Encounter with Venus (9 page)

“No, they don’t. But even if they did, it doesn’t count. It’s not me they like. It’s my title and my ten thousand a year.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You are quite prepossessing, you know, even without the title and wealth.”

“But autocratic and presumptuous,” he reminded her.

“Yes.”

“And conceited.”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm,” was all he said.

“But my views are not typical,” she said comfortingly, feeling that perhaps she’d gone too far. “After all, I’m not a young woman.”

“Young enough, ma’am, to cause your views of me to sting.” He clutched his chest in extravagant distress. “You cut me to the quick.”

“A likely tale,” she scoffed. “As if my views can matter against so many.”

“But they do,” he said, suddenly serious. “They do.” The sincerity he heard in his own voice surprised him. The rest of their conversation had all been banter, but it came as a shock to realize that he’d really meant what he just said. He cared about what she thought of him. He cared a great deal. But why? She was a far cry from the Venus of his dreams—that much was definitely decided. So why should he give a tinker’s damn what she thought of him?

THIRTEEN

George had hoped that, by late afternoon, they would have arrived at their destination, but here it was past three, and—according to Livy, who knew the road well— they were still three or four hours from her home. George realized that he’d greatly underestimated the speed he could make. There were several reasons his well-sprung phaeton was not living up to its potential: for one thing, the sky had been dark all day and the weather unseasonably cold, making visibility poor and driving uncomfortable. He and Timmy had taken turns sitting up on the box, changing their positions every two hours, but that had not helped. Then there were the horses. They’d changed horses at two posting inns thus far, but at the first stop they’d been given a pair of slugs. One could not hope for ten-mile-an-hour speed from such inadequate animals. The young bays they’d managed to acquire at their last stop half an hour ago seemed more promising, but now a tight snow was falling, and in the waning daylight, George, who was up on the box, could hardly see the edges of the road.

He was asking himself if it would be possible to proceed once darkness fell, when there was a dreadful crunching sound. The carriage lurched hideously to his right, wobbled a bit, and then the right corner of the coach crashed down. The horses dragged it a foot or two before he could pull them to a stop. It was obvious that they’d hit some crevice in the road, and that the right front wheel had given way. He jumped down to see the extent of the damage.

A much heavier snow was falling now. There was already a white blanket covering the landscape. George saw that the wheel had sunk into a snowdrift. He had to sweep some of the snow away with his hands. He discovered that the wheel was beyond repair. Every spoke had been broken by the wheel’s having been dragged a few feet after the initial break. “Blast it!” he cursed aloud.

By this time, Timmy and the two women had emerged from the tilted carriage. “We’re hobbled, sure as check,” Timmy muttered after a quick look.

George nodded. “There’s only one thing to be done. We’ll unhitch the horses and ride back with the ladies to the posting inn. Miss Henshaw and Bridie can warm up with some hot toddies while you and I come back here with a new wheel.” He looked up at the sky and then at Livy. “Unless ...”

“Yes?” she asked, taking note of the worry in his eyes.

“Unless you agree to put off the repairs ‘til morning.”

Livy bit her lip. “My uncle will be livid. I’m sure he’s expecting me to be walking in the door at any moment.”

“But you see, ma’am, by the time we replace the wheel, it’ll be dark. And if the snow continues to fall, I’ll be hard-pressed to see the roadway.”

“You’re right, of course,” she said with a discouraged sigh. “Let’s start back to the inn, as you suggest. If by that time there is no sign of clearing, we’ll do as you say and put up there for the night.”

The agreement made, Timmy went off to unhitch the horses. George continued to study the broken wheel. “I wonder if there’s some other damage,” he muttered. “I’d better take a look underneath and make sure the axle is still sound.”

He lay down on his back upon the snow blanket and slid under the tilted carriage. “Everything seems to be—” he began, when one of the horses Timmy was untying reared up on its hind legs, pulling on the reins that tied it to the phaeton. The carriage shook, the rear right wheel cracked, and the rear of the carriage gave way, pinning George down at the hipline.

Livy gasped and clapped her hands to her mouth in terror.

Bridie screamed, “Michty me!”

Timmy came running round from the front, took one look at the pair of legs sticking out from under the tilted carriage, and cried out in horror, “Oh, m’lord, I’ve
killed
ye!”

A voice came from below. “No, no. I’m alright. I just can’t... move.”

“Can’t move?” Timmy knelt down beside the legs. “Blimee! ‘Ave ye broken yer back?”

“No,” came George’s voice, “I’m all right, I think.”

Livy knelt opposite Timmy. “Move your legs, my lord, if you can,” she called under the carriage to him.

The booted feet wiggled and, slowly, the knees came up. “There,” George said.

“Can you move your arms, too?” Livy asked.

“Yes, though there’s not much room. I seem to be pinned down here.”

Timmy got up and pushed against the side of the phaeton. “The deuced carriage can’t be budged,” he muttered.

“Couldn’t we dig him out?” Livy asked, getting to her feet.

“Even if I ‘ad a shovel, which I ain’t,” the tiger said, kicking at the ground under the snow, “the ground’s frozen solid. If there wasn’t a drift o’ snow on the ground, ‘is lordship’d be crushed fer certain.”

Livy paced about for a moment, studying the situation. Then she turned to Timmy. “Have you any rope?”

“That I ‘ave,” the tiger said, his face lighting with hope. “A coil of it, under the box. What was ye thinkin’?”

“I’m thinking that we could tie it round the frame of the door up there, bring the horses round to the side, attach them to the rope, and have them pull the carriage up.”

“It wouldn’t work,” George called out from below. “They’d pull the door off its hinges before they could budge this damn weight off the ground.”

There was a discouraging silence for a moment. Then George spoke again. “Is Timmy nearby?”

“Yes, m’lord,” Timmy said, kneeling down close to the carriage frame.

“Put the women and yourself on the horses and get to the inn,” George ordered. “Then send as many men as you can find back here to lift this damn carriage off me.”

“No!” Livy said decidedly. “We will not leave you here alone.”

“Yes, you will,” George shouted angrily. “For once, woman, do as you’re told.”

“Be still, will you? I have another plan.” She knelt down close to the carriage frame. “Why couldn’t we pull the rope through the windows of both doors and loop it up over the roof?” she asked the imprisoned George. “The horses couldn’t pull the roof off, could they? They’d only have to lift it a few inches off the ground ... just enough to give us room to pull you out.”

“It might work,” George granted. “You could try.”

Timmy immediately ran to the box and got the rope. Livy climbed up to the left-side door—which was now like an angled roof—and passed the rope through the window to the right-side window, under which Bridie was waiting to catch it. Then the maid tossed her end over the top, where Livy caught it and handed both ends to Timmy, who had brought both horses round to the side.

As he tied both ends of the rope to the horses’ collars and saddle straps, Livy ran back to George’s legs. “We’re ready,” she told him, “but don’t move until I give the word.” She waved to Timmy, who took hold of the bridles and slowly urged the horses forward.

The rope tightened as the horses strained forward, and then the carriage creaked. “Slowly!” Livy shouted to Timmy. “It’s coming.”

The carriage frame began to lift from the ground, inch by creaking inch. When it lifted about a hand span above George’s body, she shouted “Stop!” She and Bridie each took a leg and gently pulled. After a moment, George, using his elbows, helped them to haul him out.

“He’s out!” she shouted to Timmy. “You can ease off now.”

“Praise be!” Timmy shouted back as he eased his hold on the horses and let the carriage fall back down.

Meanwhile, Livy was helping George to his feet. “Do you think you can stand?” she asked, releasing her hold on him. George straightened up and took a few steps. “There!” he said, grinning. “I’m fine.” And then a knee gave way.

“Oh, my dear!” Livy cried, grasping him under his arms.

“No, it’s nothing,” he assured her, shaking off her hold and getting up again. “It’s my hip. It’s probably nothing more than a bruise. I can walk.” And to prove it, he limped in a circle around her.

“Oh, Georgie!” she said with a tearful laugh and threw her arms around him. “I’m so relieved.”

He held her for a moment before taking her arms from his neck and holding her off. “What did you call me?”

She didn’t understand what he’d said. “What?” she asked.

“You called me Georgie!” he accused.

“Oh.” She brushed a tear from her cheek and smiled. “Well, Felicia always calls you that. I’ve become used to thinking of you that way. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I think I like it when you say it. Do you think, now that you’ve saved my life, that I may call you Livy, as Felicia does?”

“Of course you may. But I did not save your life. You’re only bruised.”

“But if not for your quick thinking, I might have had to lie there in the snow for hours. I might very well have frozen to death.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “You, Livy, are a very remarkable woman.”

Livy, unaccustomed to gallantry, snatched her hand away in embarrassment. “Don’t be so silly. Instead of standing about speaking nonsense, we should be making our way back to the inn.”

George could not but agree. In a very few moments, the horses were brought round, and with Timmy and Bridie on one and George and Livy on the other, they made their way carefully through the snow and the darkness toward the promise of shelter.

FOURTEEN

At that moment, in London, Bernard was wheeling himself over to the window to draw the curtains for the night. To his horror, he saw that snowflakes were beginning to fall. “Dash it, George, why aren’t you back?” he cried aloud. “If this is a storm coming down from the north, you’ll never make it now!”

His man, Pratkin, knocked at the door.
The blasted fellow must have heard me,
Bernard thought in annoyance. “Come in,” he grunted, making his disgust clear in his tone.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but—” the valet began as he closed the door carefully behind him.

“You’re not a bit sorry,” Bernard said belligerently, wheeling his chair about to face the intruder. The movement was so abrupt that the lap robe over his knees slipped to the floor. “You know perfectly well that I wanted to be left alone.”

“Yes, sir, but you see, there’s—”

“There’s always a but, isn’t there, Pratkin, when you want your own way?”

Pratkin had been Bernard’s valet too long to be disturbed by his master’s moods. “Since when do I ever get my own way?” he retorted calmly as he picked up the lap robe and spread it over Bernard’s knees.

“When
don’t
you get your own way? Do you think I’m such a fool that I don’t know how you rule the roost?”

Pratkin merely rolled his eyes heavenward. “Be that as it may, sir, I came up for a reason. I think you should ask me why.”

“To annoy me, that’s why.” Bernard turned his chair around toward his desk.

“To tell you that you have a visitor,” Pratkin said.

The wheelchair stopped. “A visitor?” Bernard wheeled about again, his face lighting up hopefully. “It’s not—?”

“No, sir, it’s not Lord Chadleigh. He wouldn’t wait to be announced. It’s a lady come to see you.”

Bernard paled. “A
lady!
Who on earth—?”

“It’s Miss Renwood,” Pratkin said, a glint in his eyes belying the impassivity of his face.

“Miss Renwood?” Bernard was completely taken aback. “Do you mean
Harriet?
Good God! Harriet,
here? Now?
”

“Yes, sir, here and now. Shall I show her up?”

“Well, of course show her up! You blasted idiot, how could you have stood there bantering all this while when she’s been waiting downstairs?” He ran his fingers through his hair in perturbation. “Hurry down at once!”

“Yes, sir,” Pratkin said, and went promptly toward the door.

“Wait!” Bernard wheeled himself toward his valet, his color now flushed and his eyes terrified. “Do you think this shabby old coat is ... ? Perhaps I should get up on my crutches and put on that silk dressing gown.”