Read Beguiling the Beauty for Free Online Page B

other questions. Venetia didn’t hear them. Nor did she really hear the duke’s answers, except his voice, that aloof, clear, inescapable voice.
     
    She didn’t know when the lecture ended. She didn’t know when the duke left or when the rest of the audience filed out. The theater was dark and empty when she rose, politely removed her sister’s hand from her arm, and marched out.
     
    I still can’t believe what happened,” said Millie, pressing another cup of hot tea into Venetia’s hands.
    Venetia had no idea whether she’d finished the contents of the previous cup or whether it had turned cold and been taken away.
     
    Helena paced the parlor, her shadow long and lean upon the wall. “There are a great many lies and liars involved here. Mr. Easterbrook’s family is certainly a mendacious bunch. Mr. Townsend was capable of a great deal of it. And, Venetia, you, too, have contributed your share in covering for the two of them.”
     
    It was true. Venetia had lied her fair share. Sometimes people must be protected; sometimes appearances had to be kept; and sometimes her own pride needed preserving,so she could go about her business with her head held high, even when all she wanted was to cower in a corner.
     
    “The duke, most likely, is not a liar,” continued Helena. “But he has spoken with reprehensible recklessness, presenting a series of unsubstantiated rumors as if they were from the
Encyclopedia Britannica
. Unforgivable. We can only be grateful that while Americans might have heard of the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Marlborough, they don’t know of Venetia and won’t be able to guess her identity from what he’s said.”
     
    “Thank goodness for small mercies,” murmured Millie.
     
    Helena stopped before Venetia’s chair and lowered herself so that her eyes were level with Venetia’s. “Avenge yourself, Venetia. Make him fall in love with you, then give him the cut.”
     
    Loud, dark thoughts had been crisscrossing Venetia’s head like a murder of crows over the Tower of London. But now, as she gazed into her sister’s cool, resolute eyes, the past dropped away, and the thought of Lexington likewise receded.
     
    Helena. Helena was a woman who made her decisions with an almost frightful ruthlessness.
     
    If Helena had truly decided that Andrew Martin was worth the trouble, then the die was cast, the board set, the bridge crossed and burned. Millie, Fitz, and Venetia could try all they want. They would not change her mind, not by any means in their possession.
     
    Venetia could only be glad that her mind had gone largely numb. She could not feel any despair.
     
    For now.
     

CHAPTER 3
     
    W hen Venetia was ten, a train had derailed near her childhood home.
    Her father had led the charge in pulling passengers out of the wreck. Venetia and her siblings had not been allowed to go near the scene, for fear it would upset them too much. But they were encouraged to attend to passengers, especially children who’d suffered only minor injuries.
     
    There had been a boy about her age who bore no visible damages. When sandwiches were set down before him, he ate. When a cup of tea appeared, he drank. And when asked questions, he gave sensible enough answers. Yet it became apparent after some time that he wasn’t entirely there, that he was still caught in the midst of the derailment.
     
    In the days following Lexington’s lecture, Venetia carried out a similar approximation of normalcy. Ather insistence, they departed for their tour of Montreal as scheduled. Braving the cold—barely feeling the cold, in fact—she visited the Notre-Dame Basilica, smiled at the quaintly costumed country folk who thronged the Bonsecours on market days, and admired the panoramic views of the city from the belvedere atop Mount Royal.
     
    All the while she relived Lexington’s condemnation. And relived the awful days immediately following Tony’s death. For longer than she thought possible, she was but a