Free Encounter with Venus by Elizabeth; Mansfield Page B

wouldn’t say that. You are quite prepossessing, you know, even without the title and wealth.”
    “But autocratic and presumptuous,” he reminded her.
    “Yes.”
    “And conceited.”
    “Yes.”
    “Hmmm,” was all he said.
    “But my views are not typical,” she said comfortingly, feeling that perhaps she’d gone too far. “After all, I’m not a young woman.”
    “Young enough, ma’am, to cause your views of me to sting.” He clutched his chest in extravagant distress. “You cut me to the quick.”
    “A likely tale,” she scoffed. “As if my views can matter against so many.”
    “But they do,” he said, suddenly serious. “They do.” The sincerity he heard in his own voice surprised him. The rest of their conversation had all been banter, but it came as a shock to realize that he’d really meant what he just said. He cared about what she thought of him. He cared a great deal. But why? She was a far cry from the Venus of his dreams—that much was definitely decided. So why should he give a tinker’s damn what she thought of him?
     
     

 
    THIRTEEN
     
     
    George had hoped that, by late afternoon, they would have arrived at their destination, but here it was past three, and—according to Livy, who knew the road well— they were still three or four hours from her home. George realized that he’d greatly underestimated the speed he could make. There were several reasons his well-sprung phaeton was not living up to its potential: for one thing, the sky had been dark all day and the weather unseasonably cold, making visibility poor and driving uncomfortable. He and Timmy had taken turns sitting up on the box, changing their positions every two hours, but that had not helped. Then there were the horses. They’d changed horses at two posting inns thus far, but at the first stop they’d been given a pair of slugs. One could not hope for ten-mile-an-hour speed from such inadequate animals. The young bays they’d managed to acquire at their last stop half an hour ago seemed more promising, but now a tight snow was falling, and in the waning daylight, George, who was up on the box, could hardly see the edges of the road.
    He was asking himself if it would be possible to proceed once darkness fell, when there was a dreadful crunching sound. The carriage lurched hideously to his right, wobbled a bit, and then the right corner of the coach crashed down. The horses dragged it a foot or two before he could pull them to a stop. It was obvious that they’d hit some crevice in the road, and that the right front wheel had given way. He jumped down to see the extent of the damage.
    A much heavier snow was falling now. There was already a white blanket covering the landscape. George saw that the wheel had sunk into a snowdrift. He had to sweep some of the snow away with his hands. He discovered that the wheel was beyond repair. Every spoke had been broken by the wheel’s having been dragged a few feet after the initial break. “Blast it!” he cursed aloud.
    By this time, Timmy and the two women had emerged from the tilted carriage. “We’re hobbled, sure as check,” Timmy muttered after a quick look.
    George nodded. “There’s only one thing to be done. We’ll unhitch the horses and ride back with the ladies to the posting inn. Miss Henshaw and Bridie can warm up with some hot toddies while you and I come back here with a new wheel.” He looked up at the sky and then at Livy. “Unless ...”
    “Yes?” she asked, taking note of the worry in his eyes.
    “Unless you agree to put off the repairs ‘til morning.”
    Livy bit her lip. “My uncle will be livid. I’m sure he’s expecting me to be walking in the door at any moment.”
    “But you see, ma’am, by the time we replace the wheel, it’ll be dark. And if the snow continues to fall, I’ll be hard-pressed to see the roadway.”
    “You’re right, of course,” she said with a discouraged sigh. “Let’s start back to the inn, as you