You May Kiss the Bride(57)

A rather predatory-looking eagle.

“Isn’t this jolly?” said Cecily, standing just a little too close. “I vow it’s been an age since last we saw each other! We have so much to catch up on!”

Livia pulled herself together. “Not really.”

Cecily laughed. “Oh, but you’re wrong. So very wrong.” She dipped a respectful curtsy to Mrs. Penhallow, then put her arm through Livia’s and drew her away.

Livia would have preferred to dig in her heels and remain exactly where she was, but unfortunately there was no purchase for her elegant little half-boots on the too-smooth floor of the Pump Room, nor would she relish the image of herself being tugged along by Cecily Orr as if she were a child’s wheeled pull-toy.

So she walked alongside her.

They swept right by Lord and Lady Glanville, Tom Orr (who looked acutely unhappy and more awkward than ever), and a richly dressed, black-haired young lady with a sharp crease between her black brows.

“I’ll introduce you to Miss Gillingham another time,” Cecily told her. “She and Tom are engaged, by the bye. It was all arranged after you left. She’s the daughter of a baronet, you know, and has a dowry of twenty thousand pounds. It’s so romantic! Now here at last is a little space in which we can comfortably promenade, and chat without being overheard. No, dear, do allow me to keep my arm tucked through yours. It’s so convivial, isn’t it? And everyone who sees us will know just how close we are—two longtime friends from Wiltshire, together again.”

“Yes, good friends,” said Livia sarcastically.

But Cecily only smiled and edged herself yet closer.

“Dear little Livia! How you’ve changed! Lord, you’re a veritable fashion plate, aren’t you? Such a charming gown, and that sea-green spencer suits you to perfection.”

“How kind of you to say so, Miss Orr. What brings you to Bath?”

“Oh, do call me Cecily! There’s no need for formality, after all that we’ve been through together. How is dear Mr. Penhallow?”

“He is well.”

“I’m so happy to hear it. Aren’t you the most fortunate girl in the world. Oh, and you wished to know why we are here in Bath, didn’t you.” Cecily’s breath tickled at Livia’s ear in a highly unpleasant way, making the skin on the back of her neck prickle uneasily.

“Well, after you left, Livia dear, I’m sorry to say some horrid rumors began to circulate—all about how Mr. Penhallow didn’t like me well enough to propose, and how I’d been upstaged by some poor little country mouse, and how I had failed so pathetically. Oh, there’s no need to stare. I know you didn’t say anything, nor did Mama or I. But people talk, and servants gossip, too. After a while, Mama thought it best that we travel to some agreeable watering-place until things quieted down at home. She proposed Tunbridge Wells, and Miss Gillingham wanted to go to London, despite its being so thin of company just now.”

Cecily squeezed Livia’s arm. “But I made them come to Bath. I knew you were still here. And now,” she concluded gaily, “now I can make your life just as miserable as you made mine.”

Her tightening grip on Livia’s arm reminded her vividly, too vividly, of her nightmare with that nasty snake in it. But as the import of Cecily’s words sank in, Livia felt a strong impulse to laugh—in a thoroughly cynical manner—in the other girl’s face. As if Cecily had the power to make her life even more miserable.

Just then someone said:

“Good day, Miss Orr! How—how do you do?”

It was, to say the least, a welcome interruption of this ghastly little tête-à-tête. Gratefully Livia pulled herself free from Cecily and turned to face a man in his early thirties, brown hair cropped unfashionably short, clad with neat propriety but not distinction, and otherwise unremarkable save for a pair of fine gray eyes, just now fixed eagerly on Cecily.

“Oh, Mr. Thorland,” Cecily answered, without warmth. “I didn’t know you were in Bath.”

“Yes, I—that is to say, my mother felt she would benefit from a change of scene,” he replied with a slight stammer. “She is there, drinking the waters.”

In a cursory way Cecily performed an introduction, and Livia learned that Mr. Thorland also lived in Wiltshire, not far from the Orrs’ estate. He valiantly attempted to engage Cecily in conversation but without much success; her gaze wandered rudely around the room.

Goodness gracious, he loves her! thought Livia in amazement. He’s followed her here so that he can be with her.

She looked at him intently. She vaguely remembered, now, seeing him in passing at that fateful ball of the Orrs’. He had the soulful eyes of a poet, all dreamy and soft and lit with adoration of his golden idol. Perhaps he perceived an entirely different Cecily than the shallow, spiteful one that she herself had the dubious pleasure of knowing.