Encounter with Venus (25 page)

“I’m sure it will be.” Her voice was calm and without the slightest hint that she was offended by his aspersion. But she couldn’t help thinking it ironic, if not very amusing, that Horace’s supposedly flattering offer of wedlock contained some very unflattering comments. He’d described her—quite repeatedly and in a variety of ways— as a spinster past her last hopes. She would have liked to laugh off his contemptuous comments, except that they were all too true.

Horace picked up the reins and set the horses back on the path. They rode for a while in a mortifying silence. Livy was wondering if she should attempt some casual conversation to ease the tension when Horace expelled a strange-sounding, angry guffaw. “If you believe that George Frobisher will come up to scratch, Miss Henshaw,” he sneered in tight-lipped petulance, “you’re only fooling yourself. He has his pick of the London belles. He’s only leading you on.”

“I think, Horace,” Livy said quietly, “that you’ve said quite enough. Please take me home.”

THIRTY-SIX

At the same time that Livy was receiving a marriage offer, George was deciding it was time to pay a call on Bernard. He’d not had a private moment with his friend since he’d heard the good news, and he knew Bernard had much to tell him. Besides, he had to apologize for his blunder of the night before.

Bernard was expecting him. The moment George walked in the door, Bernard hobbled over to him and, leaning on one crutch, gave him a fervent embrace with his one free arm. “I was going to tell you about the betrothal today, truly I was,” he swore, “no matter how much Lady Renwood would disapprove.”

“Does she know I gave the game away last night?” George asked as he went for Bernard’s wheelchair.

Bernard shrugged. “I suppose Harriet’s told her by now. But neither of us cares if she disapproves.” He sat down on his chair and grinned up at his friend. “We had a grand come-out last night and enjoyed it to the hilt. Lady Renwood’s party can only be an anticlimax.”

“I’m glad of that. I was afraid I’d pushed you into hot water.”

“Not at all. I think Harriet and I really
wanted
to be discovered.”

George, relieved of the necessity of making an apology, sat down and stretched out his legs. “Then, with that matter dispensed with,” he said, “I feel free to ask the question I’ve held back since I learned the news.”

“What question?”

“You know what question. Damnation, man, it was just a few days before that Harriet came to me in tears, complaining that you’d snubbed her in the street. How on earth did everything change so suddenly?”

“It was you, you chinch. You revealed to her how I felt about that blasted ball, did you not?”

“Yes, but—”

“It made her realize I’d completely misunderstood her motives, and she marched in here to set me straight. Well, one thing led to another and”—Bernard smiled at the recollection of what had happened next—”and here we are.”

“Not so fast, old fellow, not so fast,” George ordered. “I’d suggested a dozen times that you may have misunderstood her motives, but I couldn’t change your stubborn mind. How did Harriet manage it?”

“It was simple, really. When I accused her of doing it out of kindness toward a crippled man, she merely said that she is not as kind as all that.”

George’s brow knit. “That’s all? ‘I’m not as kind as all that’ was enough to convince you?”

“Yes, it was. If she’d not acted out of kindness, there had to be something more. And what more could there be? It was her way of telling me she loved me without actually saying it.”

George nodded thoughtfully. “Of course. I see. Kindness alone would not have been enough for you.”

“No, you don’t see,” Bernard said. “Kindness alone would have been completely inadequate.” He gave his friend a level look. “In my case, George, kindness is akin to pity. When one wants love, pity—or kindness, if you will—is an insult. Can you understand that?”

“I’m not sure,” George replied, rubbing his forehead. He was remembering another voice, saying,
You’ve always been kind to me, George. Too kind.
Somehow that memory made it seem urgent for him to fully understand. Was there a connection between what Bernard was telling him and what Livy had said?

After leaving Bernard, he went home and sat brooding in his study. He did understand why Bernard had rejected any sign of pity from the woman he loved. Bernard was crippled, but he didn’t want people to see only that when they looked at him. If they were kind to him, he probably felt that his impairment was all they were seeing. To be a friend—and, even more, to be a lover— one had to see far beyond that. Anyone can make himself feel kindness to someone who needs it. But one can’t make himself feel love. Love has to come on its own.

But how did this apply to Livy?
You have always been kind to me, George. Too kind.
Was Livy rejecting that kindness, as Bernard had? That was the question he had to answer. If the answer was yes, it would mean she wanted more from him. Love? And if she wanted it, did it mean that she felt love for him? How could that be, if she looked on him as a spoilt nephew?

She couldn’t love him. It wasn’t possible. She’d never shown him the slightest sign. Of course, there was
one
moment when... Just recalling it was enough to stir his blood. He’d kissed her once. He’d kissed her, and he’d felt her respond. She’d returned his kiss with real feeling. He was not such a fool or a coxcomb that he’d imagined more than was really there. He couldn’t be mistaken about her reaction. Could he?

But a kiss was only a kiss. Even if he was right about her reaction, it could only have been a momentary weakness. He had no evidence at all that she loved him. She’d told him she thought of him as a mere child.

Hours went by as the questions went round and round in his brain. By nightfall, he was desperate for answers, and the only way he could get them was from Livy herself. He would simply ask her. He would tell her, as Harriet had told Bernard, that he was not as kind as she thought. And, before she could answer, he would kiss her. He’d kiss her as he never kissed a woman before. And then he’d know.

He ran all the way. He arrived at Leyton House breathless and disheveled, and burst into the dining room where Felicia and Leyton were having their dinner. No one else was at the table. “Where’s Livy?” he demanded without preamble.

“Good God, Georgie, what’s the matter?” Felicia asked, startled.

“Sit down, George, and have some dinner,” Leyton said cheerfully. “This chicken is delicious.”

George gave an impatient shake of his head. “Where’s Livy, I said!”

“She’s gone,” Leyton said.

“What do you mean, gone?”

“You know what gone means, man,” Leyton teased, nevertheless keeping a pitying eye on his brother-in-law. “Not here. Away. Flown the coop.”

“Damnation, she can’t be gone!” George ran a hand through his hair. It was a gesture of desperation. “Gone where?”

“Back home,” Felicia said. “To Scotland.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

Felicia got to her feet and stared at the door that George had just slammed behind him. She didn’t understand what had passed. When she’d announced that Livy had returned home, her brother had gaped at her stupidly for a moment, as if he didn’t understand plain English, and then he’d blinked, turned on his heel, and stormed out. “What on earth’s the matter with him?” she asked in utter perplexity.

“I’ve told you what’s the matter,” Leyton said patiently. “Love is the matter. Do sit down, woman, and eat your dinner. The chicken’s getting cold.”

Felicia sat. “Do you truly believe he loves her?” she asked, picking up her fork but showing no indication of wanting to use it. “Livy thinks not.”

“Really?” Leyton asked curiously. “Did you discuss the matter with her?”

“Yes, I did.”

He raised an accusing eyebrow. “You never told me.”

“I was told in confidence.”

“What does that matter? I’m your husband. I thought you didn’t keep secrets from me.”

“I don’t keep my secrets from you,” she explained, “but I’m under no obligation to tell you my friends’ secrets.”

“Ha! As if you women can ever keep secrets.”

“Evidently, I kept this one,” she retorted proudly.

He shrugged. “Therefore you don’t intend to tell me why Livy thinks George doesn’t care for her?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Very well, then, let’s drop the subject. Eat your chicken.”

Felicia put down her fork. “But if you’re convinced he cares for her,” she said, vacillating, “then Livy may be mistaken.”

Her husband made no response but calmly continued to chew his food.

“Say something,” his wife demanded irritably.

“What can I say?” Leyton asked with irksome nonchalance. “I haven’t enough information to comment on the matter.”

Felicia squirmed in her chair, her face revealing her inner conflict. “If I give you the information, then you’ll accuse me of not keeping a secret.”

“It will be the truth, won’t it?”

“You, Montague Leyton, can sometimes be the most irritating man in the world.”

“Please pass the gravy,” was all he said.

Felicia gave a surrendering sigh. “She thinks George is only being kind to her,” she divulged guiltily, “but feels nothing stronger. She says he treats her like a maiden aunt he’s fond of.”

Leyton gave a snorting laugh “Maiden aunt, eh? That’s interesting.”

“In what way interesting?”

“Don’t you see? George doesn’t see her as a maiden aunt any more than you or I do. Livy believes it only because she sees
herself
that way.”

“Oh! Yes, that
is
interesting.” Felicia thought it over for a moment. “Then George must go and tell her he doesn’t! At once!”

“To Scotland?”

“Yes. Don’t you think he should?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Then, Leyton, my love, you should go at once and tell him so.”

“My dear wife,” Leyton said pompously, returning his attention to his food, “as you should know after ten years of marriage, I make it a rule not to interfere in other people’s affairs, especially their love affairs.”

“But this is George’s affair we’re speaking of! That rule cannot apply to George!”

“If you feel so strongly, tell him yourself.”

“I can’t do that,” she exclaimed, shocked. “I’d be betraying a confidence!”

He looked across the table at her with indulgent scorn. “But I would not?”

“No, of course not. She didn’t tell it to
you.
Please, Leyton, you must go at once.”

He put down his fork and got to his feet. “Your logic, my dear, is impeccable. So impeccable I can find no answer for it.” He came round the table and kissed her. “Against my better judgment, I’ll go. But if George breaks my jaw with his very effective left hook, you’ll have only yourself to blame.”

Leyton, wrapped warmly in his greatcoat and with his beaver set snugly on his head, hurried down the windy street toward Chadleigh House. He’d not gone far when he spied someone some yards ahead of him on the next street. He wasn’t sure it was George, for the fellow was hatless, his shoulders slumped, his hands deep in his pockets, and his gait too slow. But when he passed under a streetlamp, Leyton recognized him. “George!” he shouted. “Hold on there!”

George turned, recognized his brother-in-law, and waited. Leyton sprinted over the short distance between them. When he’d caught up with him, George asked in concern, “Is something amiss?”

“No, no. But let me catch my breath.” Leyton leaned against the lamppost. It took a few moments before he could go on. “I know it’s not my business, George,” he said when his breathing became steady, “and I won’t blame you if you find you must plant me a facer with your fives, but”—he glanced uneasily at George’s puzzled face—”but I’ve come out to talk to you about Livy.”

George’s face grew even more puzzled. “What about Livy? Hasn’t she gone to Scotland after all?”

“Oh, yes. She’s gone. Left this morning.”

“Then what—?”

“Felicia thinks—no,
I
think—that you should go after her.”

George squinted at his brother-in-law in the dim light. “You dashed out in this wind just to tell me this? On my meddling sister’s orders no doubt.”

“It may be meddling, but we—I—think it should be said.”

“That I should go after her. To Scotland.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” George demanded.

“Don’t play games, George. To make her an offer, of course.”

“You think I ought to chase the woman to Scotland and make her an offer?”

“Well, yes.” Leyton peered at him in sudden perplexity. “That was what you came to the house this evening to do, wasn’t it?”

“How on earth did you decide that?”

“I’m not a fool, George. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

George groaned ruefully. “I’m as obvious as all that, am I?” he mumbled, shamefaced.