Lady Glanville was smiling her usual cool smile, but Livia could see on her face a waxy sheen of perspiration; Cecily’s eyes were as round as saucers and she was gripping her fingers together so tightly that her gold rings had to be hurting her. As for Uncle Charles, he looked as if he were actually swelling (reminding her quite a bit of a toad), and how funny that he seemed to think that she and the horrible Mr. Penhallow should marry! That sort of thing only happened in old stories, with noble heroes and evil villains and outraged guardians, and everything very exaggerated and amusing.
When, however, Livia glanced at Mr. Penhallow, she couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t seem to think it the slightest bit humorous.
“One way or another, I will do my duty, ma’am,” he said evenly to his grandmother.
Her scowl deepened. “That is not an answer,” she began, when Cecily blurted out in a shrill voice:
“Livia, you low, odious girl! You shan’t steal him from me! I won’t let you! Oh, I always knew you were despicable!”
Immediately Livia pushed aside the fact that she had, only moments ago, been chastising herself with words not unlike those Cecily was hurling at her. Still immersed in a curious dreamlike state in which everything seemed funny and unreal, she couldn’t resist the temptation to get the better of Cecily for once, and so recklessly she tossed another straw onto the camel’s back. “Oh, it was only a kiss!” she said breezily. “You can’t steal someone with a kiss.”
Cecily let out an anguished moan and her knees buckled, prompting her mother to snatch her about the waist, and next to Livia Mr. Penhallow groaned under his breath. “You addle-pated ninny!” he said very quietly.
“Pooh!” she responded saucily, tossing her head, and felt a rather thick tendril of hair, loosed from its clasp, settle against her neck. It was only at this sudden sensation that the first stirrings of true uneasiness prickled in Livia’s mind. Cautiously she felt at her hair and realized that it wasn’t just that one tendril, but several that had come free. Worse still, she now saw that her gown had slid off her shoulder in a most improper way. Oh dear . . .
She grabbed at her sleeve and tugged it into place and wondered nervously just how disarrayed she really was. Was that ghastly Mrs. Penhallow correct? Did she look as bad as all that? And was she foolish for having mentioned the kiss? A burning flush heated up her face and throat, and she shot an anxious look at the old lady, who was eyeing her with a distinctly malevolent expression.
“So you think this is some kind of game, do you, missy?” she said unpleasantly. “You’ll soon find out that tangling with the Penhallows lands you in very deep water!” The old lady turned to her grandson. “You immediately will set us straight,” she said in her commanding way. “I assume this pert young lady is attempting some kind of blackmail.”
Mr. Penhallow was silent.
He looked at Livia and she looked back at him, trying to puzzle out the expression on his face. He was very composed, but she got the distinct impression that there was a great deal he could say if he chose. Cold, cutting things. That could slice a person into a million little pieces. Was he the villain of this piece, or the hero? Another hysterical laugh rose within her, but this time she managed to choke it back. She waited for him to end this ridiculous play. She was more than ready for it to be over.
Instead he said, with a kind of steely calmness:
“No, Grandmama, she is not. I take full responsibility for my actions.”
“Well then!” Uncle Charles exclaimed triumphantly. “It’s settled! You’ll marry the girl, and we’ll wrap this up all nice and tidy!”
“Yes,” said Mr. Penhallow evenly.
“No!” cried Cecily, even as Livia, disbelievingly, croaked:
“What?”
For the first time visibly shaken, old Mrs. Penhallow glared at Mr. Penhallow. “We had an agreement!”
“We did, Grandmama, but circumstances have—ah—intervened.”
“He was mine!” Cecily cried, still held firmly within the circle of Lady Glanville’s supporting arm. “Mama, Livia took him from me!”
With stunning speed, Livia had passed from waxworks to a play to—well, she hardly knew what this was, but things certainly weren’t funny now. Get married for such a stupid little reason? Absurd! “Well, take him back then!” she told Cecily fiercely. “I don’t want him!”
“Not want him?” Mrs. Penhallow nearly shouted, quivering with affronted loathing. “Not want to marry into the Penhallow family? I’ve never heard of anything so outrageous!”