Venetia (37 page)

It was a struggle to suppress the indignation which surged up in her, but she managed to say with tolerable composure: “You are mistaken if you imagine that Aubrey stands in danger of being corrupted by his association with Damerel. Damerel would no more dream of such a thing than you would yourself, even if it were possible, which I very much doubt! Aubrey is not easily influenced!”

His smile was one of conscious superiority. He said: “I am afraid that is a subject on which you must allow me to be a better judge than you, Venetia. We won’t argue about it, however—indeed, I should be sorry to engage in any sort of discussion with you on a matter that is not only beyond the female comprehension, but which one could not wish to see
within
it!”

“Then you were ill-advised to mention it!” He returned no other answer than a slightly ironical bow, and immediately began to talk of something else. She was thankful that her aunt just then came back into the room, affording her a chance to escape, which she instantly seized, saying that she had a letter she must finish writing before dinner, and must therefore bid her visitor goodbye.

For how long he meant to remain in London she had been unable to discover, but from the evasive nature of his reply to that question she feared he contemplated a visit of indefinite duration. How to bear his company with patience, or how to convince him that his was a sleeveless errand, were problems not made easier to solve by Mrs. Hendred’s well-meaning efforts to further his suit.

Venetia soon discovered that during the period he had spent alone with her aunt he had made an excellent” impression on her. In her view he was the stuff of which good husbands were made, for he was kind, dependable, of reasonable consequence, and comfortably circumstanced. He had succeeded in persuading her to the belief that his tardiness in bringing Venetia to the point was due to no lack of ardour, but to the nicety of his principles. Mrs. Hendred, herself a high stickler, perfectly understood his patience, and honoured him for it. He rapidly became established in her mind as a figure of unselfish devotion, and she thought it all very noble and touching, and spared no pains to bring this Jacob’s labours to a happy conclusion. She promoted his plans for Venetia’s entertainment and instruction, included him in her own schemes, and invited him so many times to take what she inaccurately called his pot-luck in Cavendish Square that Venetia was forced to protest, and to disclose that so far from having abandoned her intention of setting up her own establishment she was the more confirmed in it, and had inspected a house in Hans Town which she thought might be made into a comfortable home for herself and Aubrey.

She had not meant to make this announcement, which she knew would meet with much opposition, until she had signed the lease, and engaged a chaperon; but when she found that her aunt had accepted an invitation from Edward to bring her to dine with him at the Clarendon Hotel, and afterwards to go to the theatre at his expense, she was so indignant (having herself declined the invitation) that she could no longer restrain her annoyance.

Mrs. Hendred received the news with horrified incredulity. From her first disjointed ejaculations it was hard to decide whether it was her niece’s determination to embrace a life of spinsterhood that most shocked her, or the deplorably dowdy locality she had chosen for her asylum. The repulsive accents in which she repeated the words,
Hans Town
?
could scarcely have held more disgust had she been speaking of a back-slum; and she several times reiterated the disgusting syllables, interjecting them between assurances that Venetia’s uncle would never countenance so improper a scheme. But she presently saw that although Venetia was listening to her with civility her mind was made up, and she exclaimed, with a sudden change of tone: “Oh, my dearest child, indeed, indeed you must not do it! You would regret it all your life—you can have no notion—you are still young, but only think what it would be like when you are growing old— the loneliness—the mortification of—” She broke off as a quiver ran over Venetia’s face, and leaned forward in her chair to lay one of her plump little hands on Venetia’s. “My dear, marry Mr. Yardley!” she said urgently. “I am persuaded you would be happy, for he is so kind and good, and in every way so eligible!”

The slim hand under hers was rigid; Venetia said in a constricted voice: “Pray do not say any more, ma’am! I don’t love Edward—and that must be the end of the matter.”

“But, dearest, I assure you you are mistaken! It is not in the least necessary that you should love him, for the happiest marriages
frequently
start with only the most moderate degree of affection! Indeed, I have known several where the couples were barely acquainted, but were content to let their parents arrange the match. You know, my love, girls
cannot
be better able to judge of what will suit them than their parents!”

“But I am not a girl, ma’am, and I have no parents.”

“No, but— Oh, Venetia, you don’t know what a mistake you would be making!” exclaimed Mrs. Hendred despairingly. “It would be better to marry a man one positively disliked than to remain a spinster! And how are you to make a respectable match if you go to live in Hans Town, and in such a
peculiar
style? For, after all, even with a disagreeable husband, though of course it would have grave drawbacks to be married to a disagreeable man, you would be a woman of consequence, and you would have all the comfort of your children, which, you know, is a female’s
greatest
interest—and, in any event, Mr. Yardley is
not
disagreeable! He is a most amiable person, values you just as he should, and, I daresay, would do everything in his power to make you happy! To be sure, he is not a
lively
man, but what husband
is,
after all? If you had fancied Sir Matthew, or Mr. Armyn, or even Mr. Foxcott, though I very much doubt whether
he—
But I can’t help feeling, dear child, that Mr. Yardley is the very man for you! He understands you so well, and knows what your circumstances are, so that there wouldn’t be an difficulty or awkwardness—and you would be living near your brother, and your friends, and in just the style to which you are accustomed, only not, of course, at Undershaw, but, still, in the country you
know
!
You would feel yourself to be going
home
!”

“I don’t wish to go home!” The words were wrung from Venetia, and although quietly spoken were charged with anguish. She got up quickly, saying: “I beg your pardon—pray excuse me! There are circumstances—I can’t explain, but I beg you, ma’am, not to say any more! Only believe that I do know what must be the—the disadvantages of the course I am determined to pursue! I’m not so green that—” Her voice failed; she turned, and went with hurried steps to the door.

She was arrested by the sound of a convulsive sob, and looked back in startled dismay to see that her aunt had burst into tears.

Mrs. Hendred did not like the people around her to be unhappy. Even the sight of a housemaid crying with the pain of the toothache made her feel low, for misery had no place in her comfortable existence; and when it obtruded itself on her notice it dimmed the warm sunshine in which she basked, and quite ruined her belief in a world where everyone was contented, and affluent, and cheerful. What she had seen in Venetia’s face overset her completely, and, since she had grown very fond of her niece, really pierced her to the heart. Her pretty features were crumpled: tears rolled down her cheeks; and she uttered in a sort of soft wail: “Oh, my dearest child, don’t,
don’t
look like that! I cannot bear to see you so wretched! Oh, Venetia, you must not take it so much to heart,
indeed
you must not! It makes me feel so dreadfully low, for I do most sincerely pity you, but it would not
do
—I
assure
you it would not!”

Venetia had started solicitously towards her, but at these words she checked, and stiffened. “What would not
do
?”
she asked, keeping her eyes fixed on Mrs. Hendred’s face in a compelling way which set the final touch to the poor lady’s agitation.

“That man! Oh, don’t ask me! I didn’t mean— Only when I see you in such affliction how can I help but— Oh, my dear Venetia, I can’t endure that you should think I don’t feel for you, for I
exactly
enter into your sentiments! Oh dear, it brings it all back to me, but I promise you I haven’t thought of him for
years,
which just
shows
how soon you will forget, and be
perfectly
happy again!”

Very pale, Venetia said: “I don’t know how you should be aware of it—but what you have said I can’t have misunderstood! You are speaking of Damerel, aren’t you, ma’am?”

Mrs. Hendred’s tears flowed faster. She dabbed ineffectively at her eyes. “Oh, dear, I ought never— Your uncle would be so vexed!”

“Who told you, ma’am, that Damerel and I—had become acquainted?”

“
Pray
don’t ask me!” begged Mrs. Hendred. “I should not have mentioned it—your uncle particularly charged me—oh, I believe I am going to have one of my spasms!”

“If my uncle charged you not to speak, of course I won’t press you to do so, but will apply to him instead,” said Venetia. “I am glad I’ve learnt of this in time to see him before he sets out for Berkshire. I believe he has not yet left the house. Excuse me, aunt! I must go at once to find him, or it will be too late!”

“Venetia,
no
!”
almost shrieked her aunt. “I
implore
you— besides, it wouldn’t be any use, and everything is so uncomfortable when he is displeased! Venetia, it was Lady Denny, but promise me you won’t say a word to your uncle!”

“If you’ll be frank with me, there is no reason that I know of why I should. Don’t cry! Lady Denny! Yes, I see. Did she write to you?”

“Yes, though I never met her in my life, for I was married before Sir John, but it was a very proper letter, and showed her to be a woman of excellent feeling, your uncle said. Though it was very disturbing, and upset me so much that I could scarcely swallow a mouthful of food all that day for thinking about it. For, you know, my dear,
Damerel
—!
Not that you could possibly know, poor child, and I am not in the
least
surprised you should have fallen in love with him, because he is
fatally
attractive, though I am not, of course, acquainted with him! Still, one sees him at parties, and in the park, and at the opera, and— Well, my dear,
scores
of females— But to think of
marrying
him—! Which your uncle said was in the highest degree improbable—that such a notion should cross his mind, I mean! Only what to do I didn’t know, because your uncle thought it useless to invite you to come to town, and your being of age made it so very difficult, besides that he was persuaded your principles were too high to allow of your—your accepting a
carte blanche,
as they say!”

“None was offered me!” Venetia said, standing very straight and still in the middle of the room.

“No, my love, I know, but although it seems a dreadful thing to say, to have married him would have been
worse
!
At least, I don’t precisely mean—”

“Don’t distress yourself, ma’am! Lady Denny was mistaken. Lord Damerel’s affections—were not so deeply engaged as she supposed. There was nothing more between us than—a little flirtation. He made me no offer—of any kind!”

“Oh, my poor, poor child,
don’t
!”
cried Mrs. Hendred. “No wonder you should be so wretched! There is
nothing
so
mortifying as to fall in love with someone who does not share one’s sentiments, but
that
pain you need not be made to suffer, whatever your uncle says, for gentlemen don’t understand anything, however wise they may be, and even he owned to me that he had been mistaken in Lord Damerel, so he may just as easily be mistaken in
you
!”

“Mistaken in Lord Damerel?” Venetia interrupted. “Then—Aunt, are you telling me that my uncle
saw
Damerel when he came to Undershaw?”

“Well, my love, he—he thought it his duty, when you have no father to protect you! He considered it
most
carefully, not at first perceiving how he might be able— But then you wrote me the news of Conway’s marriage, and it was the most providential thing that ever happened, though I was never more shocked in my life, for it furnished your uncle with an excellent excuse to remove you from Undershaw, which he saw in a flash, because he is very clever, as I daresay anyone would tell you.”

“Good God!” Venetia said blankly. She pressed a hand to her brow. “But if he saw him— Yes, it must have been before he reached Undershaw—before
I
saw— Aunt, what passed between them? You must tell me, if you please! If you will not I shall ask my uncle, and if he will not I’ll ask Damerel himself!”

“Venetia, don’t talk in that dreadful way! Your uncle was most agreeably surprised, I promise you! You must not think that they quarrelled, or that there was the least unpleasantness! Indeed, your uncle told me that he felt most sincerely for Lord Damerel, and in general, you know, he never does so. He even said to me that it was a great pity that it should be out of the question—the marriage, I mean—because he was bound to acknowledge that he might have been the very— But it
is
out of the question, my dear, and so Lord Damerel
himself
acknowledged. Your uncle says that nothing could have done him greater credit than the open way he spoke, even saying that he had done very ill in not going away from Yorkshire, which your uncle had not accused him of, though of course it is perfectly true. Your uncle was not obliged even to point out to him, which he had expected would have been the case, and a very disagreeable task it would have been, and I’m sure I don’t know how—but that doesn’t signify, because Lord Damerel said that he knew well that it would be
infamous
to take advantage of you, when you knew nothing about the world, and had never been beyond Yorkshire, or met any other men—well, only Mr. Yardley!—so that you were almost
bound
to have fallen in love with him, and how
could
you understand what it would mean to be married to a man of his reputation? And you
don’t
understand, dear child, but indeed, indeed it would be
ruinous
!”
She paused, largely for want of breath, and was relieved to see that the colour was back in Venetia’s cheeks, and that her eyes were full of light. She heaved a thankful sigh, and said: “I
knew
you would not feel so badly if you didn’t think yourself slighted! How glad I am that I’ve told you! For you are not so unhappy now, are you, my love?”