Encounter with Venus (19 page)

Don’t be surprised if, when you come, you find us already entertaining a guest. My friend Livy (Miss Olivia Henshaw whom you were so kind as to escort to Scotland last month, remember?) is coming down for a month’s holiday in town and has agreed to stay with us.

Speaking of my friends, I wonder if you know that Elaine Whitmore is in town, staying with her mother on Dover Street? I hope it isn’t a breach of honor if I hint to you she would be delighted to have you call on her.

Your loving sister, Felicia.

It was not that Felicia’s babble (a message that could have been put in six words—
we’re coming to London January third
—was sprawled over two pages) was in itself particularly interesting. But one bit of the letter caught him by surprise and actually made his pulse quicken. Livy was coming to London!

He read the sentence over and over.
Miss Olivia Henshaw whom you were so kind as to escort to Scotland last month, remember?
(Remember? As if he could ever forget!)
is coming to town.
Those few words provoked a turmoil in his mind. Wild speculations, intriguing possibilities, and puzzling questions swirled through his brain like bees in a hive. Livy was coming! How was it possible? Why had her uncle permitted it? Had his own insulting, uncalled-for diatribe actually had an effect on the monstrous Sir Andrew? That seemed unlikely. What was more likely was the possibility that the old fellow had passed away. But if that was true, would Livy give herself a holiday so soon after the event? That did not seem likely either.

Whatever the answers, Felicia’s letter made one thing clear: Livy was coming! He would be seeing her again ... and in less than a week. He felt like getting up and dancing round the table. The paper in his hand was actually shaking.

The paper was shaking.
He suddenly took notice of the trembling of his hand. He blinked at it in astonishment. Why, he wondered, was his hand trembling? What did it mean? What was causing this overwrought feeling of both agitation and excited anticipation?

He got up and paced about the room until a possible explanation occurred to him. The possibility made his knees strangely weak.
Good God,
he thought in shock, sinking back down on his chair,
can I be in love with someone I once believed was a dried-up old spinster?

TWENTY-SEVEN

On the third of January, as promised, Felicia and Leyton came down to London and settled into their townhouse on Grosvenor Street. A few days later Livy arrived. She was driven up to the Leyton House door in a shiny new coach. Kelby, who’d come out to assist her to descend, was surprised by the new carriage, for he remembered vividly the shabby old barouche in which she’d arrived at the Abbey not many weeks before. And when he saw her climb down wearing an elegant cloak with a fur-trimmed hood, followed by Bridie carrying a shiny new bandbox, he wondered if Miss Henshaw had suddenly come into money.

After sending Bridie off with two footmen to assist her, Kelby led the new arrival to the sitting room, where Felicia had been engrossed in examining the new fashions illustrated in
La Belle Assemblée.
At the sight of her guest, Felicia jumped up, tossed aside the magazine, ran across the room, and embraced her with enthusiasm. “Livy, dearest! I’m so delighted that you’ve come!” she cried excitedly. “I’ve been longing for your company.”

Kelby cleared his throat. “Shall I serve tea, m’lady?”

“Yes, of course, but not right at this moment.” She turned to her friend. “Livy, love, before we sit down for tea and a good coze, do come upstairs and let me show you the room I’ve prepared for you.”

Livy followed her to the stairs. As they climbed up, Felicia revealed some exciting news. “You won’t believe it, but something delightful has resulted from my house party last month. Beatrice Rossiter is going to marry Algy Thomsett!”

“Oh, my!” Livy exclaimed. “That
is
delightful news. I think it a lovely match—he so shy and she so . .. so .. .”

“So nattering,” Felicia supplied, laughing. “Yes, I do believe it is a good pairing. And it proves I have some talent as a matchmaker, no matter what Leyton says.” They reached the second floor and proceeded down the hall. “I’m giving a dinner party to celebrate the betrothal, and—”

But they’d arrived at the guest room. Felicia threw open the door. “There!” she announced proudly. “I’ve had it done especially for you. I hope you like it.”

Livy looked round, wide-eyed. The room was large and bright, with windows facing Grosvenor Square. The furnishings were charming, the lace draperies at the windows and over the bed frame were fit for a queen, and Felicia had placed an enormous bowl of yellow winter mums on the bedside table as a special welcome. Livy, whose bedroom at home was a dark, unadorned chamber like a. cell in a nunnery, was overwhelmed. “Oh, how lovely,” she sighed happily.

“I want you to make yourself completely at home,” Felicia urged. “I’ve put Bridie in a room right next to you, and of course my abigail will always be available to you. Don’t be shy about asking for anything you desire.”

“I can’t imagine that I’ll be wanting for a thing,” Livy assured her, gesturing at the dressing table laden with soaps and lotions and perfumes. She took a seat at it and began to untie her bonnet.

Felicia came up behind her friend and examined her in the mirror. “You look so very well!” she exclaimed as soon as Livy had removed the hat. “You’re not wearing that dreadful spinster’s cap. Without it, you look ten years younger than when I saw you last.”

“I doubt that”—Livy laughed—”but I do admit that I’m not as strained as I was. Life has been a bit easier for me of late.”

“Has it really? Your uncle is better, then?”

“Yes. Much better.”

Felicia perched on the bed. “I guessed as much when you wrote that he was permitting you to come to town— and for a whole month!”

Livy turned round on the chair. “I can hardly believe the change in him,” she said, her voice revealing her inner amazement. “He doesn’t remain in bed all day, as he was used to. He gets up every morning and lets Peters dress him in proper clothes instead of merely a robe. And he actually takes a stroll in the garden when the weather permits, though there haven’t been many days during this past December that would entice anyone out of doors.” She shook her head as if she still couldn’t believe her own words. “He’s so changed it seems almost a miracle. And do you know who brought it about? Your brother!”

“What?”
Felicia gaped at her. “My
Georgie?”

“Yes, your Georgie. Did he not tell you what he did?”

“No. Not a word. When he came to call the other day, I asked him about his trip to Scotland. All he would say was that it snowed and delayed his return.”

“There was a great deal more to the delay than that,” Livy said.

“Tell me!” Eagerly, Felicia tucked up her knees and settled in to hear the tale. “Tell me
all!
”

Livy was perfectly willing to do so. “George was snowed in, you know, and very unhappy at being delayed. As soon as the snowstorm passed, he and his tiger set off for London. I was sure I’d seen the last of him. But a few hours later—I
can’t imagine why—he came back. I heard him running up the stairs. I didn’t know it was he, of course, but as soon as I reached the corridor outside my uncle’s bedroom, I learned from the butler what had happened. George had driven back to the castle, dashed up to my uncle’s bedroom, thrown Peters—my uncle’s valet—out of the room, and bolted the door. When I got there, Peters and McTavish were trying to get in, but the door is huge and heavy. Though we could hear George shouting, we couldn’t make out what he was saying. He evidently gave my uncle a devastating tongue-lashing. Then he came out, rushed past us, and was off again. Did you ever hear the like?”

“My Georgie did that?” Felicia asked in disbelief. “I can’t credit it! I’ve never known him to be a rudesby.”

“Perhaps it was rude,” Livy granted, “but my uncle has not been the same man since that day. He’s still gruff, of course, but what is most wonderful is how loving he’s been to me. Behind the gruff exterior, he’s suddenly begun to show concern for me. He puts shawls over my shoulders. He asks me if I’ve slept well or if I’d dined. He actually insisted that I make this trip. He says I must have some enjoyment of life before it is too late.”

“Amazing!” Felicia’s brow knit thoughtfully. “And you think it was Georgie’s words that made the change?”

“What else could it have been?” Livy turned back to the dressing table and stared at herself in the mirror. “One of my most important purposes in coming to town,” she said quietly, “is to thank George for what he did.” She lowered her head, leaning her forehead on the glass. “I was not very polite to him during his stay, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, pooh. Georgie is not the sort who would want thanks.”

“Perhaps not. But I must do it anyway, for my own peace of mind.” She turned and gave her hostess a small but determined smile. “If you’ll give me his direction, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

On the morrow, however, George received another visitor. On his return from a brisk canter in the park, he discovered Harriet Renwood, whom he’d not seen all month, standing in his doorway, hesitating to knock. He saw that she was in tears again. “Good heavens, Harriet, what’s amiss?” he asked. She was too choked to answer, so he led her inside, ushering her down the hall to the library and into a chair. It took several minutes before she regained control of her emotions. “It’s your deuced friend Bernard,” she said when she was at last able to speak calmly.

“I surmised as much. What did he do this time?”

“It’s what he didn’t do.” She took a deep breath. “I was walking down Regent Street, on an errand for Mama, when I saw him on the opposite side. I called to him, but he kept walking. So I ran after him. I actually crossed the road and ran after him!” She paused and took another breath.

“And?” George prodded.

“I planted myself right before him,” she said tightly, trying not to cry again, “and I said, ‘Good morning, Bernard.’ And he... he...”

“Yes?”

She could not stop another burst into tears. “He t-told m-me to
s-s-step aside and l-let him p-p-pass!
”
And she dropped her head in her hands and succumbed to heartrending sobs.

“Please don’t cry, Harriet,” George begged. He felt completely inadequate to deal with this outpouring. The only thing he could think of to do was to offer sympathy. He knelt down before her and took her hands. “Bernard doesn’t ... he didn’t... Don’t cry, Harriet, please!”

At that moment, the library door opened. Wesley, leading Livy into the room, was saying, “You may wait here, Miss Henshaw. His lordship is sure to be back in a—” At the sight of his master on his knees before a weeping woman, he stopped short.

George leaped up and wheeled about, his heart pounding. “Livy!” he cried in delighted surprise.

But Livy, equally surprised, could not show an equal delight. She paled, and a hand flew up to cover her gaping mouth. There was a moment of stunned silence. Then she mumbled awkwardly, “I’m dreadfully sorry... this intrusion ... I didn’t know... I’ll be back some other time,” and she fled.

“I wasn’t told you had company, my lord,” the butler mumbled, hastily backing out and closing the door.

George took a step toward the door, wanting to cry out, “Livy, wait!” But the door was firmly closed, the sound of running footsteps already far away, and Harriet was sitting behind him, waiting for his attention. Reluctantly, his mind in a whirl, he turned back to her.

She was leaning forward, looking up at him. Her cheeks still wet with tears, but her eyes were puzzled. “Did my presence cause you some difficulty?” she asked worriedly.

“No, of course not,” he said, trying to regain his equilibrium.

“Is that woman a friend of yours?”

He blinked at her. “Woman?”

“You called her Livy.”

He felt his fingers clench. “The ‘woman’ is a friend of my sister’s,” he said shortly.

Harriet peered at him. “Heavens, have I offended you, too?”

“What makes you ask that?”

“I don’t know. Something about your manner. It’s changed since that little interruption.”

She was right. He had to pull himself together. “Then let’s change it back,” he said, trying to concentrate on her problem. “We were speaking of Bernard.”

“Yes. I was describing to you how he gave me the cut direct.” She wiped her cheeks and sat back in her chair. “When you and I last spoke of him, George, you explained that he needed some time to get over being ‘peckish.’ A month has passed since then, and from this morning’s evidence, he seems in a state a great deal worse than peckish. He’s terribly angry at me and shows no sign of getting over it. Please, George, you must tell me what it is I’ve done wrong.”

George didn’t know how to answer. “I don’t understand it myself, Harriet. You must ask him.”

“How can I ask him if he won’t speak to me?”

George felt helpless, trapped in a situation that was beyond him. He wanted only for this interview to end. Suddenly weary to the bone, he sank down on the sofa opposite her chair. “I don’t know,” he said glumly.