You May Kiss the Bride(61)

Quickly she had unlaced the boots, tugging her feet free, and hidden them again in her armoire. She supposed she should have been glad to know they were still there, in fact, but instead only a great heaviness filled her.

At least, she’d thought, as slowly she went to her bed and climbed into it, tucking the warm covers securely about her, at least her disappearance would—after the initial, inevitable sensation—relieve the Penhallows of further embarrassment.

Grandmama’s life would be quieter and she would be—well, if not happy, happier.

And Gabriel?

He would rejoice.

Had she not been a thorn in his side from the moment they met?

Possibly—sooner, later, right away—he’d even marry Cecily Orr. That is, if Cecily managed to put off Sir Edward Brinkley. It had been clear enough, during yesterday’s conversation on Milsom Street, that Cecily had put two and two together and was considering again her chances of becoming the Penhallow bride.

It had taken Livia a long time to fall asleep. Over and over in her mind ran a depressing image of Gabriel and Cecily meeting at the front of a church and saying their vows, the minister intoning You may kiss the bride, all the while she herself was off in the middle of nowhere, her hair no doubt sheared off, sewing gowns for other people, scrubbing floors and emptying chamber pots.

At least it would be honest work.

Still, this reflection hadn’t cheered her much, especially when, meeting up with the others earlier this morning, Gabriel had raised her gloved hand to his lips in what seemed like a perfunctory way, Cecily Orr greeted her with too bright a smile, and her brother Tom tried to say hello but had been quite literally herded away by the black-browed Miss Gillingham who had only given her a cold bow.

There were a handful of other people assembling: acquaintances she had made during her time in Bath. They were certainly civil to her, but at the same time their speculative looks, their curious glances, told Livia they had definitely heard the nasty rumors which Cecily had been so assiduously putting about.

Still, what did it matter?

It would all be over, soon enough.

For she had finally come to a decision: tomorrow night, after Grandmama’s evening-party had ended and everyone in the house was asleep, she would go. It would be cruel to do it tonight, and leave Grandmama with the harried awkwardness of having to cancel her party. The old lady had done her best with Livia, and the least she could do would be to spare her a fresh tribulation.

Livia felt so heavy with sadness that for a crazy moment she found herself concerned that Daisy could no longer bear her weight.

Gabriel, Gabriel, she thought. It was then she learned that one’s heart could actually hurt in a physical way. She put her hand to her breast, as if to hold back the pain, then suddenly realized that Mr. Thorland had stopped speaking. Quickly she said:

“Most enjoyable, sir. Thank you.”

He smiled. “You’re too kind, Miss Stuart. I’d share with you my ode to my lady’s shining golden hair and eyes the color of the Mediterranean Sea, but . . .” His smile faded, and he gave a deep sigh.

“It’s so hard when love isn’t returned,” Livia said gently. Empathetically.

His sad gray eyes strayed to Cecily Orr, far ahead, who sat with consummate skill on her pretty chestnut mare, looking as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

Mr. Thorland sighed again, and turned back to Livia. “I’ve been in love with Miss Orr for years. Absurd, don’t you think? Not only does she regard me with complete indifference, my suit must fail for other reasons. I’m merely a simple country squire; my estate is modest. It’s folly to think her parents would even consider me. Yet—when I heard she’d gone to Bath, I couldn’t help trailing after her. Sperare semper, you know.”

Livia looked a question, and he translated.

“To hope always.”

His mother, mild of face and with soft gray eyes like her son, called to him from her seat in Mrs. Tenneson’s landau, and with a courteous word of apology, Mr. Thorland left Livia to edge his horse alongside it.

Livia could hear her inquiring about the plans for luncheon. Her own eyes strayed ahead to Gabriel, tall and straight on Primus; beside him was Tom Orr who was talking eagerly.

To hope always.

Why, what a wonderfully optimistic sentiment. In theory it sounded so uplifting, but in practice—Livia had no hope. Not a particle of it. She could practically hear the clock ticking at her back, the hours before her departure speeding along.

As she stared at Gabriel, she was aware that all her prickly, bristling, hard-edged hostility had drained away. And what was left?

A sudden, desperate longing.

Just to be next to him.