You May Kiss the Bride(87)
“You’re so good at it. Kissing, I mean.”
He laughed. “Thank you. You’re quite good yourself.”
“I still have a way to go. And you know what they say—practice makes perfect.”
“We’ll have to keep practicing at it, then. It’s going to be agony to be separated at the inn tonight.”
“One night,” she said, in her voice a promise, “one night only, and then we’ll be at the Hall.”
“I can’t wait to show it to you, Livia. And there’s one place in particular I want you to see.”
“What place is that?”
“The chapel,” he said, and kissed her again, and by the time Livia returned the pillow to Grandmama’s room her hair was only a trifle tousled; although the old lady’s silvery brows went up, she said not a word about it, to either Livia or to her grandson, who was looking the tiniest bit rumpled himself.
Ultimately they left Bath at (true to Gabriel’s prediction) midday, a cavalcade which included a big rented carriage for the servants, and Gabriel, riding on Primus, alongside Grandmama’s massive coach, in which the three ladies were comfortably ensconced. Grandmama, with the faithful Muffin on her lap, was animated and cheerful. She did look a little fatigued, Livia thought, and Miss Cott was still a bit absentminded, but other than these small concerns the journey went smoothly. Livia couldn’t help but gaze frequently out the window. Every glance she shared with Gabriel seemed only to set the seal on the happiness bubbling within her.
They arrived in good time at the Royal Hart in Wells, where they were met by the proprietor, Mr. Mundy, who assured them he had personally inspected their rooms to ensure that his high standards had been met. Their private parlor, also passed under his stringent eye, awaited them at their convenience, he declared, and dinner was, of course, bespoken.
Grandmama was at her most gracious, although Muffin took one of his unaccountable dislikes to Mr. Mundy and had to be sharply brought to heel. She pronounced her rooms acceptable, and for the duration of their short stay no one in their party talked about either fleas or damp sheets—although in the morning, after breakfast, Grandmama did, discreetly, ask Livia to thoroughly examine Muffin before they got back in the coach. If Livia found anything, she didn’t remark upon it, and Grandmama didn’t ask. Thus they embarked on the second, and last, leg of their trip with unruffled relations among them.
Livia stared eagerly out the window. Not just at Gabriel now—although she could never tire of looking at him—but at the countryside. Somerset, she thought, was beautiful, with its rolling hills and vast rich grasslands, its winding rivers and towering woodlands. She saw huge flocks of sheep, and cattle, too, and when they passed by a flourishing apple orchard, Grandmama commented nostalgically about the cider of her youth, the apple pudding, and, best of all, apple snow, a sweet froth of steamed apples and fine white sugar all whipped together into soft peaks.
“Mrs. Worthing has a wonderful receipt. Cook will make us some,” she promised Livia.
As the afternoon slowly passed, Grandmama fell into a doze and Miss Cott also closed her eyes, though Livia did not think she slept. The gentle rhythmic swaying of the coach had a decidedly soporific effect, but she herself was too excited to sleep. Soon, they would be at Surmont Hall.
Great white clouds slowly massed overhead, dimming the bright sunshine, and a brisk wind had picked up. Livia watched as the clouds cast enormous shifting shadows on fields and green hills and, feeling a chill seep into the coach, wrapped her shawl more securely around her. Muffin left Grandmama’s lap and came to Livia; she gathered him up in her arms.
In the distance she saw a village. Gabriel rode close, tapped on the window. She opened it and he said:
“The coachman says that’s Riverton ahead—the village closest to the Hall. We won’t go through it today, but will take a shorter track home. Only a little while now.”
She smiled and nodded, even as a cool breeze snaked inside, ruffling their shawls and gowns. Grandmama woke with a start.
“Oh! Riverton? Excellent! Livia, dear, do shut that window; thank you.” She craned her head to better observe the view. “Look, there’s the rectory, Evangeline. What was the name of that nice parson? He did give wonderful sermons.”
“Mr. Markson,” said Miss Cott, very quietly.
“Oh, yes, that’s right. And there is the Greenlaws’ manor. Dear me, it looks smaller than I remember it. They had little girls just my age when I was growing up, although I wasn’t allowed to play with them, which seemed to me dreadfully unfair. Mama considered them beneath us. What were their names? Drusilla and . . . and Amanda! And here we come to Penhallow land at last. Do you see that crumbling old stone building, Livia? The remains of an ancient fort, dating back to the Roman era. As a girl I thought the ruins terribly romantic and would ride here frequently. And very often I would leave my groom behind. So naughty of me, and what scolds I received from Mama!”