Tempting the Footman (House of Devon #5) - Lauren Smith Page 0,9

respectful and polite one.”

“But not a footman, surely,” Lady Devon said with a chuckle. “Though I must admit, Adrian is rather dashing, isn’t he? Oh, do forgive us, Adrian. We ladies are most rude, aren’t we? Speaking of your gender as if you were horseflesh. Please take your tea and return to your post. If Mr. Reeves gets on you, I shall have a word with him.”

With a bashful glance at the three ladies, the handsome footman vanished into the hall. Venetia watched him go and was still staring at his shadow outside as her grandmother coughed politely to get her attention.

“So, you do have a type of man after all,” Gwen mused, giving a smile that meant trouble for Venetia. “Dark hair and fine eyes? Well, I shall make a note of that, my dear. You shall have only the best.” Gwen walked back to her couch and sat down with a smugness that ordinarily would have left Venetia giggling. But the current situation was too dire to find even a tiny bit of this amusing.

“So, Marrian, tell us who we can expect to arrive this evening.”

Venetia rose and made her apologies to Lady Devon and Gran before excusing herself from the room. The footman was gone and the hall was empty. That was a small relief. She wasn’t sure she could face him after her grandmother’s inappropriate comments.

She wandered through the house until she found a pair of terrace doors that led outside. She took in the fresh air with relief and walked toward the distant gardens. Only then did she have a moment to enjoy Hartland Abbey. It reminded her of her beloved family’s country home, Latham House, the one Patrick had so callously sold only a month after her father had been laid to rest.

Hartland was a vision from a dream. Bathed in sunlight, the house hovered at the end of a golden autumn glade, its architecture frozen in time, the trees casting long, glorious shadows upon the well-tended lawns. The scent of fruit hung heavy in the air, and distant orchards at the far end of the garden lured visitors with their sweetness. The flowers along the walking path were drenched with a heavy dew that only now was starting to fade. Venetia adored life in a country house. This quiet world was full of golden joys, and moonlit winters were eternally present. Life and its inherent stresses were happily avoided here.

Turning down another path, she wandered out into a field to admire the vista. With an impulsive shriek of delight, she lifted her skirts and sprinted down the hill. She reached the bottom in just a few minutes and laughed with silly delight as she spun in circles and then collapsed on the ground to stare up at the clouds.

She must have dozed off in that sunny meadow because she woke to the prickling of wet, cold rain upon her face. She bolted upright and noted, with no small amount of shock, the rolling waves of rain rising up from the distant valley toward her.

She scrambled to her feet and started to run. She had made it halfway up the hill when the rain struck, and the once welcoming hillside turned treacherously slick. She slipped, scrabbling against the steep hill, and cried out as her ankle turned sharply. She felt a horrifying pop. She collapsed, her mind blank with numbing pain. She had no breath to even scream.

She rolled over onto her back, every muscle now seized with violent pain. Her mouth stretched in a silent scream until she lay shivering hard enough to rattle her teeth. All she could think about was the pain in her ankle. She could not stand, and she could not walk in the rain, which was now falling in heavy torrential waves across the field.

3

“Is there a reason you are drinking from one of Her Grace’s teacups?” Mr. Reeves’s disapproving tone jolted Adrian from his thoughts. He hastily lowered the teacup.

“I . . . I had a coughing fit, Mr. Reeves. Her Grace invited me to drink so that it might relieve it.”

Mr. Reeves raised a dark brow, his hazel eyes quite severe and his expression most stern. “I suggest you take that down to the kitchen at once and have it washed. Then have Mrs. Webster make you tea in a more appropriate cup.”

“Yes, sir.” Adrian left his position outside the drawing room, but Mr. Reeves’s admonishment was already forgotten. He was lost in dreams of that