You May Kiss the Bride(26)

Livia barely heard the old lady, for suddenly she realized why she’d been hesitating. “Just a moment!” she said, and quickly she turned—ignoring the loud affronted puff from Mrs. Penhallow—and ran back into the house, up the stairs, and into Aunt Bella’s large, dim drawing-room. As usual the heavy greenish-black drapes were drawn, and near them stood the elaborate birdcage.

Even though the day was well advanced, none of the maids had bothered to remove the green baize cloth covering it. Tenderly, Livia slid the cloth away. Huddled unmoving on their wood perches were the half-dozen small birds, their dark eyes dull. Feeling as though her heart would burst from both pity and excitement, carefully Livia removed the cage from its hook and, indifferent to the astonished looks of the servants loitering in the hall, carried it outside and set it gently on the ground. She undid the latch, opening the little door as wide as possible, and stood aside.

“What on earth is that peculiar girl doing?” came the irritated voice of the old lady from within the coach. There was a soft murmured reply from the other woman and Mrs. Penhallow only sniffed.

Livia glanced up at Gabriel Penhallow. He said nothing, his expression unreadable, but she was grateful that his horse stood still. She looked back at the little birds, who seemed frozen on their perches. “Go, go,” she whispered in encouragement. One bird cocked its head, then took a tentative step toward the opening. Livia remained motionless, holding her breath.

Cautiously, the bird took a few more steps, paused before the little gate, and seemed to look straight at Livia; then it took flight, dark wings shimmering before it disappeared toward the woods clustering thickly behind the Abbey. It was only a moment before the other birds followed suit, the last one emitting a joyous trill of notes as effortlessly it soared up into the blue sky, joining its companions, and then they were gone.

Livia let out her breath with a deep sense of satisfaction and stepped into the coach. She settled onto a comfortable, cushioned seat opposite the old lady, who glared at her and said:

“My word! What a perfectly strange thing to do. Ride on, ride on!” she cried, and the coach, with a gentle jerk, began to move.

Next to Livia was the petite gray-haired lady, holding on her lap an enormous, beautifully chased leather case, the lid clasped shut by a large brass lock. She smiled slightly and said in a pleasant voice, “We have not yet met, Miss Stuart. I am Miss Cott, companion to Mrs. Penhallow. How do you do?”

At least Miss Cott didn’t seem as if she wanted to either kick her into a ditch or laugh at her. How refreshing, Livia thought, and answered politely: “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

“And I you. I trust the brick at your feet is still warm?”

“Yes. Thank you.” It was a luxury unfamiliar to her, and Livia set her thin slippers more comfortably upon the welcome warmth. Then there was silence within the coach. Livia felt no desire to make conversation with Mrs. Penhallow, who stared balefully at her from underneath beetled silver brows, and occupied herself instead by looking out the window. The exquisitely smooth rolling motion of the coach was lulling. Exhausted from too little sleep, Livia felt her eyelids drifting shut, her head nodding heavily, and then she knew no more.

“How very rude!” muttered Mrs. Penhallow. Five minutes later, her eyes closed too, and the harsh lines of her face relaxed in sleep.

Only Miss Cott remained awake, holding the jewelry case securely in her gloved hands. Could Livia and Mrs. Penhallow have known it, she looked at both of them with a calm, steady, mild gaze that was both interested and kind.



Livia stood in her expensively furnished bedchamber in the Inn of the Gilded Lance, staring at the doorknob. During the journey today in Mrs. Penhallow’s enormous black coach she had slept deeply for some three or four hours and now, even though it was past midnight, she was still awake.

Tentatively she reached out and put her hand on the doorknob. She half-expected it to be locked from the outside, but it turned freely. It occurred to her to wonder, then, if they would all be glad if she took advantage of the unlocked door and disappeared forever.

She opened the door and glanced out into the darkened corridor. There was no one there, and so, not bothering to button up her old pelisse, quietly she left her room, padded downstairs, slipped past the still-busy common-parlor, and went outside into the dimly illuminated courtyard, which she had all to herself.

Or so she thought.

She took a few steps, enjoying the cool night air, and then her progress was abruptly halted when her arm was taken in an iron grip.

Livia’s breath caught in her throat and reflexively she tried to wrench her arm free, but without success.