Encounter with Venus (26 page)

“Not to everyone,” Leyton assured him. “Most people would assume that you’d prefer younger, more blatantly pretty women.”

George nodded. “I assumed that myself, before I learned better. Strange, isn’t it, Leyton, how someone’s outer appearance changes in one’s eyes when the inner person becomes known? Take Elaine Whitmore, for example. It’s hard for me to imagine, now that I’ve become acquainted with her self-loving character, how I ever could have found her beautiful. With Livy, it’s just the opposite.”

Leyton smiled. “Then go to her, George,” he urged. “Go at once.”

“No,” George sighed. “It would be a fool’s errand. She won’t have me.”

Leyton’s face fell. “Why do you say that?”

“With good reason. She thinks of me as a spoilt child.”

“But you didn’t think it a fool’s errand tonight, when you came to the house for that purpose,” Leyton pointed out.

“Yes, that’s true,” George agreed, sighing hopelessly. “I thought I’d make an attempt. But if she’s gone back home, it’s plain there was nothing—or no one—of enough interest to keep her here.”

It was now, Leyton realized, that a breach of confidence was called for. He took in a deep breath. “I have it on good authority,” he said quietly, “that your chances are better than you think.”

George eyed him suspiciously. “Truly? On whose authority?”

“It would be a betrayal of confidence to say,” Leyton said pompously.

“Come on,, man, whose? Felicia’s? I don’t like to say this about my sister and your wife, Leyton, but Felicia’s authority is not particularly dependable.”

Leyton crossed his arms over his chest in a pose of adamant refusal. He would not say more.

“You surely don’t expect me to dash all the way to Scotland on such flimsy evidence,” George argued.

“You must take my word, George, that my authority is dependable,” was all Leyton permitted himself to say.

George began to surmise that Leyton was hinting that his “authority” was someone other than Felicia. Suddenly his eyes widened.
“Livy?”
he asked, awed. “Is your authority Livy herself? Could she have suggested to Felicia that she cares for me?”

“I can’t say,” Leyton insisted.

But the tiny smile on his brother-in-law’s face was enough for George. “Leyton, you
brick,”
he exclaimed, clasping him about the shoulders and pounding his back with affectionate enthusiasm, “I don’t know how to thank you! Bless you and Felicia, too. You can tell her that, for once, I forgive her meddling. Even if there’s the slightest chance for me, I’m game. I’m off for Scotland this very night.”

Leyton watched as George sped off down the street. He knew he’d betrayed Livy’s confidence, but remembering how George’s eyes had become aglow with hope at what he, Leyton, had revealed, he forgave himself.
Yes, I’ve betrayed you, Livy, I know,
he said to himself,
but if a small betrayal leads to a great happiness, perhaps you will forgive me, too.

THIRTY-EIGHT

As soon as he set foot in the door, George sent for Timmy. When the little fellow appeared in his bedroom doorway, George was busily searching through his cupboard for some warm clothes. “Ye sent fer me, mTord?” Timmy asked, rubbing his fists in his eyes.

George glanced over at him and noted that his red hair was tousled and his eyes heavy-lidded. “Sorry I wakened you,” he said, tossing his warmest riding clothes on his bed, “but I have an offer for you. If you’re willing to give up sleep tonight, there will be a goodly vail in it for you. And something else. That little scullery maid of yours—what was her name, Meggie?—how would you like to see her again?”

Timmy’s eyes widened. “Are ye speakin’ of that Scottish poppet, Peggy?”

“That I am.”

“Ye don’ mean to say, m’lord, that yer goin’ back to Lockerbie!”

“I am,” George said as he began to strip off his evening clothes.

“Tonight?”

“As soon as the carriage is ready. It will be another race without stopping, I’m afraid, but at least there’s no snow this time.” He paused in his undressing and grinned at the young fellow. “It was an ordeal, last time, I admit. You don’t have to go if you don’t wish to. I can take the coachman.”

Timmy grinned back. “Nothin’ I’d like better ‘n seein’ Peggy again. I’ll ‘ave the carriage at the door in half an hour.”

George hoped that his best horses and the newly renovated phaeton would be speedy enough to more than make up for Livy’s ten- or twelve-hour head start. With any luck, he’d get to Lockerbie first and be standing in the castle doorway to greet her when she arrived. But it was not to be. Instead of snow, a heavy rain began to fall before they’d driven an hour. Twice that night they became so deeply mired in mud that additional horses had to be found to pull them out. The second time it happened, George surrendered to nature’s greater force and put up at an inn. Another day passed before the rain stopped, and another half day before the roads had dried off sufficiently to be considered passable. Livy had probably been settled in at home for a full day by the time he and Timmy were able to start out again.

It was late afternoon when Timmy drove the carriage onto the driveway of Henshaw Castle. A footman neither of them had ever seen came down the stairs to greet them. George left Timmy to deal with the explanations and the disposal of the carriage. Tense with impatience, he ran up the steps and into the front hall. There he stopped in astonishment. The brightly lit hall did not look the same. It was actually cheerful. McTavish was standing at the stairway, an eyebrow raised in surprise at this unexpected intrusion. Henshaw Castle did not often have guests, and certainly not at an hour he considered too late for tea and too early for dinner. But when he saw George, his face lit up. “Lord Chadleigh!” he exclaimed heartily. “How good t’ see ye again! I didn’t know ye were expected!”

“I’m not,” George said. “I’ve come to see—”

“Who’s that, ye say?” came a voice from the stairway.
“Chadleigh?”

To George’s chagrin, it was Sir Andrew making his way down the stairs. Dressed in a kilt and a proper coat, and leaning heavily on a gnarled but sturdy wooden cane, he was a much more formidable figure than he’d been lying in bed in a nightshirt. George went to the bottom of the stairs and watched his descent with some trepidation. “Yes, I’m Chadleigh,” he said, putting out his hand. “How do you do?”

Sir Andrew ignored the proffered hand. Instead he peered closely at George’s face. “So
ye’re
the misleared haveril who broke into my chamber and sorted me doon.”

George, deciding that his best course was to stand up to the old curmudgeon as he’d done before, looked right back at him. “Though I don’t quite know what a ‘misleared haveril’ is—” he began.

“It’s a rude half-wit,” McTavish offered bravely.

“McTavish!”
Sir Andrew snapped, raising his cane threateningly. “Get yerself gone!”

McTavish knew when to withdraw.

When he was gone, George grinned at the old man. “I may have been rude, sir, but I’m no half-wit. I seem to have done some good with my ‘sorting ye doon.’ You’re looking a great deal hardier than when I saw you last. In fine fettle, I’d say.” He turned away and strolled about the hallway, looking at the paintings he’d never been able to see clearly before. “And, by the way, I notice that you’ve permitted a good many more tapers to be lit in this hallway since I’ve been here. At last one can see where one is going.”

“Aye, an’ a pretty penny it’s costing me, too,” the old man grumbled. He followed George to the side of the room and pulled him round to face him. “But gie ower this blathery talk. What have ye come back for? T’ gie me anither tongue-lashing?”

“No, sir. One tongue-lashing seems to have been enough. I’ve come to see your niece.”

“Oh, ye have, have ye?” The words were spoken in a fearful growl, but George detected a gleam in the old man’s eye. “If ye have a mind t’ offer for her, me lad, ye’ll have to have my permission first.”

“If I have a mind to offer for her, it’s her permission I’ll need, not yours,” George retorted.

“Ye’ll need mine, I tell ye. She’s my ward!”

“But she’s of age, is she not?”

“Mmmph,” was Sir Andrew’s sullen response.

“But if she’ll have me,” George said placatingly, “I promise to come to you and ask for your approval.”

“ ‘Twon’t be necessary. She’ll never take the likes o’ ye.”

George sighed. “You may be right about that.”

The sound of footsteps on the landing above caused both their heads to turn. First a pair of slippers came into view, then petticoats under a slightly raised lilac skirt. By the time the slippers had descended another three steps, George knew who it was. He felt a painful tightening in his chest. As she came fully into their line of sight, they saw that she was in the act of fitting one of those irritating spinster caps over her tied-back hair and didn’t see them. The two men watched her in silence. She was but three steps from the bottom when her uncle cleared his throat. “Livy, m’dear, y’ have a caller.”

She turned her head, her arms still upraised, and froze.
“George?”

He walked to the bottom of the stairs and held out his hand for hers. As if in a dream, she let him lead her down. “You left without so much as a good-bye,” he accused her softly.

Recovering her equilibrium, she slipped her hand out of his grasp. “Is that what you’ve come for?” she asked. “It would seem to be an enormous effort for so small a reward.”

“Wheesht, me lass,” her uncle chortled, “then gie him a proper reward. Kiss the lad!”

Livy turned on her uncle with a reproving frown. “I think, Uncle, that you’re wanted upstairs.”

“Oh, I am, am I?” Sir Andrew sneered. “Vera well, I’m off, I’m off.” With a brisk swing of his cane, he turned and made for the stairway. “But if ye wish t’ be private, lass, why don’t ye take the wanwyt t’ the sittin’ room? Now that ye have fires burnin’ everywhere in the house, ‘twill be warm enough in there.”

Livy nodded and walked ahead of George the short distance down the corridor to the sitting room. She held the door for him while he crossed the threshold, and then she turned and closed it. “There, now,” she said, turning back, “what did you—?”

She was startled to find him right in front of her, so close they were almost nose to nose. Before she could step back, he pulled her to him and kissed her so fervently she was bereft of breath. She struggled against him mightily at first, to no avail. She could not even twist her mouth from his. After a few moments, she ceased the struggle and let herself relax against him. The only thing she fought against was the almost-overwhelming urge to reach up and clutch his hair.

When he let her go, she took a step back and stared at him. Unstrung, she expelled one long, startled breath.
“G-e-o-r-g-e!”

He smiled at her. “Your uncle ordered it,” he said.

She found that smile obnoxiously triumphant. “You are a cad!” she said furiously.

“But you must admit, my love, that it was not a spoilt-nephew-to-a-fond-aunt kiss, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t.” She tried to rub it off her mouth with the back of her hand. Then she felt herself stiffen. “Did you call me ‘my love’?”

“Did I? Well, never mind. To get back to the kiss, would you call it kind?”

“Kind? I think you’ve lost your mind. Why would I call it kind?”

“Then by no stretch of the imagination could it be called an act of kindness toward a spinster, could it?”

She put her hand to her forehead in utter confusion. “I don’t know what you’re blathering about, George.”

“Answer me! Did that kiss seem like an act of kindness?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Then what could the motive have been?”

“I have no idea. To show me that in addition to being autocratic and overbearing you are also libertinish?”

George didn’t expect this response. It didn’t follow the logic of Bernard’s thinking. A wave of angry frustration swept over him. He grasped her by the shoulders, intending to shake the life out of her. But one glance at her stricken eyes melted him. “Dash it, Livy, I could wring your neck!” he muttered in desperation. “If I wished to act the libertine, would I have driven forty hours in the rain to do it? I could have stayed home, warm and dry, and entertained myself with Elaine Whitmore!”

“So you could,” Livy snapped. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because, my beautiful spinster aunt, I’m not in love with Elaine Whitmore.”

Livy did not move as the meaning of his words burst upon her. Then she paled, thrust off his hold, and stepped away, eyes wide with terror. “No!” she cried. “You mustn’t do this!” And moving backward to the sofa, she sank down upon it and dropped her head in her hands.

He sat down beside her and took her hands from her face. “I mustn’t love you?” he asked gently. “Is that what you’re saying? Is there some dreadful impediment to my loving you—like a secret husband or a codicil in your uncle’s will that forbids it? If there is, I’ll kill the first and tear up the second.”

“Don’t joke about this, George,” she pleaded. “You can’t love me. A kiss, even an ardent one, can’t change the fact that you’ve always looked on me as a spinsterish maiden aunt.”