Rock looked at her questioningly.
“I did notice one at the wedding,” Venetia went on, “looking up at you in a way that told me she loved you. And when she looked at me, I was certain she hated me!”
Looking back, Rock remembered three women who had come to the wedding who he thought would have been more tactful if they had stayed away.
They had gushed at him when he shook them by the hand and one of them had simpered,
“Dearest, dearest Rock! How can I possibly go on living without you?”
He had only been thankful that Leone had had the sense not to come to the wedding, even if, as he was quite sure, the Duke had not sent her an invitation.
It was, he thought, too much to expect of Venetia, not to realise they were saying more or less openly that they had at one time been very much a pa
