Encounter with Venus (8 page)

It was his sister’s voice. He opened his eyes. Felicia was standing over him, holding a candle. In the dim light, he could see she’d come from her bed, for she was wearing a nightcap and her silly lilac dressing gown. “Wha’s the matter?” he murmured sleepily, rubbing his eyes. “Wha’ time’s it?”

“It’s half after four. I’m sorry to have to wake you, dearest, but I need you. There’s been an emergency.”

“Emergency?” George sat up, alarmed. “Has something happened to Leyton?”

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s Livy’s uncle. He’s taken ill. A messenger came from Scotland ordering her home at once.”

George rubbed his eyes to make certain he was awake. “I don’t understand. Did you wake me up in the wee hours just to tell me she’s leaving? Couldn’t this news have kept ‘til morning?”

“No, dearest, it couldn’t wait. You see, I need you to escort her home.”

“Escort her home? To
Scotland?
Are you mad?”

Felicia put a hand to her worried brow. “I don’t know what else to do. Leyton cannot do it. He cannot leave when we have a houseful of guests. Nor can we impose such a burden on any of our guests. So, you see, it must be you.”

“I don’t see! Am I not a guest, too?”

“Yes, but you’re family.” She dropped down on the bed, facing him. “It won’t be so bad, Georgie, honestly it won’t. You can take our barouche, and we’ll give you Philips to drive. He’s an excellent coachman. Livy’s uncle’s estate is in Lockerbie, just over the border. Philips probably can do the trip in fourteen hours each way.”

George bit his lip. He hated to refuse such an urgent request, but he had obligations of his own. “You don’t understand, Felicia. I must get back to London. I promised Bernard. I intend to leave this very morning.”

His sister’s eyes widened in alarm. “But you can’t!” she cried. “No one is leaving ‘til tomorrow. Are you saying you did not intend to stay?”

“No, I did not.”

She looked at him helplessly. “But what am I to do? I can’t send my best friend back to Scotland with only her abigail and an elderly coachman to protect her. If anything were to happen, I’d never forgive myself.”

George, trying not to let his instinctive sympathy weaken his determination to stick to his own plans, wondered what other means could be used to solve this dilemma. “Who protected her on the trip down?” he inquired.

“She came in her uncle’s carriage, with their old family retainer to escort her. He and the carriage were supposed to come back for her on Monday, but evidently they could not be spared in this emergency.” She looked up at her brother tearfully. “Georgie, please! Can’t you possibly help me in this?”

He met her pleading gaze and sighed in defeat. “I suppose I might. Fourteen hours, you say? If I took my phaeton instead of your carriage, I could probably do it in twelve.”

“No, dearest, not the phaeton. Take our carriage. It’s heavier and better for long distances.”

“But then I’d have to return it to you. If I take my own carriage, I can turn right about in Scotland and make for town. With a few changes of horses and some hard driving, I should—”

Felicia was surprised. “You’d go directly back to London? You’d not come back here?”

“No, of course not. I told you I’m pressed for time. Now, let’s see... right over the border, you say? If I can figure out—”

“But you can’t do that,” she objected.

George didn’t even hear her. “—I think two days should get me from Scotland back to London in time, if I don’t stop.”

“But, Georgie, you can’t drive for twenty-five or thirty hours without sleep!” his sister cautioned.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed. “Do you want me to escort your friend or not?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then but me no buts. Get out and let me dress.”

She threw her arms about his neck. “Oh, Georgie, you’re a prince!” she said in a choked voice. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

“Don’t be a wet-goose. What are brothers for?” He released himself from her grasp and turned her to the door. “Ask Kelby to wake my Timmy, will you? Have him ready my phaeton.”

She let him propel her over the threshold as she murmured a heartfelt “Thank you, Georgie. I won’t forget this.”

She was closing the door behind her when her brother called, “Wait!” She peeped back in. “Yes?”

George had paused in the act of pulling off his nightshirt. “Does your friend Livy know I’ll be escorting her?”

“No, not yet.”

“She may not wish my escort, you know. She hasn’t much liking for me.”

“Don’t be silly,” his sister assured him as she departed. “Everyone likes you.”

George snorted bitterly. “Much you know about it,” he said to the closed door.

Half an hour later, he came down the stairs, wrapping a wool muffler round his neck. As he descended, he heard some angry whispering from down below. When he came to the top of the last flight of stairs, the voices stopped. Leyton, Felicia, and Livy were gathered in the foyer at the foot of the stairway, and at the sound of his footsteps all of them looked up at him worriedly. “What’s amiss?” he asked as he ran down to the bottom.

“It’s Livy,” Leyton said in disgust. “She refuses to accept your escort.”

“Does she, indeed?” George threw his sister a smirk that plainly said
I
told you so.

“I wouldn’t dream of imposing on you, my lord,” Livy declared. “It is quite unnecessary.”

“But, Livy, dearest,” Felicia insisted for what must have been the third or fourth time, “you cannot ride for one hundred and twenty miles without a proper escort.”

“I not only can, but I will,” Livy said, “so send your brother back to his bed and let me be on my way.”

“Miss Henshaw,” George said with quiet but firm formality, “much as I dislike overruling a lady of your impressive determination, I shall not go back to bed. My phaeton is at the door. Oblige me, if you please, by stepping outside and getting into it.”

“Thank you,” she said, lifting her chin stubbornly, “but I have no intention—”

George took her elbow in a firm grip and propelled her toward the door. “Not another word on this subject, ma’am, if you please. The matter is settled.”

She tried to wrench free. “But I—”

Still keeping her arm in his grip, he used his free hand to cover her mouth. “You may not speak unless you promise it will only be to say good-bye to your hosts.”

She sighed in surrender. Feeling her resistance weaken, George freed her mouth but continued to move her to the door. She managed to turn her head and cry, “Thank you, my dears, for everything,” before being firmly thrust out the door and down the stone steps.

A gray dawn was just beginning to light the upper windows. It offered no promise of warmth. As George had suspected, this was going to be a cold ride... and in more ways than one. When they reached the carriage, Livy confirmed his fears by angrily shaking off his grip and climbing up into it, an air of disapproval enveloping her like a cloak.

Livy’s abigail and Timmy had been standing beside the carriage shivering in the cold. The abigail was an elderly woman whose bright keen eyes enlivened a tiny, very frail form. She seemed so fragile that George was about to unwrap his muffler and hand it to her when Kelby came running down carrying a pile of lap robes and a basket of provisions. The abigail eagerly claimed the goods and handed Timmy one of the lap robes. Then George helped her climb up after her mistress. At last he himself was ready to go. He turned, waved to Felicia and Leyton, who were standing at the top of the stone stairway, and promptly leaped aboard.

Timmy was already on the box, the lap robe wrapped round his shoulders. As soon as he heard George shut the carriage door, he flicked the horses into action.

Waving and smiling their good-byes, Felicia and Leyton remained on the stairs until the carriage was out of sight. They hoped Livy was smiling back at them, but they very much doubted it.

TWELVE

Like Timmy up on the box, the three travelers inside the carriage bundled themselves in their lap robes to ward off the chill. After wrapping the robe about her shoulders, Livy, on the rear seat, turned her attention to her window. Her abigail, seated beside her, could not stop shivering. “Michty me,” the elderly woman muttered, “ ‘tis unco’ chittery.”

“What did you say?” George asked from the front seat. Since both seat benches in the phaeton faced front, he had to turn his head to see her.

“She says it’s unusually cold,” Livy explained without shifting her gaze from the passing landscape. “My Bridie speaks the Lowland tongue.”

“Your Bridie is quite right, no matter what her tongue. January weather seems to have found its way into November.” He unwound the muffler from his neck. “Here, Bridie,” he said to the abigail, “put this on.”

At those words, Livy turned from the window. “No, Bridie, don’t take it We’ve imposed on his lordship quite enough.”

The abigail, with the muffler in her hand, hesitated.

“Let her have it, ma’am,” George insisted. “She’s older than we, after all, and older people feel the cold more than we do. Besides, I can put up my coat collar.”

Livy glanced at her shivering maid and gave in. “Very well, my lord. Thank you.”

“Aye, m’ lor’. I do thankee,” Bridie said, and promptly pulled the muffler over her head and ears and wound the rest round her neck.

Livy returned to gazing out the window. Bridie, after flicking a narrow-eyed glance from her mistress to his lordship and back again, cuddled into the corner of the carriage and went to sleep.

They rode this way for a long while. The only sounds were Bridie’s snores, the wind that rattled the windows, and the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves. At last George could bear it no longer. Turning about in his seat, he said, “I wonder, ma’am, if you intend for us to ride in this awkward silence all the way to Scotland.”

Her only answer was to pull the lap robe closer about her and shift her position away from him. Under her hood, she was wearing some sort of lace-edged cap—he believed it was called a widow’s cap, but it was also worn by unmarried females who’d given up hope of wedlock— that fell over her forehead and edged her cheeks. Turned away from him as she was, the deuced cap made it impossible to see her face.

“I know you’re angry with me,” George persisted, “though I’m in some confusion as to why. Is it because of my reprehensible behavior toward you at Felicia’s? Or is it my temerity in insisting on escorting you home?”

Hearing a plaintive note in his voice, she looked over her shoulder at him. “Neither,” she said. Then, correcting herself, she added, “Or both.”

“Well, which is it?” he wanted to know.

“Oh, I don’t know.” With a helpless shrug, she turned to face him. “I suppose I ought to be grateful to you.”

“For escorting you home? I should say so!” He glowered at her in mock accusation. “It’s taking me twenty-eight hours out of my way.”

“Well, you needn’t blame me. I didn’t ask for your escort.”

“I don’t blame you. It was a necessary duty, and I was the logical one to perform it. Like it or no, you had to have an escort. We both may as well accept it with good grace.”

“Yes, you’re right, of course,” she admitted, dropping her eyes. “I’ve been churlish.”

“Yes, you have,” he said cheerfully.

Her head came up at once. “Don’t mistake for one moment that this changes anything between us,” she warned.

“Doesn’t it?” he asked innocently.

“Your taking this trouble in my behalf does not override my dislike of your overbearing behavior.”

This surprised him. “Do you really find me overbearing?” he asked bluntly.

“Can you doubt it, after you thrust me into this carriage against my will?” She paused for a moment, her brow wrinkled thoughtfully. “Of course, your offering your muffler to Bridie was an act of kindness. It confuses me, I admit. But such a minor act is hardly enough to offset my impression that you are autocratic and presumptuous.”

He rubbed his chin, wondering how to respond. Convinced that he was not at all like the person she described, he was more amused than offended. “Autocratic and presumptuous, am I?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “That’s very strange.”

“Why strange?”

“Because Felicia assures me that everyone likes me.”

A laugh bubbled out of her. “Really?
Everyone?”

“Yes, everyone.” Having won a laugh from her, he swiveled about on the seat, stretched his legs up on it, and rested his arm along the back so that he could more comfortably look at her.

She was studying him thoughtfully, as if she were measuring what degree of truth there might be in Felicia’s claim. “At the risk of adding to your already enormous conceit, my lord, I admit that Felicia may be right.”

“Right about everyone liking me? Nonsense! You don’t believe I take seriously my sister’s affectionate flattery.”

“Yet there is some truth to it. At least about young women liking you. From what I hear, they all do seem to flock about you.”