And quite possibly having her thrown bodily off the estate.
The cold hard truth, Livia realized, was that she had nowhere to turn.
“What are you perusing with such seriousness?” said a friendly familiar voice.
Her shoulders tensing with dread, Livia turned to see Cecily—again! Was she following her?—beautifully dressed in a white robe of French cambric over which was draped a rose-colored mantle of twilled silk, trimmed with a white lacy ruffle all round. Cecily came up close, and peered at the brass signplate. “Oh! An employment agency.” She turned her pretty blue eyes, limpid but uncomfortably searching, to Livia’s face.
Livia willed her expression to remain neutral, but she knew, with a sinking feeling, that a hot, red blush was suffusing her entire face. Finally she said, with an attempt at casual speech:
“Yes, I—I am in search of a new dresser.”
“And you are visiting an employment agency yourself? How enterprising of you! And how peculiar. But everyone knows, of course, what an unusual young lady you are.”
“No thanks to you,” Livia said through gritted teeth. And then blurted out something which surprised her. “Those awful things you’re saying about me—I don’t care about myself, but you’re hurting Mrs. Penhallow.”
“An hour ago, I would have said that didn’t matter to me, but now—” Cecily broke off, looking very thoughtfully at the brass signplate again. “Do you know, Sir Edward Brinkley offered for me yesterday.”
Sir Edward! Livia suddenly recalled seeing him quite frequently at Cecily’s side these past days, smooth and urbane, but it was only now that she recognized the strange similarity between them, both blond, blue-eyed, polished and elegant and somehow lacking in essential human warmth.
They were, she thought with a sick feeling in her stomach, birds of a feather. Her own problems temporarily forgotten, Livia stared at Cecily, who returned her gaze with a new complacency.
“You look amazed, Livia dear. It’s quite a splendid match. Sir Edward is even wealthier than Mr. Penhallow, and I’m afraid I could outshine you in every way.”
“Could? You didn’t accept him?”
“Naturally I said I wasn’t certain. His ardor must be increased by maidenly hesitation. Everyone knows that. Sir Edward said he would certainly press his suit. How delighted Mama and Papa are—how very pleased with me. I am quite their golden girl again. And not only would I be surpassing you, I’d put Miss Gillingham in the shade as well. No wonder she’s been giving me black looks, poor dear.”
Livia now said something else that surprised her. “Cecily, don’t do it.”
Cecily gave that horrible little tinkling laugh of hers. “Jealous, Livia dear?”
“No. Not in the least. But Sir Edward—he doesn’t seem like—like an easy man. Do you truly think he’ll be kind to you?”
“I could manage him,” replied Cecily confidently. “Why, he’s old. Old men are so weak. And that pathetic sister of his! She acts as if she’s afraid of her own shadow. Now that I think on it, I might turn her out of the house entirely. Why would I want to look at her wrinkled old face all day? But . . .” Cecily paused, looking thoughtful again. “Money isn’t everything, after all. Well! And here you are, with your nuptials nearly upon us. And yet, so much could happen between now and then, I imagine. I must think of a way I can be helpful to you. That is, more than I’ve already been doing.”
Revulsion rose within Livia and, sorry she had said anything at all about Sir Edward, she said quickly: “I must go; I have an appointment. Pray excuse me, Miss Orr.” And she hurried back to Grandmama’s, where she changed her walking-dress for her riding-habit. It was time for another lesson with Gabriel.
The last and final one.
Chapter 10
Gabriel rode silently alongside Livia. A sideways glance showed him that she had a distracted air about her. He noticed, too, that she wore a charming new habit of russet-brown styled á la militaire—had her previous one been unalterably dirtied in her mad dash on Cheap Street?—which displayed her admirably rounded figure to great advantage.
Abruptly he looked away.
No. He would not gaze at her like some lovesick boy.
He was fighting this.
God in heaven, he’d spent years in the Diplomatic Corps expertly managing emotions which got in the way of doing his job. Setting them aside; concealing them. This situation was, when it came right down to it, all of a piece—and besides, his ordeal was nearly over.
Only two weeks remained until his mockery of a wedding.
And then it would be all over. He’d be free again to go his own way. Europe was not an option, of course, due to the war, but why not travel even further afield? Brazil was said to be an interesting place, and it was enormous: it would take him a long, long time to thoroughly explore it.