You May Kiss the Bride, page 23
Right, right, right, sang her body and her heart.
She could not have said how long it went on, this rough exquisite joining, only that they were far beyond words, and that all too soon she shattered, gasping, letting him stop her mouth with his own, and hard upon that, he gave a final thrust, shuddered, and was done.
For a few moments Gabriel lay on top of her, his long form a kind of splendid weight blanketing her. He nuzzled her with his jaw, and she could just feel the beginning growth of dark beard; then he withdrew from her, rolled onto his back, still breathing heavily.
Livia listened to this intimate sound in the darkness of her bed, smiling to herself.
Right, right, right.
Then his deep voice said:
“Livia.”
“Yes, Gabriel?”
“Lift up your head for a moment.”
She did, without bothering to ask why, and gently Gabriel tugged free a mass of her hair.
“Thank you.”
She watched as he lay back and draped the long strands across his throat and chest.
“I was right,” he said lazily.
“About what?”
“Your hair is like silk.”
“Thank you.”
“Although it’s rather tangled, I regret to say.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“Mine.”
He looked so contented that Livia felt as if her heart might burst with her own happiness.
Right, right, right.
At length she said: “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Is the bed noisy?”
“I wasn’t paying attention. Were you?”
“No,” she confessed.
He turned onto his side, facing her. “Let’s do it again. Only listen, won’t you?”
“I’ll try.”
They made love, more languorously this time, just as satisfyingly, and after, when they had reluctantly disengaged and lay on their sides again, relaxed, the sweat drying on their naked bodies, she looked at him and said:
“Well?”
“Sorry. You distract me.”
“Oh well.”
“Let’s just assume it’s the quietest bed in the world.”
“All right.”
There was a pause, easy and comfortable. Then:
“Gabriel.”
“Yes, Livia?”
“You have the nicest dimple in your chin.”
“Thank you. I’m glad it pleases you.”
“It does. Very much.”
“I’m glad,” he repeated drowsily, and in the very next moment he was fast asleep.
Chapter 14
Livia smiled, allowed her own eyelids to drift shut, but just as she was about to surrender herself to sleep as well, was brought sharply awake by a consciousness of what the morning would bring. Daylight. Servants. The need for discretion. A vision of herself and Gabriel, trying to explain to Grandmama his presence in his fiancée’s bedchamber, had no redeeming qualities to it whatsoever.
Also, suddenly, she was cold. They were both lying on top of the now-rumpled bedclothes, completely naked.
“Gabriel,” she said, then, still in a low voice but more forcefully: “Gabriel!”
He slept peacefully on.
Livia would have gladly sold her soul for the chance to cuddle up to him, wrap them in warm quilts, and spend the night this way, but practical considerations overrode her sybaritic self.
She pinched the skin of his upper arm, even as she admired the hard swell of muscle there. Goodness, but he was sinfully attractive.
Gabriel shifted his arm slightly but otherwise showed no signs of imminent consciousness.
As a last resort, Livia hitched herself on top of him.
This clever stratagem brought a prompt response from Gabriel, although it didn’t seem likely to induce a swift departure.
He opened his eyes, smiled, slid his arms around her; within a very short time he was hard, and an answering desire threatened her worthy resolve.
“Again?” he murmured. “This is a nice position, too. If you could just slide down a bit—”
“You need to go.”
At that, Gabriel stopped his horribly tempting effort to lure her into making love and glanced quickly toward the windows. “Good God, how long did I sleep?”
He looked so adorably startled that Livia couldn’t help herself. She kissed him. It was a nice position, with her breasts pressed against his chest, and how exciting to have him, well, pinioned beneath her—even though she knew at any moment he, with his vastly superior strength, could flip her onto her back. That was also a nice position . . .
But then she rolled off him and scrambled underneath the covers, pulling them primly up to her neck. “Not long. But you must go, you know.”
“You’re right, of course.” He sighed, then said soulfully: “‘Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die.’”
“Yes, Romeo, because otherwise Granny will kill us.”
He laughed. “How right you are.”
Livia watched, drinking her fill of him, as he rose, dressed, then came to the bedside where she lay, snugly warm again, under the covers. He leaned down to kiss her lightly, and said:
“‘Parting is such—’”
“‘—sweet sorrow,’” she finished, twinkling up at him. “But we’ll see each other very soon, after all. Granny wants to leave by nine.”
He laughed again. “She says that, of course, but I strongly doubt we’ll depart before noon. Adieu, my sweet.”
With that, he went to blow out the last of the guttering candles on her dressing-table, and was gone, softly closing the door behind him.
Livia was so happy that sleep suddenly seemed unimaginable. She stretched luxuriously, listened for the rush of raindrops against the house, revisiting in her memory the events—the delights—of the evening. Joy, sweet joy sang within her. She felt with her hand for the spot where Gabriel had lain, but the warmth of his body was no longer there. She sighed, missing him already; then she curled onto her side and finally, finally, closed her eyes. Her last wisp of consciousness was a line from Hamlet.
To sleep, perchance to dream . . .
She hoped Gabriel would be in her dreams tonight.
Silently her lips formed the words, as if sending them through the ether to him:
I love you.
Later, much later, to her sleeping self came an image of a great castle, all turrets and oriels and crenelated battlements. And in the abrupt, yet curiously seamless way of the dreaming mind, she was all at once within the castle and in a long, dim corridor. Ahead of her—perhaps twenty paces away—was Gabriel.
In her dream, he looked at her and smiled, beckoning as if urging her to come to him. But then he turned away, opened a door, went inside, and was gone. She ran after him, but the door was shut; she rattled the doorknob but could not turn it, could not open the door. Frantically she looked around and for the first time realized that the walls of the corridor were filled with portraits—dozens, hundreds of portraits, large and small, all of distinguished-looking people clad elegantly in the costumes of previous centuries, surrounded by gleaming, gilded frames.
Livia knew they were long-dead Penhallows. To her unspeakable horror, as she stood there helpless and alone, the people in the portraits seemed to come alive, and they all were glaring at her.
A thousand voices whispered:
You will never be a real lady. Poor little Livia.
Where, she wondered desperately, was Gabriel?
You will never be a real lady. Poor little Livia.
She screamed out his name, but he did not come.
You will never be a real lady. Poor little Livia.
Over and over they whispered it, gaining in volume, until their voices gathered, rose, and the thundering noise of it brought her to her knees. She pressed her hands to her ears, trying, unsuccessfully, to block out these relentless voices; and finally, just when she was sure she would break into a million pieces, the corridor dissolved.
And the welcome silence of dreamless sleep claimed her.
In the morning came sunlight, blue cloudless skies, and only the lightest whisper of a breeze, cool and friendly. It was perfect traveling weather. As Livia went up and down the stairs, here and there, helping Grandmama with last-minute arrangements, it was easy to push away the eerie remnants of last night’s dream, especially when she stepped into the deserted hall just as Gabriel arrived, and he smiled at her, which made her feel as sunny as the sky itself.
“Hello,” he said.
Hello, she thought. What a delightful word it was. She’d never noticed that before. “Hello.”
“Are you well, Livia?”
“Very well. And yourself?”
“Likewise. More than likewise. What are you doing with that pillow?”
“What?”
“I asked why you’re holding that pillow.”
“Oh.” Livia had completely forgotten she had it in her hands. It was hard to think about pillows when Gabriel stood so close. My, he was handsome, and wasn’t it nice to see him smiling at her so warmly. It occurred to her that she could get used to this.
“Livia.”
“Yes?”
“The pillow.”
“Oh! Granny changed her mind about bringing it. I’m taking it up to her room.”
“I’ll join you. Let’s go this way.”
He took her into the backstairs, up two flights, and behind a stairwell, where it was wonderfully dark and private and cozy.
“This,” she said, teasing him, “isn’t the least bit proper.”
“Don’t be stuffy.”
“Ha!” She deepened her voice and said in an extremely pompous way, “Once given, my word is law.”
“Very funny, coming from someone who would rather run away and be a scullery maid than be in proximity to my awful self.”
“You know, I don’t find you so awful anymore.”
“I’m glad. Give me that pillow.”
Obediently she handed it to him and he tossed it over his shoulder in a very dashing way. “I want to kiss you.”
It was rather magical, she thought, how those five simple words, said in his lovely deep voice, could set her aflame, like a lamp tipped over and burning up everything in sight. She said:
“Well, kiss me then.”
“How imperious you are.” He smiled, came close, and set his hand gently under her chin. He bent and touched his lips to hers, lightly, sweetly, and it was as if her whole being rushed to meet him in his kiss. It was light, sweet, tender, caressing, demanding, and fiery hot all at once. How did he do that? There was absolutely no doubt about it. He was an excellent kisser. She could easily get used to this, too.
“You’re too far away,” she complained, and then gave a happy squeak when he caught her hard against him, deepening his kiss, and her head began to whirl in a very agreeable way.
He kissed her until she was breathless and her knees all rubbery, and she had to cling to him to keep herself upright. When finally he pulled away, she smiled up at him in the cozy dimness.
“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!”
“Where is the Hall, Granny? I can’t see anything but fields and woods.”
“Oh, no, we must pass by quite a number of fields before we arrive at the park. And even then it’s twenty minutes or so before we reach the Hall. The estate encompasses some fifteen thousand acres of land, you know.”
“Fifteen thousand?” It was an unimaginably large figure.
“Yes indeed. I wonder what’s growing in these fields. If I didn’t know better, I would say that they’re fallow. Have you any idea, Evangeline?”
“Perhaps it’s something to do with crop rotation,” answered Miss Cott, but Livia observed that she looked a little uneasy; and that Grandmama, in her animation, did not seem to register the vagueness of the reply.
At length they reached the entrance to the park, a wide path flanked by thickly clustered woodland. An old stone and brick building stood to their left, of a ponderous Gothic design with its high-peaked gable topped by a complicated finial, and a large bay window supported by elaborately shaped corbels.
“There’s the lodge!” said Grandmama. “But why does it look so unkempt? And why does no one come to greet us? Where is Mrs. Allard?”
“It doesn’t seem as if anyone is there, Granny. See, one of the footmen has gotten down to knock, but nobody has come.”
“Upon my word! This isn’t the Penhallow way. I shall have to speak to Mrs. Worthing, I perceive. And Crenshaw must attend to it at once.”
Their party moved forward. Livia saw that Grandmama had lost a little of her bright animation, and that Gabriel as he rode along had a slightly puzzled expression. The wide path wound its way among the trees which eventually gave way to open land and there, at last, fronted by immense swaths of grass and gardens and a huge ornamental pond, was the Hall.
“There it is,” said the old lady, unnecessarily.
Livia stared.
She didn’t know quite what she had expected, but it certainly wasn’t this vast, looming, irregular stone structure, with numerous wings built on in a variety of architectural styles that clearly displayed a long span of centuries. Even the Glanville family, with all its wealth, had but one building in which they were housed—a mansion, to be sure, but it was as nothing compared to the sheer size of the Hall. Why, it would take hours simply walking through it. At that moment the sun emerged from behind the clouds, glinting against dozens and dozens of windows, dazzling the eye.
