You May Kiss the Bride(62)
Just to talk. Without fighting.
She felt like a small, hungry bird. Grateful for any crumbs tossed her way.
Miss Gillingham drew close to Tom Orr, and firmly bore him away. And then, as if feeling Livia’s gaze upon him, Gabriel turned his head; he looked at her. And Livia watched in great surprise as he guided Primus into a turn.
Toward her.
To her.
When he had brought Primus around so that they were riding side by side, he said nothing, only looked at her again with those fine, brown, topaz-flecked eyes and slightly raised those sleek dark brows.
Livia struggled with emotions that felt beyond her control. This was her last chance to talk with him, really talk with him. She wanted to tell him she was leaving, but the words simply wouldn’t come. As if she would die if she said them out loud. And so finally she said in an urgent rush:
“Did you like school?”
His eyebrows went higher. “I beg your pardon?”
“I was—I was just wondering. You said that your parents died when you were seven, and after that you went away to school.”
His expression was a little questioning, but after a moment he replied, in a neutral tone, “Not at first. I suppose I was still in shock about losing my parents. Although we weren’t close, it was very much a loss of stability.”
“Yes. Of course. Did you ever come to like it? School, I mean?”
“After a time, yes. I liked learning. I liked the sports. And I made some good friends.”
“And then?”
“I went to Oxford.”
“Did you like it?”
He smiled a little. “Very much.”
“And after that?”
“At Grandmama’s urging—by which I mean, of course, at her command—for a few years I obediently went about in Society.”
“You enjoyed it?”
“Not particularly. I wanted occupation, something that would utilize my intellect and energies. Instead I was pursued, vigorously, even relentlessly, as an eligible bachelor. I began to feel like an object rather than a man.”
Livia nodded. She understood perfectly. But now, when she was so desperate, was no time for irony. “What happened then?”
“I was able to secure a position with the Diplomatic Corps, and traveled throughout Europe promoting England’s interests against Napoleon. I spent two years involved in the development of the Fifth Coalition with Austria.”
“And this—did you enjoy this?”
“Yes, a great deal.”
“Wasn’t it dangerous?”
“Sometimes, when traveling in areas hostile to the English.”
“You look as if you liked it.”
He laughed. “I did.”
“How long did you do it?”
“Six years.”
“Why did you come back?”
“While I was in Vienna, at the time Austria was being forced to sign the Treaty of Schönbrunn, there were multiple attempts on my life. Apparently some of Napoleon’s agents seemed to find my presence there rather—ah—onerous. Against my protests, the government brought me home, thanked me very graciously, and released me from service.”
She looked at him curiously. “You would have stayed on?”
“Yes. But Prime Minister Perceval insisted. I can’t prove anything, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Grandmama had dropped him a hint. Perceval’s an old acquaintance of hers, and he has twelve children, so he may well have been sympathetic to her dynastic imperatives.”
“Are you angry at her for helping to end your diplomatic career?”
He smiled again. “It’s merely suspicion. I devoutly hope it’s only that, for otherwise it would put her too close to omnipotence.”
Livia smiled back. “She would like that, I think.”
“Undoubtedly. On the other hand . . .” Gabriel paused. Then he went on, thoughtfully: “On the other hand, she may have somehow gotten wind of the assassination attempts. I can hardly blame her for wishing me to return home. I am, after all, her only grandchild. Perhaps—perhaps it was selfish of me to place myself at such risk, and to be so far away.”
He looked at Livia and said, slowly, as if surprised at himself: “It is, I admit, a new perspective. Grandmama is not—shall we say—the easiest person with whom to get along. During my schooldays I heartily disliked holidays spent with her here in Bath, and as I got older I managed to spend some of them elsewhere with friends. I always used to wonder how Miss Cott could stand it. But I’ve never once heard her complain.”
“Nor have I. She is saintly, I think!”
Gabriel laughed. “Yes, she is. Although she might be shocked to hear herself described that way. She’s a clergyman’s daughter, you know.”