You May Kiss the Bride(37)

But when he was alone, a little while later, without Livia near to confuse him, that comforting feeling of sureness was abruptly replaced by the realization that she was right. Completely right. While his grandmother certainly was entitled to eat however she liked, her staff deserved better. If he hadn’t been so determined to get the upper hand with Livia . . .

Five minutes later he was on his way to Upper Camden Place, where he asked the butler Crenshaw to conduct him into the presence of his grandmother. She was, fortunately, alone. He did not expect this to be a cordial interview, and he was proven correct. Half an hour later, having gained his point, he left the townhouse with the old saying floating through his mind:

Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never harm me.

A good thing, too, he thought ruefully, otherwise he’d be hobbling out of there a broken man.

And then he thought of Livia, and the pleasant surprise that would soon await her.

And he smiled.



Livia looked with amazement at the plate in front of her. On it was a fragrant slice of roasted chicken, a wedge of pheasant pie, and a generous serving of peas, lovely and green and shimmery with a rich buttery sauce.

Quickly she glanced at Miss Cott’s plate and saw the same thing, then flicked her gaze to Mrs. Penhallow’s and saw only her usual cuisine. If that was even the right word for it. What were those odd-looking cutlets?

“Yes, you may well gape, Miss Stuart,” said the old lady acidly. “No doubt at your instigation, my grandson had the impertinence to interfere with my domestic arrangements. I trust you are well satisfied with your officious efforts.”

Livia could feel the saliva gathering in her mouth. Oh, she was, she was satisfied, but saying so seemed dangerous. So she only made a soft, vaguely agreeable sound and picked up her fork—the correct one—and knife. The roasted chicken proved to be just as delicious as it looked. A few minutes later she accepted a second slice from the footman, and it wasn’t until she had moved on to the pheasant pie that it struck her: Gabriel had bestirred himself!

An almost physical sense of surprise rushed through her, followed by—goodness gracious, was it happiness? Had he done this for her?

Clearly, there was more to that exasperating man than only stubborn arrogance. Livia began to feel regretful at parting from him two days ago in the Pump Room with what she had to now admit was outright churlishness. But he had bowed over her hand with such cool remoteness, and had given no indication as to his plans.

Oh, she must, and would, thank him as soon as next she saw him! She would be very proper and aloof, of course, but gracious. Not unlike an empress acknowledging a worthy gesture from a subordinate. That would be the ideal note to strike. And she would not, absolutely would not, lose her temper.

Caught up in this beguiling vision of herself, Livia jumped when Mrs. Penhallow rapped her knuckles on the table, and turned startled eyes to her hostess.

“I daresay you had a very good reason for ignoring me,” said the old lady with withering sarcasm. “Perhaps you were wondering what the dessert course will be?”

She hadn’t, but now she was, although clearly it would be unwise to ask. “I beg your pardon, ma’am.”

“I was merely observing that by eating in that indulgent way you risk degrading your pancreas into a cataplectic state. And you can certainly expect your blood to run high and induce Magenverstimmung, as Dr. Wendeburgen so eloquently puts it. You’ll doubtless need to be bled, but don’t think you can come running to me for it. Must you take yet another slice of chicken?”

“It would be uncouth to give it back, wouldn’t it, ma’am?” Livia asked in the tone of one humbly seeking guidance. This simple question inspired Mrs. Penhallow to discourse at some length not only on table manners but also on the perils of overeating, particularly in the evening, and to quote freely from Dr. Wendeburgen’s apparently infinite stock of nutritive precepts. It also enabled Livia to peacefully enjoy the rest of her meal. A surreptitious glance across the table revealed that Miss Cott—with the quiet precision of a little, unnoticed mouse—also cleaned her plate.

But Mrs. Penhallow was, after all, to have the last laugh on them both. With awful civility she said to Miss Cott: “Et tu, Brute?” and then turned to Livia. “I had a note from Gabriel informing me he has found a horse for you, Miss Stuart. Your riding lessons will therefore commence tomorrow.”

“Oh, but I have no habit,” said Livia quickly.

Mrs. Penhallow smiled triumphantly. “Naturally it pains me to contradict you, but Madame Lévêque was able to expedite its completion. I am informed that Flye is even now pressing it out for you.”