Page 18 of The Hollow of Fear
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Livia had always haddubious luck. Nothing catastrophically bad—at least, nothing apart from Charlotte’s banishment from Society—but a daily, sometimes hourly cascade of vexation. Doors closed on the hems of her dresses. Of all the picnic sandwiches in a basket, hers would be the one soaked by the contents of a leaking canteen. And if a magazine published a serial she enjoyed, she could count on the certainty that at least one issue would go astray, leaving her with a hole in the story.
But this was the first time she’d had to evacuate a country house party because the house itself flooded from the top down. Several cisterns had been built into the attic of Mrs. Newell’s manor, so that gravity could supply running water to baths and water closets. On the second day of Livia’s visit, two cisterns ruptured.
Fortunately, no one was hurt. Mrs. Newell, after a few minutes of dismayed incomprehension, declared herself grateful for everyone’s safety. Her guests were corralled into the library, which had escaped the inundation, and served rich cake and strong spirits. In the meanwhile, grooms rode off in every directions, seeking aid at nearby establishments.
The village inn only had a couple of rooms to spare. The nearest house was shuttered, its owner abroad. But the third groom to return brought welcome news: the master of Stern Hollow had put himself and his abode at Mrs. Newell’s disposal.
Everyone sighed with relief. Of course Lord Ingram would offer his assistance. Whatever rumors circulated about his parentage, his conduct had always been thoroughly admirable.
By dinnertime the entire party was in Stern Hollow, ensconced in comfort and style. Livia gasped when she saw her room. By now she had become inured to odd and frequently inferior guest rooms—rooms with ceilings barely higher than her head, rooms that looked onto a wall three feet away, rooms that were never more than six feet wide at any pointandbent to fit around an awkward corner.
But this room was exquisite. It was sufficiently large to be airy and spacious but not so enormous as to dwarf the furnishings. Light green silk printed with lotus flowers covered the walls; a soft jade counterpane draped the bed. The window overlooked a knot garden boasting, at its center, a simple but graceful fountain, a basin held aloft on a slender fluted column.
Best of all, there were flowers everywhere: a bouquet of blush roses on the mantel, a pot of orchids on the writing desk, and, on the night stand, an arrangement of sweet peas, in such riotous colors that she really ought to disapprove—instead she mooned over their rambunctiousness.
She drifted about, caressing bedposts, curtain ties, and painting frames, her eyes stinging with abrupt tears. She had not been assigned this room at random—Lord Ingram had asked that she be put up in the manner of an esteemed guest, because she was Charlotte’s sister.
This was what it felt like to be valued.
A housemaid arrived to deliver tea and help her unpack. Livia, flustered by her attentiveness, accepted the tea and asked her to return later. Now she needed to be by herself, to wallow in such loveliness and, above all, such care.
To think, Stern Hollow could have been her home, if only Lord Ingram had married Charlotte instead...
How much sweeter Livia’s life would have been, had she spent the past six years here, instead of at home, with her unkind, unloving parents. How much she would have treasured every hour of every day, always quietly celebrating her vast good fortune.
No, she reminded herself, Charlotte would not have accepted Lord Ingram’s suit—that much Livia knew for certain. And needless to say, Lord Ingram had been in love with another woman. Alas, their choices had both turned out disastrously, so if only…
If only.
But there were second chances in life, were there not? A missed opportunity in the past could, in the future, be embraced with both arms. With Lady Ingram out of the way, Lord Ingram and Charlotte could arrive at a marital arrangement that suited them both: As a friend, he would want to restore her to her proper place in Society; and Charlotte, as persnickety as she was in such matters, might agree to it for Livia’s sake, if nothing else—without Charlotte she was beginning to wilt, a sun-loving plant forever stuck in the shadows.
Her imagination took flight, lifted to ever greater heights by thoughts of peaceful days and lively evenings, of security, freedom,andrespect. She would write—her words would flow beautifully here, she was sure—and she would take long walks, rain or—
Her castle in the sky crashed to earth, scattering dream shards far and wide, when reality intruded. Whether Lady Ingram had run away with an illicit lover or been confined to a Swiss sanatorium, she was only absent, not dead. Lord Ingram was as much a married man as he had ever been, in no position to offer Charlotte anything both permanent and legitimate.
And Livia would be headed back home again, all too soon, to the embrace of no one.
But how real it had felt, her imagined happiness, how infinitely bright and tangible.
A quarter hour before dinner,all happiness, real or imagined, fled.
The guests were assembled in the drawing room. Mrs. Newell, acting as the hostess, went around informing each gentleman which lady he was to take to dinner. Livia observed the proceedings with her usual tightening in the stomach. Her dinner partner the night before had been obviously more interested in the lady on his other side; she hoped to have a more considerate gentleman this evening.
The next moment, the identity of her dinner partner lost all importance: Two bejeweled, beplumed women marched into the drawing room. Lady Avery and Lady Somersby, Society’s leading gossips, had descended upon the gathering.
Given the antipathy Livia felt toward the two women, it was difficult to see how they could ever be welcome anywhere. But they were greeted with open arms at any number of gatherings, holding, in fact, standing invitations to a good many house parties—Mrs. Newell’s, for one—that they didn’t always have enough time to attend.
At any given point in time, only a small subset of Society was discussed in drawing rooms across the land. There was the louche Marlborough House set, of course, though Livia was personally bored by the Prince of Wales and his progression of mistresses. There were couples like the Tremaines, or Lord and Lady Ingram, whose wealth, glamour, and staggering marital infelicity made them perennial favorites for dissection, as cautionary tales, if nothing else. And there were the scandals du jour, such as Charlotte’s, generating brief but intense bursts of notice.
Or at least the brouhaha surrounding Charlotte would have been a lot briefer had she allowed herself to be exiled to the country, never to be seen again.
The point was, unless one originated a scandal or was close enough to one to be systematically hunted down by ladies Avery and Somersby, their arrival at a function generated excitement rather than dread. Livia herself had, on more than one occasion, tried to sneak as close as possible to the gossip ladies, especially when they discoursed among married women, to whom they gave the truly juicy stories that were considered too indelicate for maiden ears such as her own.
Livia glanced toward Lord Ingram, but he had his back to her. She didn’t know how she managed to keep talking and smiling; she barely had any idea on which gentleman’s arm she walked into the dining room.
At the head of the table Lord Ingram was as gracious as ever, though he did seem tired and tense. The dread that had never truly left since she first read Lady Avery’s letter flooded her veins and intensified every time one of the gossip ladies looked toward him. She repeated to herself, ad nauseum, that the worst had already happened, that no titillating tidbit disseminated tonight could diminish either Charlotte or Lord Ingram in the long run. But her innards churned with ever greater ferocity, forcing her to give up any pretense of eating.
