Venetia Read Online Free PDF Page B

he himself was content, to pass all her days under the shadow of the Cleveden Hills. So far from being content she had never imagined that this could be her ultimate destiny. She wanted to see what the rest of the world was like: marriage only interested her as the sole means of escape for a gently-born maiden.
    In fact, thought Venetia, as she emerged from the park on to a narrow lane which separated it from the neighbouring estate of Elliston Priory, my case is clearly past remedy, and I’ve nothing to do but decide whether to be an aunt to Conway’s children, or a mother to Edward’s—and I have a lowering presentiment that Edward’s children will be dreadfully dull, poor little things! Where’s that wretched dog? “Flurry! Flurry !”
    After she had been calling for several minutes, in growing exasperation, her canine friend came galloping up, full of amiability, his flanks heaving, and his tongue lolling. Being considerably out of breath he was so obliging as to remain within her sight until, a few hundred yards down the lane, she entered the grounds of the Priory through a turnstile set beside a heavy farm-gate. This gave access to an ancient right of way, but Venetia, on excellent terms with Lord Damerel’s bailiff, was at liberty to roam where she liked on his domain, as Flurry well knew. Refreshed by the brief interlude on the lane he raced ahead, in the direction of the woods which straggled down a gentle declivity to the stream which wound through the Priory’s grounds. Beyond the stream lay the Priory itself, a rambling house built in Tudor times upon the foundations of the original structure, subsequently enlarged, and said to be replete with a wealth of panelling, and a great many inconveniences. With the house Venetia was not concerned, but the grounds had for years been the favourite haunt of the three young Lanyons. Sir Francis’s vagaries had not led him to neglect his estate, which he kept in excellent order. His children preferred to seek adventure in less neat surroundings. The Priory woods, which partook of the nature of a wilderness, exactly suited youthful ideas of what was delightful; and if Venetia, grown to maturity, felt it to be a pity that the place should be neglected, it still held its charm for her, and she frequently walked there, and, since its owner rarely came near it, could allow the disobedient Flurry to range at will, chasing rabbits and flushing pheasants without danger of drawing wrath down upon his head. The Wicked Baron, as she had long ago christened Lord Damerel, would neither know nor care: the only party he had ever brought to the Priory had certainly not been a shooting-party.
    His family was an old and a distinguished one, but the present holder of the title was considered by the respectable to be the neighbourhood’s only blot. It was almost a social solecism to mention his name in polite company. Innocent enquiries by the children, who wanted to know why Lord Damerel never came to live at the Priory, were repressed. They were told that they were too young to understand, and that there was no need for them to think about him, much less talk about him: it was to be feared that his lordship was not a good man; and now that was quite enough, and they might run away and play.
    That was what Miss Poddemore told Venetia and Conway, and they naturally speculated on the possible (and often impossible) nature of his lordship’s crimes, rapidly creating a figure of lurid romance out of Miss Poddemore’s mysterious utterances. It was years before Venetia discovered that Damerel’s villainy included nothing as startling as murder, treason, piracy, or highroad robbery, and was more sordid than romantic. The only child of rather elderly parents, he had no sooner embarked on a diplomatic career than he fell head over ears in love with a married lady of title, and absconded with her, thus wrecking his own future, breaking his mama’s heart, and causing his papa to suffer a