And then he laughed again.
Sat down again.
Picked up the brandy bottle again.
He didn’t even know where Livia’s room was.
Given the way he was feeling about himself right now, he didn’t think he could even meet her eyes, let alone do what he wanted to do, which was to kiss her, hold her, love her.
I have been living in a dream.
“‘A dream itself is but a shadow,’” he muttered out loud, mocking himself with a line from Hamlet. How annoyingly apropos was the Bard—that clever, dead old bastard—with an aphorism for every occasion, evidently. Including the one in which a man discovers, much to his surprise, that he is a joke to himself and to the world.
And then Gabriel poured himself another drink.
In the morning Livia was more than a little amazed to realize that she had slept soundly. She had anticipated wakefulness, restlessness—nothing but broken sleep—but the obverse had been true. Perhaps it had been her own exhaustion. She woke not long after dawn, and let consciousness of her surroundings slowly seep in. Here she was at Surmont Hall. Gabriel, her love, was here, not far away. Still asleep, or like herself awake? And, perhaps, thinking of her? She would see him soon.
Soon, soon, soon, sang a happy little voice inside her.
With glad anticipation Livia smiled, stretched luxuriously; then, eagerly, she got out of bed, dressed, and went down to the kitchen, where fresh bustle awaited her. Mrs. Worthing, who had been inspecting a basket of eggs, came cheerfully to greet her.
“Good morning, Miss—Miss—” Her brow furrowed, and she peered closely at Livia. “Are you a guest of the family, miss?”
Sally the maidservant swept by with a large pitcher, then paused. “That’s Miss Livia, ma’am,” she said, already on good terms with the old housekeeper and obviously conversant with her malady. “She’s to marry Mr. Penhallow, you see.”
“Mr. Penhallow?” Mrs. Worthing gaped in astonishment at Livia. “But she can’t! He is already married, to Mrs. Adelaide!”
“It’s Mr. Gabriel Penhallow she’s to wed, ma’am,” Sally explained.
“But . . . but he is only a child of five! I just made a pudding for Nanny to take up with her to the nursery!”
“Now ma’am, don’t get yourself into a fret,” coaxed Sally, “he’s the grown gentleman who came by for a cup of coffee a little while ago, don’t you remember that? That’s our Mr. Gabriel.”
To Livia’s relief Mrs. Worthing’s brow cleared and she nodded complacently. “Oh yes, and so handsome! He has quite the look of Mr. Henry, you know. And so you’re his wife, Mrs. Livia! What a pleasure it was to see the two of you together at the ball last night! But—but why are you here, Mrs. Livia? Mrs. Adelaide never comes into the kitchen, to be sure! Is it Nanny you’re looking for? Is she not in the nursery with your little ones? I just made a nice pudding for her to take up. Oh dear, could it be that something is wrong? You should not be here, Mrs. Livia.”
Livia hesitated, not wishing to agitate the old woman by her presence. She was thankful when Sally came close and said:
“Oh, ma’am, won’t you show me the eggs you’d like to have boiled?”
She drew Mrs. Worthing away, distracting her easily. Thank heavens, thought Livia. When James the footman stepped into the kitchen, bringing with him an armful of wood, she turned to him with relief.
“James,” she said, “where is Mr. Gabriel?”
“As to that I don’t know, miss,” replied James, “except that he gave orders for his horse to be saddled and that nobody should expect him back until late.”
“Oh, I see. Thank you.” Conscious again of that odd feeling of hurt, Livia made herself shrug it off. Naturally Gabriel wanted to look over the estate. And there certainly was plenty for her to do this morning.
“Will you be wanting breakfast, miss?” asked Sally.
“Breakfast? Yes, thank you, Sally, I’ll take it in the breakfast-parlor.”
Afterwards, Livia made her way back to the wing in which the family’s rooms were located.
She tapped first on the door to Miss Cott’s bedchamber. It was promptly opened and Livia saw that the older woman’s face was still tired and wan. Quickly she asked:
“Did you not pass a good night?”
Miss Cott shook her head. “Mrs. Penhallow did not, and asked for me.”
“I’m so sorry. I would have gladly helped.”
“Thank you. But it was myself she asked for,” gently answered Miss Cott.
“Oh. Yes. I—I came to see if you and Granny were coming down to breakfast.”