Encounter with Venus (6 page)

Felicia hesitated. This is what she’d hoped would happen when she planned the party, but now her brief acquaintance with the Thomsett brothers had shaken her confidence. “Well, you know, I only just met him,” she said carefully, “but Leyton and Horace were at Cambridge together, and he’s quite fond of both brothers.”

“Is he? Truly?” Beatrice seemed pleased, but her curiosity was evidently not yet satisfied. “You know, Felicia,” she murmured, lowering her voice to a mere whisper, “Algy’s the younger of the two ...”

Felicia knew just what Beatrice was trying to ask. It was something every young woman had to know before embarking on a courtship. “Yes, he is the younger,” she replied to the unasked question, “but he has an estate of his own. I’m of the impression that both men are well to pass. Algy, I believe, in addition to being well established in the funds, is part owner of his brother’s bank.”

Beatrice beamed. “Thank you, my dear,” she said, jumping to her feet, “that’s just what I wanted to know.” She planted a kiss on Felicia’s cheek and went to the door. But there she paused. “Oh, one thing more,” she said, sounding nervous again. “You don’t think he’s too short for me, do you?”

This was too much for Felicia. She let out a peal of laughter. As a long-married woman, she knew that of all the things that can cause difficulties between a man and a woman, size was the least important. “As to his being short,” she said, jumping up and urging the girl gently out the door, “I’m certain that he’s as tall as I am, and you know, Beatrice, that I stand at least an inch over you.”

A few moments later, as Katie was tying the strings of her corset, Felicia realized that her cheerful mood had evaporated. She was troubled about her conversation with Beatrice. She hadn’t meant to encourage the girl’s feelings for Algy. After all, the fellow had shown himself to be rather milk-and-water toward his brother. Was he a mollycoddle? And if so, was that the sort of man she wished for her friend?

Before she could frame an answer in her mind, there was another tap at the door and Elaine burst in, carrying two gowns over her arm. Without preamble she held up the first for Felicia to see. “Which one?” she asked. “This, the blue silk? Or this, the lilac brocade?”

Felicia blinked. “I don’t know. They both—”

Elaine held the lilac up to her neck and then substituted the blue. “There. The blue accents my eyes, but the lilac has more sweep, don’t you think? Which one do you think he’d prefer?”

“He?” Felicia peered at her curiously. “Who?”

“Who do you think?” Elaine asked in disgust. “Your brother, of course.”

“Oh.” Felicia glanced uneasily at her abigail. “Katie, would you please go to fetch my ... er ...”

“You needn’t send her off,” Elaine said. “I shan’t stay but a moment. Just tell me which is more likely to attract your Georgie.”

“My ‘Georgie’ doesn’t usually pay much attention to ladies’ gowns,” Felicia said.

“Nonsense. Of course he does. All men do. Let’s be frank, Felicia. I believe your brother has shown a bit of interest in me, you see, but not enough. I intend to heighten that interest tonight. So tell me, my dear, which gown I should wear.”

Felicia had been uncertain in her advice to Beatrice, but in this case she had no uncertainty; she did not want to offer Elaine any encouragement at all. She knew her brother well enough to recognize the difference between real attraction and mere politeness. George was behaving politely toward Elaine, that was all. “Both gowns are lovely,” she said evasively.

“Hmm.” Elaine held them both up and studied them. “The blue, I think. It’s softer and has a deeper décolletage. The other may be too dignified.” That decided, she nodded and started to the door. “Thank you, Felicia, I’m glad you made me decide for myself.”

As soon as the door closed, Felicia sank down upon the chaise.
What have I done?
she asked herself. Because of her benighted plans, Beatrice might find herself betrothed to a mollycoddle, and Elaine was surely heading for a painful rejection. She couldn’t help wondering if she’d done some harm to Livy, too. But no. Thank goodness Livy—her very best friend, and the last person on earth on whom she would wish to inflict pain—had too much sense to succumb to the attentions of the overbearing Horace.

However, as soon as she was dressed, she went down the hall to Livy’s room to make sure her assessment of her friend’s state of mind was correct. To her utter astonishment she found Livy sitting at her dressing table applying blacking to her eyelashes. “Livy!” she cried. “I thought you detested that sort of artificiality.”

“I do.” Livy grinned at her in the mirror and continued to apply the blacking. “But I must do something. I’m tired of looking like the spinster aunt you always invite to your parties out of pity.”

“Oh, bosh,” Felicia objected. “Spinster aunt, indeed. Who could possibly think such a thing?”

“Your brother, for one.”

“Georgie? He wouldn’t—!” But a sudden memory made her stop short. “Oh, dear. Leyton did say that Georgie was rude to you when you were introduced. Did he say something dreadful?”

“Not at all.” Livy put down the blacking brush and turned to face her friend. “Your Georgie was polite to a fault. But something in his expression said quite plainly,
What on earth is this gaunt old maid doing here among these charming young women?”

“Livy!” Felicia cried in offense. “How can you
think
such a thing? You’re not being fair!”

“Am I not? Then why did Leyton tell you he was rude?”

“I don’t know. But I know my brother. He would never be so unkind.”

“Not aloud, perhaps. But one can’t be blamed for one’s thoughts. And don’t deny it, Felicia, my sweet, but I
have
been looking like a gaunt old maid these days.”

Felicia, not willing to accept so harsh a description, stepped back and studied her friend from top to toe. “As a matter of fact,” she said sincerely, “you are quite in looks this evening. That dark red gown suits you.”

“Does it? Are you sure?” She stood up and looked down at herself. “I almost didn’t have the courage to wear it.”

“It’s perfect.” Felicia threw her arms about her friend in a warm embrace. “It’s so good to see you dressing up. You’ve been hiding yourself in dark shadows for so long!”

“I know. The cold Scottish mist seems to have settled in my innards. But your hospitality is warming
_:
me.”

“I’m so glad.” She dropped her arms from Livy’s neck and grasped her hands. “I dearly wish for you to have a happy time while you’re here. I know how hard it is for you to be happy at home.”

Livy slipped her hands from Felicia’s hold and turned away. “Yes,” was all she said.

“By the way, Livy, dearest,” Felicia said, as much to change a depressing subject as to reassure herself of her friend’s enjoyment, “I noticed that Horace has been following you about. I hope you won’t permit him to annoy you.”

“Horace doesn’t annoy me,” Livy said. “He’s really quite pleasant.”

“Pleasant?” Felicia couldn’t hide her surprise.
“Horace?

“I find him so.”

Felicia gaped at her. Could Livy possibly have taken a fancy to such a fellow? The thought was preposterous.

Livy smiled at her friend’s obvious dismay. “Don’t worry about it, Felicia,” she said soothingly. “I shan’t marry the fellow. I find his attentions... er... convenient, that’s all.”

Felicia did not understand what her friend meant, but Livy’s manner didn’t seem to encourage further discussion. With a shrug, she let the matter drop. “Very well, my love. I’ll leave you to your primping.”

Livy returned to the dressing table as Felicia went to the door. “Felicia?” Livy called, staring into the mirror.

Felicia, her hand on the knob, looked back over her shoulder. “Yes, my love?”

“Should I take my hair down?”

Felicia grinned. “I’ve been wishing you would. With your hair down, no one could possibly take you for my spinster aunt.”

Livy grinned back at Felicia’s reflection in the glass. “Not even your brother?”

“Not even he.”

But out in the corridor, Felicia’s grin died.
What is going on?
she wondered. Was Livy dressing up for Horace or to take some sort of revenge on Georgie? The revelations of the past half hour had set her mind in a whirl. All sorts of undercurrents and crosscurrents were rumbling about beneath the surface, but she had no idea what they meant or where they would lead. She knew only one thing—that Leyton was right: she had no talent at all for matchmaking.

NINE

With
sighs of pleasure and exclamations of gratification, the ladies rose from the dinner table and made their way to the drawing room, as Kelby circulated among the men offering glasses of gleaming red port.

Later, when the men joined the ladies, the guests assorted themselves into groups of two or three. Algy perched on the arm of Beatrice’s chair and continued to pour into her sympathetic ear the account of his unhappy childhood, a tale that he’d begun at the table. Horace, unaware that he was being maligned as the cause of his brother’s unhappiness, cheerfully thanked Felicia on the magnificence of the meal. This done, he made his way to the love seat where Livy was sitting. To his chagrin he found that he was too late to be able to sit beside her, that place having already been taken by his host. Leyton was quietly complimenting Livy on her appearance, telling her that she should always wear that shade of red. Horace, who would not be outdone, pulled up a chair as close to Livy’s other side as he could get and declared loudly that she looked “complete to a shade.”

Elaine also was late in achieving her object, for Lord Stoneham had captured George as soon as he appeared in the doorway and engaged him in fond reminiscences about their Cambridge days. Elaine stood a short distance away from them, watching for the moment when their conversation should show signs of waning. But there were no such signs. There were evidently several school events that both men were enthusiastically recalling. Finally Elaine reached the end of her patience. Perfectly aware that she was being rude, she nevertheless broke in on them, interrupting Lord Stoneham’s account of an escapade with a barmaid that had both men laughing. She simply came up to them, gave Stoneham a brief nod, took firm hold of George’s elbow, and maneuvered him away with such boldness that Lord Stoneham was left agape. Appalled, he strode across the room to his wife. “You may not credit it, my love,” he muttered between clenched teeth, “but that pretty Miss Whitmore is a great deal more brazen than one would ever suspect.”

Meanwhile, the brazen Miss Whitmore steered her captive to a corner. “I’m very cross with you, my lord,” she scolded, but at the same time smiling up at George provocatively. “You were sitting beside me all through dinner, and not once did you mention my gown.”

“Your gown?” George asked innocently, removing his elbow from her hold.

“Yes, my gown. I chose it especially for you, you know. I even asked your sister’s advice about it. She assured me it was just what you’d like.”

“It is just what every man who sees you would like, Miss Whitmore,” George said, carefully noncommittal. “A charming gown indeed.”

This was not quite the response Elaine wanted, but she pretended to be pleased. “Thank you for the compliment, although it is shockingly belated. But why, my lord, after being my dinner companion not once but twice, do you still call me Miss Whitmore? Let’s strike a bargain. If you agree to call me Elaine, I’ll agree to drop your title and call you George.”

“How can I possibly refuse such an offer?” he asked dryly. Then he made a little bow and started to move away from her.

But she would not be shaken off so easily. Catching hold of his arm, she cooed, “Well then, George, let me hear you take advantage of it.”

“ ‘Advantage,’ ma’am?”

“There, you see? You said ‘ma’am.’ Let me hear you use my given name.”

“Very well, ma’am—I mean Elaine. There. I hope that was satisfactory.”

“Yes, George, I’m quite pleased. Now we can truly say we are friends.” And as if to prove her point, she squeezed his arm fondly.

George, feeling trapped, could think of only one way out. Her possessive grasp of his arm gave him the opportunity to pretend she’d caused his hand to wiggle, thus permitting him to loosen his hold on the stem of the glass he still carried. It tipped over, and the contents splashed all over the front of her gown.

She let out a horrified cry. Everyone in the room looked up.

“Oh, blast!” George exclaimed. “Look what I’ve done! I’ve ruined your lovely gown. Elaine, I’m so dreadfully sorry. I’m a clumsy fool.”

She stared down at herself, conscious that every eye was taking in the ruin of her costume. The words
“you ARE a clumsy fool
”
leaped into her mind, but she didn’t say them. She was annoyed with him, but not enough to end the flirtation. “No, you’re not,” she murmured, but without real conviction. “It was an accident. You mustn’t blame yourself.”

“Of course he must,” declared Felicia, who’d run over to see what she could do. “But don’t despair, Elaine, my dear. My Katie will fix it. She can clean anything. And when you get back to town, you will order a brand-new gown and send the bill to Georgie. Right, Georgie?”