wanting to find Willy's mother, Clare now discovered a most peculiar thing. She was not ecstatic about ending this cooperation with Richard Talbot. The hunt had brought more real excitement into her heretofore proper life than she had dreamed might exist for a young woman just settling nicely onto the shelf. Perhaps she was destined for a different future than she had envisioned?
"Goodness, Clare! Entertaining so early in the day? Most improper,'’ Venetia snapped as she watched the highly suspect Mr. Talbot leave the house following his obviously private chat with her hostess.
"Yes, he is all of that,” Clare responded. But her voice lacked any rebuke, sounding infinitely dreamy and fanciful. “All of that and more."
Chapter Six
Venetia paced the floor of her nicely appointed room with a distracted air. The matter of Mr. Talbot had progressed from worrying to alarming. She had seen that silly, infatuated look on other women's faces before. Clare was hardly the first to tumble into a disgraceful love affair with a totally ineligible man. Not that Mr. Talbot was utterly beyond the pale. He possessed wealth and a respectable lineage. He was undeniably handsome and dressed with an exquisite attention to a detail and a restraint Beau Brummell would admire. His manners were a shade forward—witness his meeting with Clare in the dining room of all places—and he tended to an informality Venetia deplored. And he was a man!
She stopped by her window to look out on the vast green across the street from the Royal Crescent. Something must be done. What had precipitated the matter in the first place? Ah, yes, indeed. Baby William, that odious infant who occupied a pleasant room on the same floor as herself instead of a proper place in the attic. Who rent the air with his obnoxious cries at the most inconvenient times. And who apparently caught the heartstrings of Venetia's hostess much too ably.
How best to rid the house of the infant? “Since I do not know the mother—and what a heartless soul she must be to abandon her child—I must contact the one other person who might possibly be concerned,” she announced to the view out her window.
A rather feline smile crept across her face as she glided over to the neat dressing table where she searched about until she found a sheet of paper. A quill and pot of ink uncovered among the clutter, she penned a short note, folded and sealed it, then took it down to be delivered with all speed. How satisfying to assure her continued stay under what she had to admit was a most pleasing roof. For all that dear Clare might do wrong, she was indulgent and did not quibble over little extras as some might.
"Venetia,” came a voice from behind her as Clare exited the study, “you will join us this evening at the theater, will you not? Mr. Talbot has purchased tickets and means to get up a party.” Her acute perusal of Venetia's face gave a deal of discomfort to the guest. “He also intends to invite two gentlemen friends of his to complete the group."
"La, dear Clare, he need not do such on my behalf. I wonder who they are?” Venetia narrowed her eyes, trying to imagine the eligibility of any man known to Mr. Talbot. She followed Clare up the stairs, musing over the turn of events and how best to use it to her own advantage.
A short time later, Susan Oliver was ushered up to the drawing room, her pretty face alive with pleasure. The three settled down by the tea table for a comfortable coze. It was not long before Miss Oliver brought up a topic dear to her fluttering heart.
"What a famous time we shall have this evening. Have you met either Lord Adrian Grove or Sir Henry Berney? Most acceptable gentlemen, I assure you, Miss Godwin. While a younger son, Lord Adrian is well to grass and possesses a tidy estate north of here. Sir Henry is a bit older, but a charming gentleman, and one with no need to pinch pennies, either."
"Really,” drawled Venetia, as though to depress the younger
"Goodness, Clare! Entertaining so early in the day? Most improper,'’ Venetia snapped as she watched the highly suspect Mr. Talbot leave the house following his obviously private chat with her hostess.
"Yes, he is all of that,” Clare responded. But her voice lacked any rebuke, sounding infinitely dreamy and fanciful. “All of that and more."
Chapter Six
Venetia paced the floor of her nicely appointed room with a distracted air. The matter of Mr. Talbot had progressed from worrying to alarming. She had seen that silly, infatuated look on other women's faces before. Clare was hardly the first to tumble into a disgraceful love affair with a totally ineligible man. Not that Mr. Talbot was utterly beyond the pale. He possessed wealth and a respectable lineage. He was undeniably handsome and dressed with an exquisite attention to a detail and a restraint Beau Brummell would admire. His manners were a shade forward—witness his meeting with Clare in the dining room of all places—and he tended to an informality Venetia deplored. And he was a man!
She stopped by her window to look out on the vast green across the street from the Royal Crescent. Something must be done. What had precipitated the matter in the first place? Ah, yes, indeed. Baby William, that odious infant who occupied a pleasant room on the same floor as herself instead of a proper place in the attic. Who rent the air with his obnoxious cries at the most inconvenient times. And who apparently caught the heartstrings of Venetia's hostess much too ably.
How best to rid the house of the infant? “Since I do not know the mother—and what a heartless soul she must be to abandon her child—I must contact the one other person who might possibly be concerned,” she announced to the view out her window.
A rather feline smile crept across her face as she glided over to the neat dressing table where she searched about until she found a sheet of paper. A quill and pot of ink uncovered among the clutter, she penned a short note, folded and sealed it, then took it down to be delivered with all speed. How satisfying to assure her continued stay under what she had to admit was a most pleasing roof. For all that dear Clare might do wrong, she was indulgent and did not quibble over little extras as some might.
"Venetia,” came a voice from behind her as Clare exited the study, “you will join us this evening at the theater, will you not? Mr. Talbot has purchased tickets and means to get up a party.” Her acute perusal of Venetia's face gave a deal of discomfort to the guest. “He also intends to invite two gentlemen friends of his to complete the group."
"La, dear Clare, he need not do such on my behalf. I wonder who they are?” Venetia narrowed her eyes, trying to imagine the eligibility of any man known to Mr. Talbot. She followed Clare up the stairs, musing over the turn of events and how best to use it to her own advantage.
A short time later, Susan Oliver was ushered up to the drawing room, her pretty face alive with pleasure. The three settled down by the tea table for a comfortable coze. It was not long before Miss Oliver brought up a topic dear to her fluttering heart.
"What a famous time we shall have this evening. Have you met either Lord Adrian Grove or Sir Henry Berney? Most acceptable gentlemen, I assure you, Miss Godwin. While a younger son, Lord Adrian is well to grass and possesses a tidy estate north of here. Sir Henry is a bit older, but a charming gentleman, and one with no need to pinch pennies, either."
"Really,” drawled Venetia, as though to depress the younger
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