You May Kiss the Bride(114)

And it was.




Two weeks after that . . .



They had done miracles with the chapel. Rotted wood had been replaced with new; the pews stood gleaming in the warm glow of many candelabra. Ancient wall hangings had been lovingly, carefully, cleaned and restored. It was a place entirely different from the one in which Livia had stood in her heartbreak and despair. Now it was filled with light, love, joy.

She stood next to Gabriel, wearing not the elaborate gown of silver and lace that Madame Lévêque had created back in Bath, but instead a simple dress of deep forest green which had been made for her by Alice Simpkin, the Riverton seamstress. Not only had Grandmama graciously applauded Livia’s decision, but she had also offered some very helpful suggestions regarding the design which Alice had received with great willingness.

Livia’s hair was twisted low at the nape of her neck in an elegant knot, and she wore a pretty diamond aigrette that had once belonged to Gabriel’s mother; around her neck was a diamond necklace which Grandmama had given her. It had, she explained, been in the Penhallow family for generations, and been presented to her upon the occasion of her own wedding. She smiled, sighed, smiled again, saying, How my Richard would have loved you as I do.

Now Livia glanced over at Gabriel, tall, broad-shouldered, and so very handsome. He wore a coat of deepest mahogany, an exquisitely embroidered waistcoat, and tawny pantaloons, the color of which reminded her of the magnificent stag she had seen—so long ago, it seemed—in the moments before she had met Gabriel for the very first time. Never could she have dreamed that with this man she would find such happiness. Work to share, goals to accomplish together; companionship, laughter, the deepest pleasure, too.

As if feeling her glance, Gabriel turned his head, met her eyes, and smiled down at her.

Right, right, right, sang a little voice within her.

She smiled back at him, then they both looked ahead to where Arthur Markson, with quiet dignity, was conducting the ceremony.

Afterwards, Gabriel had kissed her and she had kissed him, and the guests in the chapel had broken out in spontaneous applause. Then, as husband and wife, master and mistress of Surmont Hall, they joined the Harvest Home celebration in the village where, many times over, their health was toasted, and bonds with the Riverton folk began to heal and grow anew. Grandmama, to her delighted surprise, discovered among the guests the Greenlaw girls—with whom she had decades ago been forbidden to play—no longer girls, no longer Greenlaws, but elderly widows returned to their manor, and just as amiable as she had imagined them to be. Within minutes she, Drusilla, and Amanda had found comfortable seats and, their gray and white heads close together, were talking, smiling, busily making up for lost time.




A month after that . . .



In the Rose Saloon, where a cheerful fire crackled cozily in the hearth, Livia set aside her teacup and opened a letter.

My dear Livia,

Mama mentioned that she saw in the papers the announcement of your wedding to Mr. Penhallow, and I must send you my felicitations. You’ve gotten what you wanted after all. Naturally I was curious (as I’m sure everyone is!) as to why you were married privately and with so little in the way of proper celebration, but I’m certain you had your reasons.

As for myself, you may not have heard—inured in the countryside as you are, and perhaps the papers do not reach you?—that I am betrothed to Sir Edward Brinkley. We are shortly to be married in London, with four hundred guests, and are to make a bridal tour of the Lakes and Scotland which is, of course, what the most fashionable couples do. Mama said there was nothing about your own bridal tour and I suppose Mr. Penhallow didn’t care to take you anywhere.



A loud purring noise interrupted her. Livia looked up from the letter, smiled to herself, then reached out a hand (on which a lovely gold and diamond ring sparkled) to stroke the yellow-and-orange-striped tabby that lay curled up at her side, its furry face looking both supremely contented and impossibly smug, as only the happiest of cats can.

Sir Edward and I will then return to London for the Season. He has quite a large mansion in Grosvenor Square, and only think of the balls and assemblies and rout parties I’ll be attending! How unfortunate that you’ll have to miss them. Mama says that I shall be quite the Toast of Society, given (dare I say it? but I am only quoting her, after all) my looks, my connections, my fortune and, naturally, my brilliant marriage.

How I wish you could attend the wedding. My gown cost very nearly two hundred pounds.

I remain,

Yours, etc.,

Cecily



Thoughtfully, Livia folded the letter and put it next to her teacup. It was strange, but it was to Cecily that she owed all her happiness. If Gabriel hadn’t come into Wiltshire in order to propose to the Honorable Cecily Orr . . .