Encounter with Venus (23 page)

“How do you do, Lord Leyton?” Harriet said, offering her hand to him. She then smiled at George, but merely nodded coolly to Bernard and turned away.
Oh, well done, my love!
Bernard said to himself proudly.

Meanwhile, Elaine was using the time to flirt with every man in the room, one after the other, including her host and the groom-to-be, but saving George for last.

She brazenly sidled up to him and, detaching him from the others by hooking her arm into his, asked in a soft, cooing voice if he would escort her in to dinner.

“It will be my honor,” he answered without returning her smile. His manner was polite and pleasant, but inside he was seething. Escorting Elaine Whitmore in to dinner was not at all what he’d planned, but the manner of her request had trapped him.
I’m caught,
he thought,
but I’ll be damned if I stand here and let her flicker her lashes at me.
In desperation he tried to find a way to escape. He glanced down at the glass he was holding; fortunately he hadn’t yet taken a sip. “But first, if you will excuse me, I must deliver this drink,” he said and bowed himself away.

He brought the drink directly to Livy, uncomfortably aware that Elaine was watching. Livy was seated on a sofa with Horace, but George had no choice but to barge in. “Here’s your drink, Miss Henshaw,” he said loudly, trying, with a wink and a slight movement of his head in Elaine’s direction, to indicate he needed her assistance. Desperately.

“My drink?” Livy glanced in the direction he’d indicated, saw Elaine staring at them, and understood. “Oh, yes, thank you,” she said, quite willing to help him out of his difficulty. “Won’t you join us, my lord?” She patted the place beside her in spite of Horace’s obvious irritation at this intrusion. George, with a smile of gratitude, sat right down.

Livy wondered why she’d aided him. Here it was, just the start of the evening, and by inviting him to sit, she’d already weakened her resolve. Of course, she’d only done it to help him avoid the predatory Elaine. She would have done the same for any needy nephew. And to prove to herself that she had
some
character, she would refrain from giving the needy nephew any further attention. Therefore, she simply turned away from him to Horace, soothing that neglected swain by telling him how much she’d enjoyed their outing in the park the day before.

Soon dinner was announced. Elaine promptly appeared in front of the sofa to claim her escort. George got to his feet and offered his arm. As they moved across the room toward the dining room, Bernard, who happened to be just in front of them, stumbled on a small bump in the carpet. Harriet, not very far behind, gave a loud gasp and rushed forward. George, however, had already caught his friend’s arm and kept him from falling. “Don’t worry, Harriet,” he assured the frightened girl, “he’s fine.”

Harriet, embarrassed at the thought that she’d given the game away, felt her cheeks grow hot, but Bernard realized that everyone else in the room had been alarmed as well and had therefore not taken particular notice of Harriet’s reaction. He lowered his hand and felt for hers. He managed to grasp it and, hiding it in the folds of her skirt, gave it a reassuring squeeze. That was enough to restore her confidence. “I’m not in the least worried,” she said to George with exaggerated indifference, tossing her head and turning away.

Elaine leaned happily on George’s arm as the assemblage moved decorously to the dining room, pleased that he, being of the highest rank in this group, was expected to lead the parade. But this was his sister’s house, and a small, informal party, and George had no intention of being first. Instead, stepping aside and bowing to Algy, he passed the honor over to the bridegroom-to-be. Algy, proudly leading his bride-to-be, marched with appropriate dignity into the dining room at the head of the line.

Once inside, Elaine was doomed to a second disappointment. She’d assumed that since George was her escort, he’d therefore be seated beside her at the table, but this, too, was not to happen. Felicia had prepared a seating plan with great care. There was to be promiscuous seating: Beatrice, Horace, Livy, and George on Leyton’s right, and Algy, Harriet, Bernard, and Elaine on his left, with Felicia herself at the foot. No mistake would be made, for gold-edged place cards were prominently displayed at each setting.

Elaine found her card at Felicia’s end of the table, with Bernard next to her. George’s place was opposite, but Elaine could see at once that it would be almost impossible to carry on a conversation with him across so wide a space and over such a dismaying array of glasses, candlesticks, and flowers. George, on Felicia’s left, had no such disappointment, for as Felicia had promised, Livy was right beside him on his left. However, with Horace seated on her other side, George knew he had his work cut out for him.

Bernard also realized there were difficulties ahead. Felicia had put Harriet on his right and Elaine at his left. Conversing with Harriet was, of course, taboo, and conversing with a shallow, narcissistic creature like Elaine would surely make him feel like an awkward schoolboy. He’d accepted Felicia’s invitation thinking the game he’d concocted with Harriet would be fun, but now he wondered if he’d made a huge mistake.

When everyone was seated, Leyton tapped on a wineglass for attention. As two footmen circled the table filling glasses with champagne, he smiled down at the betrothed couple and lifted his glass. “Beatrice, Algy, my wife tells me that it behooves me to say a few wise words about the happiness that awaits you in your wedded life. I regret that I have no wise words. Nothing that anyone can tell you about wedded life can truly prepare you for it.” Here he cast a mischievous glance at his wife, who retorted by sticking her tongue out at him. “Marriage,” he went on, serenely unperturbed, “is like a forest, with all sorts of surprises lurking behind the trees. I can only pray that your good sense and good natures will guide you through. May you have joy in the great adventure you are about to undertake. Ladies and gentlemen, raise your glasses. Here’s to Beatrice and Algy.”

The others got to their feet, echoed those last words, and downed their champagne. Algy then rose, unfolded a paper he’d removed from his breast pocket, and read aloud the speech he’d prepared. It was a flowery encomium about his great good fortune in having been accepted by the world’s most beautiful and charming woman and his unworthiness to be so rewarded. Not only was his lack of spontaneity ludicrous, but the performance was so stodgy and pompous that George had difficulty in restraining a laugh. He looked across at Bernard, whom he knew would share his amusement, but to his surprise discovered that Bernard was exchanging an amused glance with Harriet. At that moment they did not seem to be at odds.
Is it possible,
George asked himself,
that they’ve so suddenly made up their quarrel?

With the ceremonial duties done, Felicia signaled for the first course to be served. Usually at this point the table would be alive with conversation and laughter, but Felicia noted that the atmosphere seemed strangely subdued. Horace was speaking rather loudly to Livy, but otherwise all was silence.

To the hostess’s dismay, this constrained atmosphere continued through the soup course and the two courses following. Harriet tried to converse with Algy, but after congratulating him on his little speech, she could not find a subject that appeared to interest him. Elaine tried to flirt with Bernard, but she could not get him to look up from his plate no matter how many times she made a half-round turn to give him a proper glimpse of her bountiful gifts. What was worse, George, too, was refraining from sending glances at those gifts from across the table. Elaine was not accustomed to such inattention. In order to pour balm on her wounded feelings, she kept signaling the footman stationed behind her to refill her champagne goblet. At least the
footman’s
eyes popped whenever he bent over her.

Even Horace was finding it difficult to keep up a conversation with Livy; it seemed to him that her mind was somewhere far away. George was just as unsuccessful in getting her attention. He’d tried several times to speak to her, but she invariably put him off with a dismissive monosyllable. In between rejections, he kept an eye on Harriet and Bernard, to see if he could verify his impression of their reconciliation. But there was never a repeat of that intimate glance. They both sat in stony silence, neither acknowledging the other’s existence. After a while, George began to wonder if that glance between them had been nothing more than a product of his own imagination.

The atmosphere brightened when the main entree was served. It was
Agneau de la Maintenant,
grilled lamb slices redolent with herbs and smothered in shallot gravy. The fragrance that permeated the air was delectable enough to lift the most flagging of spirits. Felicia took hope. Perhaps it needed nothing more than good food to save a dinner party from the doldrums.

George tried once more to persuade Livy to speak to him. He had one ace up his sleeve and decided this was the time to play it. He leaned over to her and whispered in her ear, “I’ve decided, ma’am, to lower the cost of repaying that debt you owe me.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “What debt?”

“You know very well what debt. Didn’t you yourself admit that the effect of my scolding of your uncle put you in my debt?”

She sighed and put down her fork. “I told you I was grateful. Very grateful.” Dropping her eyes from his, she added softly, “I know I’m in your debt, George. You’ve always been kind to me. Too kind.”

“Then return the kindness,” he responded promptly. “Pay off your debt to me.”

“But a truly good deed, my lord, should be done from the heart, not in the hope of a selfish reward,” she pointed out. “Your wishing to be paid contaminates the deed. It makes the doing of it far less noble.”

He would not let her shame him. “I agree. I am not noble.”

“I won’t believe you lack nobility,” she insisted.

“But I do. And I wish to be paid. I’m offering you a bargain, my girl. I will make the payment easy. You needn’t go riding with me if you don’t wish to. All you need do is to talk to me. Right now. Is that too ignoble an offer?”

She couldn’t help considering the offer. Though she’d made a pledge to herself to keep him at a distance, she asked herself if it would be a very great compromise of that pledge to talk to him a bit.
No, not very,
she answered herself,
if I’m careful not to let the exchange go too far.
“Very well, I’ll accept your offer,” she said, “because I do not enjoy being indebted to anyone. But if I do as you ask, will that be the last payment I have to make?”

“Yes, on my word of honor.”

“Well, then,” she prompted, bracing herself, “what is it you want to talk about?”

He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I want to know why you don’t like me.”

Her eyes widened. She hadn’t expected such bluntness. “But I do like you, George,” she said.

“No, you don’t. You won’t go riding with me, though you did with that lumpish clod sitting next to you, and I know you don’t really like him.”

She frowned at him in disgust. “In the first place, you have no way of knowing whether I like him or not. And, incidentally, I do not approve of you calling him a lumpish clod. And in the second place, I can like you whether I go out riding with you or not.”

“No you can’t. If you truly like me, what reason can there be for you to refuse to go with me?”

She had to smile. “The answer, my dear, can be found in this silly conversation. You sound like a spoilt little boy, whining, ‘You gave
him
a sugar tart, but not
me!
’
I like that little boy, truly I do, the way a maiden aunt likes a charming but spoilt nephew. But I don’t have to go riding with him.”

George’s face fell. “Is
that
what I am to you?” he asked, appalled. “A spoilt little nephew?”

She patted his hand, auntlike. “A spoilt, charming nephew. Whom I quite like.”

She was making sport of him, but he felt as if she’d given him a blow to the solar plexus. He lowered his head and sat there, stunned.

Livy was surprised at what seemed to her a strange reaction—she’d expected him to laugh. But she couldn’t dwell on it. She had to respond to Horace, who’d been insistently tapping on her shoulder.
It seems the conversation is over,
she said to herself ruefully as she turned away.
My debt is paid.

Meanwhile, Elaine had been watching George shower the attention she so deeply craved on a dowdy spinster who, she believed, had not an iota of her looks and charm. To assuage her feelings of offended self-esteem, she’d been having her champagne glass repeatedly refilled. She was now quite cast away. Waving her champagne glass unsteadily, she leaned toward Bernard. “You have t’admit,” she said, breathing into his face drunk-enly, “that I’m a gool deed ... a
good deal
prettier than ‘er!”

Poor Bernard leaned back in his chair to get as far away from her as he could, but she only leaned closer. “Don’ y’ think I’m a gool deed prettier?” she demanded, still waving her glass about. She was almost on top of him, her barely clad breasts pressing against his chest. He flung out an arm to free himself, hitting her outstretched arm. Her glass flew out of her hand and fell into Harriet’s lap.

Harriet gave a little scream and jumped up. Bernard, horrified, shoved Elaine from his chest, crying out, “Harriet, dearest, I’m so sorry!” Elaine, meanwhile, fell upon the table, her shoulder plopping into Bernard’s platter of half-eaten, generously sauced
Agneau de la Maintenant.