetia, being nearest to them, could make out parts of their conversation.

“Well?” Mrs. Leslie asked.

“He wouldn’t. I insisted, but—he left me.” Mrs. Hamill scowled at this.

“He refused you?”

“Yes.”

The two ladies lowered their voices more, but Venetia was positive she knew what had happened. Mrs. Hamill had propositioned Adrian, and he had refused her. A dozen emotions fluttered inside Venetia—worry, anger, and frustration being the strongest. The thought of that woman—any other woman—kissing Adrian made her stomach upset.

She had no right to feel so possessive of him, but she did, and she despised herself for it. Was she any different from Mrs. Hamill? No, she wasn’t. She was a selfish creature who had made Adrian come to her bed at great risk to his employment. She’d been so blinded by her newfound passions that she hadn’t thought clearly about how he would feel about it, but that was no excuse. She had taken advantage of him through her position as a lady, and upon reflection it was wrong—terribly wrong.

Lady Devon announced lunch, and the women all left the picture gallery. Her grandmother fell in step beside her.

“What’s the matter, my dear? You’ve gone quite pale. Is your ankle paining you?”

“It is,” she admitted, but in truth the swelling had gone down quite a bit. It wasn’t sharply painful like it had been. She was more troubled by a dull ache than anything else.

“Well, it will be good for you to sit and rest then,” Gwen said as they entered the dining hall.

Venetia nearly stumbled when she saw Adrian setting up trays of food on the sideboard