You May Kiss the Bride(53)

He drank glass after glass of wine and his urbane flow of polite inanities washed over her; toward her he displayed a kindly cordiality, twice saying, “Why, I’m old enough to be your father, my dear,” but more than once did she feel, underneath the table, his knee pressing against hers.

As discreetly as possible, Livia hitched herself away from him. But her stomach seemed to clench itself into an angry knot.

He’d been describing at some length the highlights of their journey from London, and now he said:

“When we paused in Chippenham to change horses, my sister and I came upon a most diverting sight. There was a village green, very quaint, and what do you think we saw there?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Crowds of people gathered around a stake. A woman was tied to it and being whipped for a witch.” He laughed and reached again for his wineglass. “These provincials! According to the ostler, they were actually going to toss her in a pond, to see if she floated. One felt quite transported back to medieval times.”

Livia stared at him. “What did you do?”

“Do? It’s absolutely legal, and very likely the woman deserved it. Our wonderfully informative ostler disclosed that she had used evil charms to enchant a man belonging to another woman, and stolen him away.” He laughed. “Quite the tale, n’est-ce pas? Evidently they were taking bets in the common-parlor as to whether or not she would sink.”

“Perhaps,” Livia said, striving to keep her tone neutral, “the man in question was at fault.”

He smiled at her, and underneath the table his foot groped for hers. “Surely not, my dear Miss Stuart. Well, well, it was all most entertaining. Travel can be so broadening, don’t you think?”

The way he said broadening made Livia feel slightly ill. He kept his gaze fixed on her, not unlike, it seemed to her, the way a cobra would paralyze its prey. What, she wondered, would a lady do besides covertly slide her foot away from the unwelcome encroachments of a gentleman in the seat next to hers at a grand dinner-party? And what would that paragon of Society, the Honorable Cecily Orr, say in such a situation?

Why, Cecily would smile, and nod, and agree, of course, and (one assumed) continue to covertly shrink away in her chair.

But she was not Cecily. Never again would she be like her.

Livia said, with quiet politeness, “No woman deserves such a treatment. Perhaps if you had intervened, sir, you might have saved her from such dreadful humiliation and danger.”

There was a sudden silence all around her, and Sir Edward put down his wineglass a little too quickly: the red wine within slopped onto the white tablecloth. His blue eyes were less friendly as he answered:

“Surely you’ll accept the advice of one old enough to stand in lieu of your father, my dear, and refrain from shaming yourself with such odd pronouncements.”

“I’m not ashamed. It was you, sir, who introduced the topic.” She was aware that her hands were shaking—with suppressed rage—and very carefully she put down her silver knife and fork, set her linen napkin next to her plate, and stood up. “Pray excuse me. Strangely, my slipper seems to have become soiled and I must attend to it.”

She was not in the least bit surprised that later, once more in the drawing-room in Upper Camden Place, she was made to endure a tremendous scold from Grandmama. Gabriel, who had been summoned as well, sat by without saying a word (looking so imperturbable that Livia wished she could throw something at him, hard). Finally, when Grandmama paused to furiously draw breath, Livia said, sitting very straight:

“Sir Edward is detestable. How could anyone talk about that poor woman like he did? Also, for what it’s worth, he was—he was bothering me under the table with his horrid feet.”

At that, Gabriel leaned forward, frowning, and Grandmama said, in a slightly less severe tone, “Oh! Well! Why didn’t you say so?”

Livia gave her a small, glinting smile. “It would hardly have been polite to have interrupted you, ma’am.”

The old lady scowled. She was quiet for a minute or two, then added, as if the words were being dragged from her: “You were right to withdraw. I confess I’m quite put off by Sir Edward. Very poor ton.”

“If he troubles you again,” said Gabriel, his dark eyes fixed on Livia, “let me know. I’ll tend to him.”

In his voice was a serious intent, one that did not bode well for Sir Edward Brinkley.

Livia smiled faintly. “Thank you. But I’ll take care that he doesn’t.”

“Well! Let us move on,” put in Grandmama irritably, “and hope that tomorrow will be unexceptional! These fireworks of yours are most fatiguing.”