Free Encounter with Venus by Elizabeth; Mansfield

insisted for what must have been the third or fourth time, “you cannot ride for one hundred and twenty miles without a proper escort.”
    “I not only can, but I will,” Livy said, “so send your brother back to his bed and let me be on my way.”
    “Miss Henshaw,” George said with quiet but firm formality, “much as I dislike overruling a lady of your impressive determination, I shall not go back to bed. My phaeton is at the door. Oblige me, if you please, by stepping outside and getting into it.”
    “Thank you,” she said, lifting her chin stubbornly, “but I have no intention—”
    George took her elbow in a firm grip and propelled her toward the door. “Not another word on this subject, ma’am, if you please. The matter is settled.”
    She tried to wrench free. “But I—”
    Still keeping her arm in his grip, he used his free hand to cover her mouth. “You may not speak unless you promise it will only be to say good-bye to your hosts.”
    She sighed in surrender. Feeling her resistance weaken, George freed her mouth but continued to move her to the door. She managed to turn her head and cry, “Thank you, my dears, for everything,” before being firmly thrust out the door and down the stone steps.
    A gray dawn was just beginning to light the upper windows. It offered no promise of warmth. As George had suspected, this was going to be a cold ride... and in more ways than one. When they reached the carriage, Livy confirmed his fears by angrily shaking off his grip and climbing up into it, an air of disapproval enveloping her like a cloak.
    Livy’s abigail and Timmy had been standing beside the carriage shivering in the cold. The abigail was an elderly woman whose bright keen eyes enlivened a tiny, very frail form. She seemed so fragile that George was about to unwrap his muffler and hand it to her when Kelby came running down carrying a pile of lap robes and a basket of provisions. The abigail eagerly claimed the goods and handed Timmy one of the lap robes. Then George helped her climb up after her mistress. At last he himself was ready to go. He turned, waved to Felicia and Leyton, who were standing at the top of the stone stairway, and promptly leaped aboard.
    Timmy was already on the box, the lap robe wrapped round his shoulders. As soon as he heard George shut the carriage door, he flicked the horses into action.
    Waving and smiling their good-byes, Felicia and Leyton remained on the stairs until the carriage was out of sight. They hoped Livy was smiling back at them, but they very much doubted it.
     
     

 
    TWELVE
     
     
    Like Timmy up on the box, the three travelers inside the carriage bundled themselves in their lap robes to ward off the chill. After wrapping the robe about her shoulders, Livy, on the rear seat, turned her attention to her window. Her abigail, seated beside her, could not stop shivering. “Michty me,” the elderly woman muttered, “ ‘tis unco’ chittery.”
    “What did you say?” George asked from the front seat. Since both seat benches in the phaeton faced front, he had to turn his head to see her.
    “She says it’s unusually cold,” Livy explained without shifting her gaze from the passing landscape. “My Bridie speaks the Lowland tongue.”
    “Your Bridie is quite right, no matter what her tongue. January weather seems to have found its way into November.” He unwound the muffler from his neck. “Here, Bridie,” he said to the abigail, “put this on.”
    At those words, Livy turned from the window. “No, Bridie, don’t take it We’ve imposed on his lordship quite enough.”
    The abigail, with the muffler in her hand, hesitated.
    “Let her have it, ma’am,” George insisted. “She’s older than we, after all, and older people feel the cold more than we do. Besides, I can put up my coat collar.”
    Livy glanced at her shivering maid and gave in. “Very well, my lord. Thank you.”
    “Aye, m’ lor’. I do thankee,” Bridie said, and promptly