Encounter with Venus (3 page)

Felicia took due note of the gleam in her brother’s eyes. “Georgie,” she said with a triumphant smile, “this is Miss Elaine Whitmore.”

Whitmore? Not Henshaw?
George was too well trained in social etiquette to let his disappointment show. “Delighted to meet you, Miss Whitmore,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips.

Leyton came up behind him at that moment. “And we mustn’t forget to make you known to Miss Henshaw,” he declared, pointing toward the fireplace and the winged chair.

George felt his spirits lift again.
At last!
he thought, his blood bubbling up again in his veins. “Yes, Miss Henshaw by all means!”

They came up behind the chair. “George, may I present our dear friend, Miss Olivia Henshaw. Livy, turn round and say a how-de-do to my brother-in-law, George.”

“Miss Henshaw,” George said, an eager smile lighting his face. “I’ve long been looking forward—”

She turned and looked up at him. At the meeting of their eyes, the world seemed to freeze. The words he was about to say caught in his throat. It was as if he’d been boxing with a weakling who’d suddenly turned and dealt him a smashing blow to his stomach. He almost reeled. Was
this
his Venus? It couldn’t be true! She was so far from what he’d imagined that he was stunned. Of course, he’d never really seen her face, but
this
face— the eyes starkly dark, the skin pallid, the cheeks hollow, and the lips thin and pursed as if in utter disapproval of all those eyes looked upon—did not seem to belong to the body he remembered. Even the body that he now saw could not be the same. The spare form he could discern under the dark blue muslin dress bore no resemblance to the luscious curves he so clearly remembered. From the top of her head, where her dull brown hair was pinned in a severe bun, to the hem of her governesslike dress, she was in no way a Venus.

His dream, his Venus, his Olivia Henshaw, was but
a dried-up spinster!

Sophisticated though he was, he was incapable of hiding his shock. He could feel his jaw drop, and he knew his eyes must reveal something of his distress. Miss Henshaw did not misread his expression. She stared at him in cool surprise. “I seem to have disappointed you, Lord Chadleigh,” she said.

“Oh, no,” George said quickly, feeling his neck reddening. “No, indeed.”

“Then why do you look so ... so crestfallen?”

Damn the woman,
he thought in despair.
On top of everything else, she’s blunt to a fault
“Well, I... you see, er...” he mumbled.

“Yes?” she asked, eyeing him askance.

He had to take himself in hand. “Neither disappointed nor crestfallen, ma’am,” he said, forcing a smile. “Only surprised. I... er... expected someone else.”

“Another
Olivia Henshaw?” Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“Well, I... I...”

“Good God, Georgie,” Leyton muttered in his ear, “what’s wrong with you?”

But George was saved further embarrassment by the butler’s announcement that dinner was served.

“Let me take you in, Livy,” Leyton said, gently elbowing the stunned George aside and offering the lady his arm.

Miss Henshaw rose and took it. As they passed the still-stricken George, Miss Henshaw did not look at him. Leyton urged her to go on ahead for a moment and, leaning close to George’s ear, hissed, “Don’t stand there like a chinch, man. Pull yourself together and escort Miss Whitmore in. She’s more your style, eh?”

George gave himself a shake and did as he was bid. The hosts and their guests took their seats at the table, and dinner commenced with what seemed like perfectly ordinary good spirits. But to George, the atmosphere seemed unreal. Nightmarish. He hardly heard what was being said to him, though he managed to answer the questions being thrown at him by the lovely Miss Whitmore on his left and to obey the demands for attention of the overbearing Lady Sophy on his right. Although Miss Henshaw was seated on the other side of the table, as far from him as it was possible to be, he could not keep himself from looking over at her every few moments. It was a strange compulsion, not unlike the tendency to pick at a painful scab one is ordered not to touch. At one point Felicia remarked aloud that her brother seemed unusually quiet, but Lady Sophy patted his arm and declared she liked the quiet sort. Miss Whitmore, too, seemed content enough with his monosyllabic replies to her remarks. He himself thought he did quite well under the circumstances. After all, he was a man in mourning. A long-cherished dream had just died.

FOUR

Felecia was not happy. Her house party was not proceeding in the lively way she’d hoped. It seemed as if a fog of boredom had settled in over the entire assemblage. Here it was only ten o’clock in the evening, and everyone already looked sleepy. Poor Beatrice was singing “My Mother Bids Me Bind My Hair” with such quavering nervousness that it caused the listeners to feel discomfort at first and boredom at last. Lady Sophy was nodding, Georgie was staring straight ahead in the most unusual abstraction, and her own dear Leyton was stifling a yawn.

The song was entering its third chorus when the butler, Kelby, tiptoed in and whispered to Felicia that the Thomsetts had arrived.
Thank goodness,
she thought, leaping to her feet.
Perhaps a pair of new arrivals will enliven us.

Her abrupt movement caused Beatrice to stop right in the middle of a phrase. “Sorry,” Felicia murmured with a helpless shrug. “Do go on, Beatrice dear.” And with the stealthiest of steps, she followed Kelby out of the room.

In the foyer Kelby was helping the newly arrived gentlemen with their coats. Felicia paused a moment to study them. The new arrivals were not quite as prepossessing as her husband had led her to expect. One was a large man with powerful shoulders and a broad midsection, weighing a good three stone more than his under-sized, pallid brother. But appearances were often deceiving, she warned herself. With a sprinkling of wit or some charm of address they might do very well. Swallowing her disappointment, she put on a smile and greeted them. “I’m sorry Leyton is not with me,” she apologized, “but we could not both desert our guests.”

“Of course not, your ladyship,” the tall Thomsett said. “Our fault entirely for arriving so late. May I introduce myself? I’m Sir Horace Thomsett, and this is my brother Algernon.”

“I’m so glad to meet you at last,” Felicia said, offering her hand to both. “Leyton has sung your praises so often.”

Horace turned her aside, and in a hushed voice explained that his brother, Algernon, had taken ill on the road. “It was an attack of pernicious dyspepsia,” he murmured, “so severe that we felt it necessary to stop at an inn until the symptoms abated.”

But his brother heard every word. “You needn’t whisper,” he said querulously, “and you needn’t make so much of a simple stomach upset caused by the rocking of the coach. I assure you, Lady Felicia, that I’m much better now.”

“Are you sure?” Felicia asked, turning to him. “Would you wish me to send for the doctor? Our Dr. Simmons is very good.”

“No, I think a good night’s sleep is all Algy needs,” Horace declared firmly.

“Really, Horace,” his brother whined, “I wish you wouldn’t always speak for me. But I suppose going to sleep would be wise.”

“Then you must go to bed at once,” Felicia said, and with a nod of her head, summoned the butler to show him the way.

Horace watched as the smaller brother followed Kelby up the stairs. “He’ll be a new man in the morning, you’ll see,” he assured Felicia.

“Do you suppose,” Felicia asked worriedly, “that he might wish a bit of supper brought up to his room?”

“No, I’m certain he won’t, although I myself must admit to being hungry.”

Felicia, resigning herself to the fact that these new arrivals would be no help at all in animating the party, nodded and led him to the morning room, where she offered him an aperitif while the remnants of the dinner were hastily reheated and brought to him. By the time he’d satisfied his hunger, the other guests had gone up to bed. “You’ll meet the others in the morning,” Felicia said with an apologetic smile as she bid him good night. But, she realized belatedly, with the men going off for some shooting, and the ladies probably staying abed for half the morning, there would not be an opportunity for proper introductions until teatime.

Later that night, Felicia tapped at her brother’s door. George was already half asleep. Bleary-eyed, barefoot, and in his nightshirt, he only partially opened the door. “You woke me,” he muttered reproachfully. Then, peering at her in the dim light of the candle she carried, he saw that she, too, was barefoot, although she was otherwise fully covered by a purple peignoir made voluminous by row upon row of lacy flounces. He couldn’t help laughing. “You look like a bunch of grapes,” he said.

She glared at him. “Thank you for the compliment. But never mind. May I come in?”

“At this late hour?”

“Oh, pooh, it’s not even eleven.” She brushed past him, placed her candle on his night table, and perched on his bed. “I want to talk to you.”

Capitulating, he closed the door and followed her. “Talk to me about what?”

“About what you think about her,” Felicia prodded eagerly.

“What is there to think about?” He threw himself upon a chair and replied grumpily, “She’s just as you said—too old for me.”

Felicia blinked in surprise. “Too old? What nonsense! She’s barely twenty!”

“Barely twenty? She looks forty to the day!” He eyed his sister suspiciously. “Didn’t you tell me she’s two years your senior?”

“I never said such a ridiculous thing! She’s younger than Beatrice, and Beatrice is a good eight years younger than I. Looks forty, indeed! Lady Sophy is forty, perhaps, but the only one under this roof who’s close to my age is—” She gasped as an idea suddenly burst upon her. “Goodness me, Georgie, are you speaking of
Livy!”

“Who else would I be speaking of?”

“You
are
a clunch! I told you quite plainly I didn’t invite you for Livy. It’s Elaine I’ve invited you to meet.”

George’s jaw dropped. “Have you been questioning me about
Miss Whitmore?
”

“Of course!”

“Oh!” He dropped his eyes from her face, feeling very foolish indeed.

Felicia studied him with knitted brow. “What made you think I wanted to speak to you of Livy? Does she interest you somehow?”

“No, of course not. This is a silly conversation. Go away, Felicia, and let me get to sleep.”

“She doesn’t at all look forty.”

“Very well, she doesn’t. I shouldn’t have said it. You know I’m a complete looby about such things.”

“Yes, you are.” Felicia, her brow still furrowed, got up and started toward the door. “So you have nothing to say about Elaine?”

“What is it you wish me to say?”

Felicia wheeled about in annoyance. “That she’s lovely. That you’re taken with her. That she’s just the sort you’d like to wed.”

George snorted. Handing her the candle, he turned her toward the door. “She’s a very pleasing young woman. And that, sister dear, is all you’ll get from me.” And, firmly propelling her out to the corridor, he wished her a very final “Good night.”

FIVE

Back in her room, Felicia climbed into bed beside her husband. Leyton sat up and studied her, trying to judge the success of her mission without prodding. He saw at once that it had not gone well. “Well, what did he say?” he asked at last.

“He said she’s pleasant.”

“That’s not very promising,” Leyton said.

“No, it’s not. He doesn’t show any interest in Elaine at all.”

“Well, I warned you. He’s never shown any interest in shallow females like Elaine, though he’s certainly had dozens like her thrown at him. I told you he wouldn’t be different this time.”

“But she’s so very beautiful. I’d hoped—”

“It’s a very superficial beauty, if you ask me,” Leyton muttered.

“Evidently Georgie thinks so, too,” Felicia sighed, discouraged. She leaned back against the pillows and turned a pair of puzzled eyes to her husband’s face. “Do you want to hear something quizzy, dearest? I think he’s interested in
Livy!
”

Leyton gave a scornful snort. “That’s ridiculous. He was positively rude to her when I introduced them.”

“Rude?
Georgie?
”
She couldn’t believe her ears. “In what way? Georgie would never be rude to a lady! What did he say that you thought was rude?”

“It wasn’t quite what he said. It was how he looked. As if ... as if .. . Oh, I don’t know.” He scratched his head in a gesture of helplessness. “I can’t explain. It’s only a feeling. Let’s forget it and go to sleep.”

But Felicia couldn’t drop the subject. “I don’t understand it. There’s something strange about all this. When I asked him about Elaine, before I actually mentioned her name, he immediately assumed I was speaking of Livy. As if Elaine had not made the slightest impression on him! How is it possible that Livy, who is not breathtaking even when she’s in looks—and these days she’s certainly not at all at her best—can have impressed my flirtatious brother more than the spectacular Elaine?”