Sailing to Love Read online

  “I suppose I’ve said exactly the things I shouldn’t say,” he admitted meekly. “I do that a lot. Ivan’s always saving me from situations.”

  “I can imagine,” she said, her lips twitching.

  “Always been a good friend to me.”

  “Were you by any chance at school together?”

  “Oh yes. Eton. He stopped the others bullying me. Come to think of it, that’s what he’s been doing ever since.”

  “He sounds like a very good friend indeed.”

  “Oh he is. Mind you, he’s got a devil of a temper.”

  “Has he?” Venetia asked uneasily.

  “Oh yes. He won’t stand for anyone taking liberties. His past is littered with corpses.”

  “Corpses?” Venetia echoed, startled.

  “Oh, I don’t mean literally. He doesn’t kill people or anything – just makes them wish they were dead.”

  “You mean he’s cruel and vindictive?”

  “Oh, he’s not cruel,” Lord Anthony disclaimed eagerly. “But he’s got the pride of the devil and he likes to be master. He won’t tolerate anyone laughing at him, for any reason. But he’s the best friend in the world.”

  “The best friend in the world as long as you always yield to him,” Venetia said.

  “Well, as I said, he likes to be master. He knows who he is and he knows what’s due to him and woe betide anyone who forgets that.”

  A tinkling laugh from across the table made them both look over to where Mary was conversing with the Earl. Obviously he had just said something entertaining and Mary was playing her part well, regarding him with admiration.

  “She looks just the kind of little wife he needs,” Lord Anthony said.

  “You mean meek and docile, and wouldn’t say boo to a goose?” Venetia asked. “But suppose she turns out to be different?”

  “I say, I do hope not! I mean, he wouldn’t like her answering back, or questioning his movements or – or –”

  “Or minding about his other women?” Venetia said, looking him straight in the eye.

  He turned so pale that she thought he was going to faint.

  “I – I – I say!”

  “He’s notorious for them,” she went on remorselessly. “In fact, rumour says that he’s only marrying because the Queen picked out his bride and practically frog-marched him here.”

  “Yes but – I mean, nobody’s supposed to – I say!”

  “Of course nobody’s supposed to know. Just as we’re all expected to believe that he’s going to be a faithful husband.”

  This time the hapless young man was beyond speech. He could only manage faint burbling sounds, indicative of complete horror.

  “Are you all right?” the Earl asked, noticing his friend in extremis.

  “Yes,” Lord Anthony gasped.

  “Something seems to have upset you, old fellow.”

  “No, no – nothing I do assure you.”

  “Lord Anthony and I were having a most interesting discussion,” Venetia told him.

  “About any particular subject, ma’am?”

  “About character, sir. Personality. About how some people are easy to live with, some difficult and some impossible.”

  Lord Anthony made choking sounds.

  “You got my friend to discuss all that, ma’am?” the Earl said admiringly. “My congratulations. I had not suspected him of such depths.”

  Lord Anthony recovered his tongue.

  “It wasn’t me,” he said wildly. “It was her.”

  “That I believe,” the Earl said gravely. His eyes were gleaming.

  “That is – I mean – I say!”

  Across the table the Earl’s eyes met Venetia’s and the look in them was the same, a look of pure, wicked glee. For a moment the rest of the world vanished as they were united in a joke that only they could understand.

  “Won’t you share your thoughts with us, old fellow?” the Earl teased. “I mean your thoughts on the subject of character.”

  Lord Anthony turned appalled eyes on him.

  “Well,” he said at last, “it’s hard to – I mean –”

  “Do not answer him, sir,” Venetia said, laying her hand on his. “He’s only trying to make fun of you.”

  “Oh yes, he does that all the time,” Lord Anthony said abjectly.

  “Well, don’t give him the satisfaction. Lord Mountwood, my friend’s thoughts are too deep to be shared with anyone, until he has reflected on them further.”

  Again there was that interchange of looks across the table, the wicked humour in his eyes and the invitation to share it with the same feeling that the two of them were set apart from the others.

  “Very wise of you both, ma’am,” he said.

  Sir Edward’s eyes were flickering suspiciously between them. He did not like the Earl paying attention to anyone except Mary.

  At the end of the meal there were polite speeches. The Earl said, “May my bride and I remember tomorrow as being the happiest day of our lives.”

  Sir Edward made a pompous speech about nothing very much and then they all adjourned to the library for coffee, where Lord Mountwood sought out Venetia.

  “My congratulations, ma’am,” he said. “Not many ladies could engage my friend in such sprightly conversation.”

  He was smiling at her and she could not help noticing how well shaped and attractive his mouth was. But she would not allow her thoughts to be reflected in her demeanour, which she kept severe.

  “For shame sir, to mock Lord Anthony. How can you call him your friend and yet make him the butt of your humour?”

  “You made him the butt of yours,” he pointed out.

  She was about to deny it when she recalled their shared amusement across the table. He read her thoughts accurately and gave her a teasing grin, saying,

  “Poor Anthony was born to be the butt of someone’s humour.”

  “Everyone’s, you mean,” she couldn’t help saying.

  “No, not everyone’s. I tease him myself, but normally I would permit nobody else to do so. For you I made an exception, for I could see you were being gentle with him.”

  “Well, he’s a very nice man,” she said.

  “He is, indeed. And you, ma’am, are also a very nice person.”

  He gave her a small bow and turned away before she could think of a reply.

  The Earl had slipped his hand into his pocket and brought something out.

  “Miss Wenmore,” he said, “there is something I should like to say to you.”

  Mary turned nervous eyes on him.

  “We are marrying under somewhat unusual circumstances,” he said. “Our marriage is tomorrow, and our betrothal is today. Will you, therefore, please wear this betrothal ring?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he took her left hand and produced the ring. Everyone watched, startled, as the largest diamond they had ever seen was slid up Mary’s finger.

  “This ring has been in my family for generations,” Lord Mountwood said. “My father gave it to my mother, and on her death it became mine. I now give it to you, as my future bride.”

  “Thank you,” she stammered.

  He tipped her face up and laid his lips lightly on hers.

  “Now we are betrothed,” he said gently.

  Mary was almost in tears, agitated by this development. Seeing that she was becoming flustered, Venetia murmured to Lady Wenmore,

  “Mary should go to bed. She’s becoming overwrought.”

  Because it was obviously the sensible thing to do, Lady Wenmore agreed with her.

  “A charming gesture, Lord Mountwood,” she said. “But now my daughter is tired and should go to bed, so that she can be at her best tomorrow.”

  The men inclined their heads respectfully. As Venetia bid Lord Mountwood goodnight his eyes flickered over her with a kind of careless ease that she found almost insulting.

  Even she, inexperienced as she was, knew that he was assessing her as a woman, trying to strip away her cl
othes with his eyes. It was monstrous, she thought, that a man should behave in such a way on the night before his marriage.

  Of course, Mary was a stranger to him, but that was all the more reason to treat her with respect.

  She found herself feeling quite indignant on behalf of her cousin until she found herself remembering, with a jolt, that it was she herself who would be marrying him.

  When they were safely in Mary’s room, Mary let out a long breath.

  “I was so nervous,” she said. “I don’t know how I got through the evening. Oh Venetia, what did you think of him.”

  “I’m not sure. I suppose we must admit that he is very good-looking.

  “He is big and he frightens me,” Mary answered. “I hated it when he kissed me. I don’t want to be kissed by anyone but David.”

  It crossed Venetia’s mind that she would not have minded at all feeling Lord Mountwood’s lips on hers. Slightly shocked at herself, she tried to dismiss the thought.

  “Yes, I don’t think you would be at all happy married to him,” Venetia replied thoughtfully. “I don’t think he has a nice temper.”

  “Oh but then how will you manage if he shows you a nasty temper?”

  “Don’t you worry, I’ll cope. I’ve got quite a temper myself.”

  “Take this,” Mary said, pulling off the huge diamond ring as though it burned her. “I hate it.”

  Venetia took the ring, kissed Mary goodnight and went to her own room. There she undressed and lay in bed, staring into the darkness, wondering what was going to happen to her. The evening had left her astonished, excited and fascinated.

  She had been warned about the Earl. He was the very last man in the world on whom she should be playing such a trick. His anger and insulted pride would be overpowering and she would be at his mercy.

  Yet her courage was up and she knew she must not back out now.

  ‘I can’t let Mary down, after all my promises,’ she thought. ‘She must be allowed to marry her true love. If one really loves someone, it’s impossible to switch one’s emotions off. Love comes from the heart and whatever else we can force ourselves to change, the heart remains true to reality. It is impossible to alter what one feels in the very depths of one’s being.

  ‘So I can’t turn back now. I refuse to be afraid of him, and who knows? Perhaps he’ll find he’s met his match in me?’

  *

  The next morning the whole household was in a bustle. Following Venetia’s instructions Mary dressed in the bridal gown. Lady Wenmore looked in to say that she and Papa were about to leave. Lord Mountwood and Lord Anthony would arrive soon and travel to the church with her. She kissed her daughter and departed.

  As soon as she was gone the two girls were galvanised into action. Swiftly they changed clothes so that Venetia was now the bride. Luckily they were the same size, and with the heavy veil concealing her face nobody could tell that there had been an exchange. Mary slipped away for a moment and returned in triumph.

  “I’ve told the footman to change the luggage that is waiting downstairs to be loaded onto the carriage,” she said. “He’s removing mine and replacing it with yours.

  “And John is back from Portsmouth, where he delivered the letter to the captain of the Angelina. I’ve given him the letter ‘the Queen’ wrote to Lord Mountwood. He is going to give it to the best man when he arrives with Lord Mountwood and Lord Anthony will pass it on to the Earl. He’ll give the other letter to Papa as soon as he returns from the church.”

  “Well done,” Venetia said. “Listen, do I hear them?”

  Mary looked out of the window to where a carriage had just arrived below. Inside it were Lord Anthony and the Earl, who looked up, saw her and waved. Greatly daring, she waved back.

  “Did he see that you weren’t in your bridal clothes?” Venetia asked anxiously.

  “It doesn’t matter. When you go down he’ll just think that I changed very quickly.”

  “True. And since he saw you smiling at him, he won’t suspect anything. Now, you know what to do. As soon as we have all driven away, you make your escape to David.”

  They looked at each other.

  “I wonder when we’ll meet again,” Mary whispered, “and what adventures will have befallen us by then. Oh my dear cousin, I owe you so much.”

  They embraced warmly. Then there was a knock at the door.

  “Lord Mountwood is waiting below for you, miss.”

  “I’m coming,” Mary called. “Please go downstairs and tell Lord Mountwood that I will only be a moment.”

  Venetia was at the window, where she could see the Earl’s carriage. Footmen were putting her luggage aboard.

  It was time to go.

  She had a last moment of panic. How could she be doing something so reckless?

  But then she saw Mary’s face and knew that she must go on with it now.

  They embraced each other again and Venetia left the room, walking slowly and carefully along the corridor and down the stairs. When she entered the hall, she saw a bouquet waiting for her on the table.

  She picked it up and was aware as she did so that the outer door was open and she could see that her future husband was waiting for her.

  As she left the house he held out his hand and she took it.

  “So heavily veiled?” he asked, peering at her. “May I not see your face?”

  She shook her head, dropping it a little so that it was impossible for the Earl to see through the veil, and pointing to Lord Anthony, to suggest that he was the reason for her extreme modesty.

  She saw the footman handing the two letters to Lord Anthony, who received them with an air of faint bewilderment. Then he handed her gallantly into the carriage and soon the three of them were on their way.

  “What’s this?” the Earl asked, looking at the letters.

  “This one’s for you, the other is for Sir Edward,” Lord Anthony said. A brilliant idea seemed to strike him. “I suppose I’d better give yours to you.”

  “That’s an excellent idea,” the Earl said gravely.

  Venetia gave a faint choke of laughter which she instantly suppressed.

  Lord Mountwood glanced briefly at her before opening his letter. She heard him draw in his breath as he read over the contents. Then he looked at her again, seemed to make up his mind about something and thrust the letter inside his jacket.

  Venetia breathed a sigh of relief. It would have been awkward if he had wanted to discuss the contents with her now.

  It was only a very short distance to the village where the church was situated.

  As they drove along Venetia was aware that everyone by the roadside waved when they saw them.

  “Now that the moment has come,” the Earl said, “I hope you have no last minute doubts.”

  Venetia shook her head.

  As if he thought she was shy and perhaps a little frightened of being married to a man she had only met the previous evening, the Earl said no more.

  When the church came in sight, Venetia saw a crowd of village people waiting outside it. They cheered as the carriage drew up.

  Then Venetia saw her Uncle Edward waiting for them at the Church door. She stepped out of the carriage, helped by one of the footmen.

  Keeping her head down and her face hidden, she reached Sir Edward.

  “Anthony – ” Lord Mountwood said significantly.

  “What – er – oh yes!”

  He handed Sir Edward the other letter, triumphant at having performed his task.

  “Let’s go, old fellow,” the Earl said.

  They walked on ahead. Sir Edward stared at the letter.

  “We must hurry,” Venetia murmured.

  “Yes, I’ll read this later.”

  He took her arm and they moved quickly into the church.

  Then he increased his pace as they moved towards the altar. A glance showed Venetia that every seat was filled. There was quite a large choir sitting next to the organ.

  There was a slight pause
while they waited for the Earl and Lord Anthony to take their places, then she and Uncle Edward started on their journey down the aisle to where the priest was waiting for them.

  She kept her eyes on Lord Mountwood, standing there, watching her approach, and it dawned on her forcibly how much taller and finer he looked than any other man there. Nobody else had shoulders so broad or carried himself with such an air.

  At last she reached the altar and he came to stand by her side. The music ceased and the priest immediately began the service.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today, to join together this man and this woman –”

  Venetia had been to many weddings. She knew exactly what was happening without the need of a prayer book. But as the words of the service rolled over her, they seemed to have gathered a new and terrible significance.

  “If either of you knows any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it.”

  What could she say? That the bridegroom was being cruelly deceived?

  In a firm voice the Earl made his promises, clasping her hand in his. Then it was her turn. The priest intoned,

  “Wilt thou obey him and serve him, love, honour and keep him – forsaking all others – ?”

  In a dazed voice she promised that she would do all this. She could feel her hand enclosed in his and no power on earth could have prevented her from promising to obey, serve and love him.

  She wondered what was happening to her. She was almost dizzy.

  When the priest blessed the ring which the Earl put on her finger, she felt as he touched her, that she somehow quivered, but hoped he was not aware of it.

  He took the hand she extended, now wearing his diamond engagement ring and slipped the wedding ring onto it. Then he spoke.

  “With this ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship –”

  When they knelt and were blessed, the Earl put his hand on her arm.

  He helped her first to kneel and then when they had both repeated the vows, he helped her to her feet.

  He then offered her his arm as they walked towards the vestry.

  The marriage service had taken only twenty minutes.

  It was rather dark in the vestry and she had no difficulty in signing Mary’s name and the Earl signed his.