You May Kiss the Bride(77)

Gabriel saw with pain in his own heart that her blue eyes were sparkling with tears. Gently he said: “I had no idea.”

Grandmama answered gruffly. “It’s my fault entirely you’ve been ignorant of these things. They’ve been locked up inside me for all these years. I never wanted to revisit my own suffering. But when one has finally faced one’s mortality, priorities can change. And one becomes, perhaps, rather more honest. To say nothing to you would be, I believe, insupportably selfish. However, here I am giving you a rather jaundiced view of your own mother.”

“As to that—well, I really don’t remember her.”

“No, how could you? No doubt she handed you off to servants from very nearly the moment of your birth.”

“What was she like, Grandmama? Her personality, her interests?”

“It would be difficult to say. She was very proud, very accomplished, and quite an acknowledged beauty. But she was so self-possessed, so self-contained, that it was impossible to know whether there was more to her than that. And she was so lovely that she could dazzle merely by her own presence, without ever needing to open her mouth. It was, incidentally, my own parents who brought her to Henry’s notice, and fostered with enthusiasm the idea of a match between them. I am sure you can appreciate the irony of that.”

Gabriel smiled slightly, murmuring, without heat, “Indeed.”

“Richard and I were unable to tell if Henry truly cared for Adelaide, or if he was more caught by the idea of her appropriateness for him. We asked him, as tactfully as possible, but he was not forthcoming. And he was stubborn. He wanted Adelaide, and she—well, she wanted to be wanted by him.” The old lady had a faraway look on her face. “A handsome couple they made. They were married at the Hall, of course. And what a beautiful baby you were! You got your coloring from Henry, you know, but those unusual golden flecks in your eyes are Adelaide’s. And you have, I am pleased to say, Richard’s nose. I had the impertinence to tell him, not long after we met, that it was positively his best feature.”

“Granny, what was Richard like?” asked Livia.

“Oh, my Richard, my Richard was . . .” Grandmama trailed off, dreamily. “He was . . . wonderful.” Then her gaze focused again and she looked back and forth between Livia and Gabriel. “I daresay you think I’m quite an old stick, worshipping the god of propriety. You should know that I did have my share of adventures as a young lady.”

“Grandmama, you shock us,” said Gabriel, laughter in his voice. “Tell us.”

“Yes, Granny, do!” put in Livia eagerly.

The old lady’s eyes were twinkling now. “No, those are tales for another time.”

“How unkind of you,” said Gabriel reproachfully. “We’ll now be forced to imagine risqué stories of you masquerading as a privateer, terrorizing unwary merchant ships, or traveling about the countryside among a troupe of players, mesmerizing one and all with your riveting theatrical performances.”

She laughed, and Gabriel, laughing too, was filled with amazement. Never in a thousand years would he ever have imagined sharing a conversation like this with his grandmother. Laughing with her. Seeing her so fully human.

He looked again at Livia, his eyes lingering on her face; she was smiling also. All at once he seemed to feel that rush of energy, a visceral connection pulsing between them, vibrant and powerful and alluring, nearly bewildering him with its strength.

Was it issuing from him or from her? And was it real?

Or a fancy of his own creation?

He shook his head a little, as if to clear it.

There were so many unanswered questions between them. He hardly knew what he thought of her, of their situation. Except that . . . right here, right now, he was . . .

He was happy, and happy that she was near him.

That was enough for now.

“Well, I’m tired,” Grandmama said, “and I’d like a nap.” And indeed she looked very fatigued. But, he was glad to note, peaceful as well.

“I’ve stayed too long,” he said, contrite.

“By no means. However, we have yet to fix on a plan. Will you take me—take us—to the Hall?”

This, at least, was now an easy question to answer. “Of course I will.”

She smiled. “Good. I so look forward to seeing my rose garden again. The head gardener and I had the most ferocious quarrels over the superiority of the China rose over the rose of Provins. Ha! As if there could be any doubt about it! And there was a woman in the village who gave birth to triplets. It was a seven days’ wonder, you may be sure. Do you remember that, Evangeline? She named one of the girls after me. She would have given both of the girls my name if I had permitted it, and, I suppose, even the boy, too. I am curious to know what became of them. Oh, and I’ll show you what was, as a child, my favorite place in all the world—a carved stone seat by the river. There was the prettiest willow overhanging it.”