Chapter 17
Livia left off her solitary rambles and now spent her days with Hugo. He regaled her with amusing stories of his youth, and told her all about his gentle, forbearing mother, his siblings, his brazen exploits as a schoolboy. At her urging he talked about his time as a soldier, too, although he was steadfastly self-effacing about the dangers he faced, choosing instead to highlight his comical misadventures.
It didn’t take long for her to realize how much she valued Hugo’s easy companionship, the laughter they shared; how badly she needed a friend right now.
In due course Hugo was allowed to get up. He joined the family at meals but Gabriel and Mrs. Penhallow continued to talk, with a single-mindedness that frankly bordered on rudeness, of matters pertaining to the estate and the Hall. With the air of one shrugging good-naturedly, Hugo spoke affably with Livia and tried to coax Miss Cott—who also, Livia had noticed, seemed increasingly shut out of the Penhallow world—into joining their conversation, but with limited success.
Livia and Hugo took to walking outside as his strength returned day by day. His limp, the result of that badly broken leg, was not a severe one, but it did worsen when he was tired. One afternoon, as they strolled slowly among the old overgrown maze of hedges that dated back to Elizabethan times, Hugo asked:
“I say, when is your wedding? Hope to be there for it, but I haven’t heard you speak a word about it. Most young ladies, I imagine, would be obsessed by all the planning—the fripperies and the guests and all that.”
“I don’t know exactly. I think—I hope—that is, Gabriel’s had so much to do after his long absence . . .”
“Oh yes, of course. First things first, is it? He always was one to focus. In school he was famous for it, whether it was about books or sports. He’d be studying for exams, and you could bring an eight-piece band into his room and he’d completely ignore it.” Hugo laughed. “Once we actually did just that. Never once looked up from his book. Amazing. Of course, he was the one with the top grades. And he was the most fearsome boxer, you know—couldn’t count the times I saw him mill down chaps outweighing him by five stone or more. Pure single-minded determination.”
Livia pondered this image of Gabriel as Hugo went on, “You’re very different—in a good way, mind!—from the sort of young lady I’d have thought Gabriel would choose for his wife. Always supposed he’d end up with one of those dreadfully proud Society females. I tell you, he was a hunted man! I was shocked when he managed to escape by joining the Corps and disappeared to Europe. How did the two of you meet, anyway?”
“Oh, it’s a long story,” Livia replied a little self-consciously. “At first it was to be a marriage of convenience, but . . . things changed, and—well, it’s just that now Gabriel is so busy. I do love him, Hugo, with all my heart and soul.”
“I can see that, for you’ve lit up like a lamp. Well, well, and very happy the two of you will be,” said Hugo easily. “I say, Liv, do you think we’ll ever get out of this cursed maze? Don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a nuncheon.”
With the help of Young Eccles Gabriel now had some hope that the apple blight would be vanquished, and they had moved on to the urgently needed repairing of fences. He had persuaded Eccles, senior, to stop haranguing the laborers about the new cottages, convincing him (he hoped) that a gentler tone would be more efficacious; the lodge was finally being renovated, with the late Mrs. Allard’s middle-aged son expressing his willingness to reoccupy it, accompanied by his large family, as soon as was feasible. Crenshaw reported positively about improvements in the servants’ quarters, and Cook adored her modern new stove.
Yes, progress was being made. But there was still so much yet to do, and he vowed to work even harder. As he came and went from the Hall, Gabriel registered, vaguely, how Livia was always with Hugo. Talking, laughing, strolling, and sometimes arm-in-arm, heads together, very companionably.
Gabriel also realized that Hugo wasn’t the lad he’d remembered him as. No, Hugo was a man fully grown and only an idiot would fail to observe how the maidservants fluttered over him—he was obviously a damned attractive fellow. No doubt he’d be settling down now that he’d sold out from the Army and was back in England: find some congenial work, marry and start a family, and so on. Hugo had insisted on repaying him for the cost of his commission, which Gabriel hadn’t in the least wished to accept; it was only the understanding that Hugo’s pride would be injured that had finally overcome his reluctance.