Tempting the Footman (House of Devon #5) - Lauren Smith Page 0,46

now. Someday he would find the right romantic phrases a man like Mr. Sherman would speak to her, but for now all he had was yes.

The coach soon stopped in front of Hartland Abbey. “Are you certain that I am the right man? Have you thought about what it would cost you to . . . marry beneath you?” he asked.

She leaned in to kiss him, her hands cupping his face. “I have, and I’m more certain than anything else in my life that this is what I want. I only wish I had been brave enough to ask you earlier.”

“What stopped you?”

“The children. It won’t be easy, but I believe that, given time, the scandal will pass and our children will be able to enter society with little gossip.”

“Because of my birth and occupation?” He had never been more ashamed of himself than he was at that moment.

“Yes, but as I told you, I do not care about that. I care about you, the type of man you are, and I am ready to fight the world for you, Adrian. A few gossiping women don’t stand a chance against me, my love. I have too much of Gran in me.”

He studied the earnest determination in her eyes. “Those poor gossiping women,” he teased.

“Poor indeed. And I shall be rich in my love for you.” She kissed him again, her mouth soft upon his lips in a way that made him lightheaded. “Now, be brave. We must next face my grandmother.”

Adrian assisted Venetia out of the coach, and they walked up the front steps of the Abbey. For the first time in all the years he’d lived at Hartland, he would be entering through the front door of his home.

“I believe your grandmother is the only person I fear.”

“And rightly so.” Lady Latham harrumphed as she met them inside the door.

“Lady Latham.” Adrian bowed his head respectfully.

“Come in and dry off, you two.” She frowned at Venetia. “What’s gotten into you? Rushing off into the rain without a cloak like that. Smart young ladies chasing after men always take a coach and a cloak. If I hadn’t had a coach, I never would have chased your grandfather down. Dear heavens, the man was practically running to get away from me, but I caught him in the end.”

“But, Gran—” Venetia began to argue, only to stop and wonder what her grandmother and grandfather’s love story was.

“I agree with her, Venetia. You’re acting like one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s Gothic novel heroines. All you are missing is your candelabra.”

“Smart man, agreeing with me,” Lady Latham said. “You chose well, my dear.” Her tone toward Venetia warmed. “Now go upstairs and change. I need to have a word with Mr. Montague.”

Venetia gave him an apologetic nod before rushing upstairs.

“In here.” Lady Latham pointed her cane toward the nearest room, a small salon. She took a seat on the settee, but Adrian remained standing respectfully in her presence.

“You know of Venetia’s situation?”

“Yes. She has told me why she wishes to marry someone of her own choosing, and why it has to be soon.”

“She comes with a great deal of money and an oaf of a cousin who will likely cause problems, at first, for whoever she marries.”

Adrian nodded. “She did mention that as well.”

“If you marry her, you will face scrutiny and judgment at every turn.” Lady Latham’s tone was deadly serious. “Are you prepared for that? Even your children will face challenges.”

“Yes.”

“That being said, I have a few ideas that might help.” She looked toward the doorway behind him and waved her hand, bidding someone to enter. He turned, and his heart caught in his throat.

Lady Mowbray, his half sister, stood before him. Her eyes searched his face before she smiled hesitantly.

“Adrian, is it?” his sister asked.

“Yes. How . . . ?”

“I claim the credit of that discovery, my boy,” Lady Latham said. “Lady Devon did not divulge your parentage, no matter how much I pestered her, and that was quite a bit. No, it was the way Venetia watched Lady Mowbray with so much interest. And when we stood in the portrait gallery this morning, I realized that you bear a strong resemblance to my friend here. We put the pieces together while Venetia was off fetching you.” Lady Latham smiled as her deductions were proved correct.

“Is it true?” Lady Mowbray asked. “My governess was your mother?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. His heart and head filled with a soft fluttering that was somewhere between