It would not do, Livia knew, to thank her. Instead she wrote a brief, impersonal, but courteous note congratulating Cecily upon her engagement, and forgot all about her.
Three months after that . . .
Evangeline Cott and Arthur Markson, both glowing with a happiness that made them look years younger, were married in the Riverton church. In attendance were Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel Penhallow, Mrs. Henrietta Penhallow, the two former Misses Greenlaw, and as many of the villagers as could cram inside.
Afterwards, during the festive wedding-breakfast, quite a few people told Livia that she was glowing, too. One plump old dame, Mrs. Roger, said, nodding wisely, “Two and two, that’s four, madam, I seen it in my tea leaves this very morning,” and when pressed for an explanation by her fellows would only smile cryptically, with a pleased, faraway sort of quality, as if looking into a future of which she highly approved.
A month after that . . .
Dear Livia,
Thank you for your note. As no doubt you have heard, my wedding was quite the event of the Season. The Duke of Clarence himself came toward the very end of the ceremony which was, I assure you, a signal honor. Mama said that she has never seen anyone with such an air of royal dignity.
Sir Edward did not, after all, care for a bridal tour, and although it goes without saying he was sorry to forego the pleasures of the London Season, he thought that perhaps it would be best for us to go directly to his home in Lincolnshire. It is enormous—mentioned in all the guidebooks—and extremely historical. Queen Elizabeth is said to have had dinner here and been very complimentary as to the stewed rabbit. Speaking of which, Sir Edward is very fond of hunting and so we often enjoy a variety of rabbit dishes. The wine cellars here are the talk of the county—they are extensive and also very historical. Sir Edward knows a vast deal about wine and I am learning more about it every day. You would be amazed at my knowledge, I am sure.
Sir Edward’s dear sister Cassandra and I have become great friends, and spend many hours together. She has taught me some very clever stitches and Sir Edward says he has never seen such superior altar cloths.
Well, I suppose you are terribly bored by life in the countryside. I myself find it wondrous agreeable, with so many diversions that it would take me an hour to write them all down for you. The days simply fly by.
I remain, etc.,
The Honorable Lady Brinkley
Nearly one year to the day after she and Gabriel were married, Livia gave birth to their first child.
Sitting up in bed against a bank of pillows, she held the baby, wrapped in the softest of blankets, in her arms and stared in wonder at the small, perfect face. Gabriel sat next to her, his arm snugly around her shoulders, staring too.
“She’s beautiful, just like her mother,” said Gabriel, softly. “Well done, Mrs. Penhallow.”
Livia smiled. “You played a role in this, too.”
“A modest, but enjoyable one. I believe she’s going to have auburn hair.”
“Dear me, do you think so? I hope she’ll be blonde, like Granny was. And look! Your dimple on her chin. I’m so glad about that. What shall we call her?”
Gabriel pressed a gentle kiss onto the top of Livia’s head. “When I met you in the woods that day, I almost thought you to be a pixie, a sylph of the forest. What if we were to name our little girl Titania, the queen of the fairies?”
“Shakespeare’s Titania,” said Livia, musingly. “It reminds me of Titus as well—Granny’s son. What a wonderful way to remember him. I like it. But only if Granny does also.”
And when shortly Grandmama came to meet her first great-grandchild, her opinion was sought, and she liked it, too. So the baby was called Titania, after her great-uncle Titus, and Georgiana, after Livia’s mother, and Elizabeth, after Grandmama’s mother, and Johanna, after Livia’s father Jonathan.
“Titania Georgiana Elizabeth Johanna Penhallow,” Livia said, “you have a very nice name. Welcome to the family, little one.”
The baby opened her eyes, and it was as if a kind of sweet eldritch smile passed across her tiny face, as if she was seeing the pleased countenances of her predecessors, Stuarts and Penhallows and Espensons and more, stretching back into the distant mists of time immemorial. Then she opened her rosebud mouth and in a very imperious way demanded something to eat.
“Good Lord,” said Gabriel, in comical dismay. “She already has your appetite, my love.”
Smiling, Livia put their babe to her breast. “Why, so she does,” she said placidly. “And speaking of which, please could you ring for a nuncheon? I’m starving.”