Venetia by Georgette Heyer Page A

themselves off?” repeated Lady Denny.
    “Yes, for having done so ill by him as to let him make a cake of himself over this Lady  Sophia! It happened when he was twenty-two, didn‟t it? Well, then! I dare swear she was older  than he, too. Was she?”
    “She was a few years older, I fancy, but—”
    “Then you may depend upon it that it was a great deal more her fault than his, ma‟am!  And although I suppose he ought to have married her in the end I can‟t help thinking that she  only came by her deserts when he didn‟t. In fact, I begin to feel almost sorry for the Wicked  Baron. Does he mean to make a long stay in Yorkshire? Shall we be obliged to recognize him?”
    “ I   must do so, if we should chance to meet, but I am determined it shan‟t go beyond a  civil bow; and as for inviting him to dine with us in a formal way, I have begged Sir John not to  ask it of me! „And, pray, which of our acquaintance would you have me invite to meet him?‟ I  said. „The Yardleys? the Traynes? Poor Mrs. Motcomb? Or have you our sweet Venetia in your  mind?‟ I am happy to say that he saw that it would be quite improper. It is a fortunate  circumstance, since I don‟t mean to be drawn into the slightest intimacy, that Damerel is a  bachelor. If the gentlemen choose to visit him they may do so: he cannot invite ladies to his  parties.”
    On this triumphant conclusion Lady Denny departed, leaving her young friend to await  events with such mixed feelings that she could not have told whether she wished Damerel to find

    some way of seeing her again, or whether she would be glad to know that  he had left the Priory.  It was certainly a bore to be confined within the bounds of the park, and that, she had decided,  must be her fate, unless she rode with Aubrey, for however little heed she paid to Nurse‟s dark  warnings she was fully alive to the possibility of Damerel‟s lying in wait for her, and had no  doubt that if he were to find her walking by herself he would believe her to be courting his  advances. On the whole, she thought, she would be glad to know that he had gone away. He was  dangerous; his conduct had been inexcusable; and to meet him again might be demoralizing to  one who had led so cloistered a life as hers had been.
    But when a week crept by without a sign from him she was piqued. He was still at the  Priory, but he was making no effort whatsoever to become acquainted with his neighbours. The  village gossips, much astonished, reported that he was actually interesting himself in the business  of the estate; and Croyde, his long-suffering bailiff, permitted for the first time to lay before him  all the crying needs that were never filled, was indulging a flicker of optimism: though his  lordship had not yet authorized expenditure he was at least listening to advice, and seeing with  his own eyes the slow decay of good land under bad husbandry. Edward, a sceptic, said that the  only thing that might induce Damerel to spend a groat on repairs or improvements would be the  hope that he might wring back from the estate a greater yield to squander on his amusements.  Venetia would have suspected that his  sudden interest in his inheritance was nothing more than  an excuse for remaining at the Priory had he made some attempt to seek her out. She thought it  would not have been difficult for him to have found a pretext for calling at Undershaw; and  being far too innocent to realize that Damerel, an expert in the art of dalliance, was employing  tactics which none knew better than he to be tantalizing, she was forced to conclude that he had  not been as strongly attracted to her as she had supposed. There was nothing in store at  Undershaw for his lordship but a set-down, but it was disappointing to be granted no opportunity  to deliver this. She found herself imagining a second encounter; and, between disgust at herself  and resentment at Damerel for holding her so