A Heart in Jeopardy (13 page)

"Oh, no, not really. You don't understand!"

"Perhaps not. But what do I gain by trying? Has he tried to understand me?"

"Not at first perhaps. But I think he is now."

"I think it's a little bit too late for that now," Leona said softly.

"Why?"

She picked up her brush again, needing the calming effect that rhythmic brushing provided. "Because I've decided to leave tomorrow."

"But you can't!" Lucy ran over to the dressing table and stared down at Leona's reflection in the mirror. "Maman calls Nigel an imbecile in loving jest, whereas in truth he is one. That I'll agree with, but just because you feel the need to punish Nigel, don't punish me, too!"

The rhythmic motion of Leona's brush stilled. "I'm not punishing you."

"You are. If you don't stay for my betrothal ball, then you are punishing me."

Leona looked up at her, then shook her head at the ceiling before looking at her again. "Lucy, I cannot stay under the roof of a man who has no respect for me."

"That's just running away. Hiding."

Suddenly Leona felt the room rushing away from her as memories from the library poured into her mind. Deveraux had accused her of hiding, of cowering. He had said she was ready to fight another's cause but not her own. Was that true? Was all her strength some weak illusion that when the battle raged too close faded into nothingness?

She turned her head slowly to look in the mirror. What kind of person was she that she must only live her life through duty to others? Was it possible that she also held a duty to herself? A duty that she had heretofore ignored?

She was an empty husk. She was so busy tending to everyone else that she spared no time for herself. But then, why must she always be the one to look out for others? she wondered plaintively. Wasn't there anyone to look out for her? Deveraux did.

The simple answer knocked the breath from her. Deveraux looked out for her. Oh, not perfectly, not wisely, not easily. But he tried. She wanted to laugh. All this time she'd been looking through the wrong end of the telescope! It was ludicrous, but suddenly she felt free.

A crooked smile kicked up the comers of her lips. The problem with Deveraux, she decided, was he tended to be heavy-handed. He lacked her years of practice looking after others. Actually, he'd been managing this estate less than a year. Before that, he'd avoided onerous duties because they were the province of his brother Brandon, and he would not intrude or give cause for comparisons with his older half-brother.

Lucy tentatively touched Leona's shoulder. "Leona . . . Leona, are you all right? Do you wish me to get Maman?"

"Pardon? Oh, I'm sorry, Lucy. Something you said set my mind wandering. I'm sorry. But I've decided you're right. It would be running away if I left before your ball, and I'm certain Maria would never forgive me if she had to miss it'"

"You'll stay? You promise?"

Leona laughed. "Yes, I promise."

"Oh, that's wonderful. I was hoping... Well, I also wondered if you'd care to dress in my room that night. Jewitt can do your hair. She is a wonder with hair. And I guess the truth is I'm a little nervous. I never had a London season, what with Brandon's illness."

"I haven't either."

"That's right, I forgot" She paused and sighed, then she bent down to hug Leona. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice cracking.

"Piffle."

"I'd best be going now. I have to take my turn entertaining Mr. and Mrs. Sharply. Will you be having a tray in your room tonight?"

Leona glanced in the mirror. The puffiness under her eyes was fading. She took a deep breath. Now was the time to start as she meant to go on. There would be no more hiding, cowering, or running away. "No— No, I don't think so. I'll be downstairs. I'll not let you all suffer alone."

To Leona's amusement, during that evening and the whole of the next day, there appeared to be a conspiracy on the part of the Deveraux family—with the help of Mr. Fitzhugh and Maria Sprockett—to keep George Sharply away from her. When she was in the same room as Sharply, one or more of the co-conspirators endeavored to engage him in conversation. At dinner she and Sharply were seated at opposite ends of the table, shielded from direct sight and conversation by a large silver epergne that appeared—quite inexplicably—as the table's centerpiece.

Through it all, Deveraux tried to catch Leona's eyes, his own asking forgiveness. She ignored him.

With a heady feminine recklessness heretofore unknown to her, she decided that Deveraux still needed to be punished. A little. Though she now felt she understood his motivation, he needed to learn the difference between a steel gauntlet and a velvet glove. He wasn't in the army any longer. Orders given in the army were obeyed or else the punishments meted out were severe, sometimes permanent. That was not the case in family life. Or with friends.
Or lovers
.

Or lovers. The thought sent shock waves ricocheting through her body. Her knees felt weak, her breasts tingled, and a gnawing hunger grew low in her stomach. Scandalous! Her cheeks pinked in embarrassment.

Suddenly she couldn't avoid him any longer—she did not want to avoid him. She decided to let him know—in whatever way necessary—that she no longer wished for pistols at ten paces.

The next evening she hesitantly lifted her eyes and met the burning intensity of his across the drawing room where they gathered before dinner. He must have seen something in her eyes, in her expression, that called to him, for almost instantly he was at her side.

"Leona." Her name was a caress gentler than the light touch he gave her hand when he raised it to his lips. "Are you through with the punishment?" he asked whimsically, with a crooked smile.

"Punishment?" she repeated, smiling up at him. Staring into his brilliant blue eyes full of unexpected understanding, the coiling traces of another deep, heady emotion that she dare not name rose in her. She couldn't help but smile, couldn't help her smile widening to a silly grin.

"Witch," he growled, but without heat. "I do owe you an apology which I've been waiting to extend this last day and a half," he drawled, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at her.

She laughed. There was a time when she'd been wary of those narrowed eyes. No longer. She invited him to sit down on the sofa with her.

Gravely thanking her, he tossed back the long tails of his coat and sat down next to her. It was a black coat, and Leona could not help but think how striking he looked in black.

"I'm sorry. I've made a mull of everything."

"That's what Chrissy told me one time," she mused. "The night I rescued her, she related all the schemes she'd used to escape. None worked, so she felt she botched everything. What she didn't understand, nor I until recently, is that it's not a matter of what success you achieve, it's the fact you tried. You may have been wrong-headed and arrogant in your actions—"

"Arrogant?" he challenged, sudden laughter in his eyes.

"—but your desires, your goals, were pure," she finished, ignoring his interruption.

He laughed aloud. "Talking about purity of goals, don't you think Fitzhugh is holding up nobly this evening?" he asked, canting his head in Fitzhugh's direction.

Fitzhugh was standing by the fireplace, one hand gripping the mantel, as he stood in conversation with George Sharply.

"Why? Because he's keeping my brother-in-law at bay?"

"Yes. Notice how his brows are pulled slightly together? That's not concentration, that's exasperation!"

She laughed. "I'll wager he's in the ring tonight to ensure freedom tomorrow!"

Deveraux pulled on his chin. "Yes, tomorrow may be difficult. I'd hoped to secure a couple of dances with you, but I do not know if it would be wise to leave Sharply unattended among the other guests. He is a loud-mouthed, blustering fool. All in all, the man is common. Why did your sister marry him?"

Leona studied Sharply. She saw him track her sister's movements and then order her to sit down near him. Rosalie did as he asked, not the least perturbed at his manner or request. "Do you know," she said slowly, "I've never been able to understand it before. But I think I may have a glimmer now." She shook her head. An expression of dawning wonderment transfused her expression. "It really is rather obvious—or at least, should have been to me for I suffered the same childhood she did."

Deveraux crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a quizzical, doubtful look.

She laughed and impulsively reached over to squeeze his hand. "I'm sorry, I must sound quite demented. But I've just thought of a possible explanation. When we were children, Rosalie and I were ignored. We might as well have been ghosts drifting through the house for as much attention as Father or Edmund and Charles—or even Mother for that matter—gave us. We were unimportant. The men in the family were important. That is where Mother put all her attention and where she had me place mine when she died." She looked at Rosalie sitting quietly near Sharply. "I think— I think possibly Rosalie married George Sharply because he doesn't ignore her. He pesters her, scolds her, orders her about. But he does not ignore her. She certainly is not some invisible wraithlike creature in his house! He cares what happens to her. He cares about what she does— oh, maybe in ways we find offensive, but he does care in his way. He gives her a sense of being."
Not an empty husk
, she added to herself. She wondered who was better off and had no answer.

Deveraux nodded. "Yes, I can see that. But I must admit, after spending time in the gentleman's company, I understand why it is impossible for you to turn the Leonard affairs over to him. In a way, he reminds me of your brother Charles. They are both selfish men."

"Don't be ridiculous," Leona snapped, jerking her hand away as years of habit of defending her brother prompted quick words. "My brother is worth a hundred George Sharplys!"

Deveraux leaned back on the sofa, crossing his arms on his chest, and looked at her oddly. "You're still not free, are you? You're still caught in your past and because of that you're as thorny and prickly as a bramble patch. You've accused me of trying to order your life, of being no better than Sharply. What I want to know is, why do you continue to be blind to the fact that I'm trying to save you?" He ran his hand through his hair, disheveling the immaculate lay of waves around his well-formed head. "Damn it, Leona! I may have botched things, but like you observed, I have tried! I can do no more. This one you're going to have to puzzle out alone." He rose to his feet. "But I'm warning you. If you don't solve this puzzle, you shall continue to be alone all your life living in that invisible spirit world your family created. Right now I think Rosalie was the smarter. She had the guts and vision to get out." He stalked away, the set of his shoulders rigid.

Leona's mouth dropped open in dumb surprise, but there was no time to ponder his words for Purboy was at the door announcing dinner. Once again she sat at the opposite end of the table from George Sharply, and therefore from Deveraux as well.

Deveraux's words haunted Leona. She didn't understand how he could say she was living the invisible existence of her childhood. That didn't make any sense. She did not simply exist. She worked hard to organize and maintain Lion's Gate and had many workers to obey her instructions. She'd paid her brother's debts and went on to rebuild the Leonard family principal by working with moneylenders, banks, and solicitors.
And she was not prickly
!

It had to be jealousy that spawned his words. No other reason made any sense. He was unreasonably jealous of her brother—most likely stemming from their service together. She was not the one with some realizations yet to make. He was!

Irritated, she dismissed the unfortunate situation from her mind, concentrating instead on Lucy's ball.

From dawn on, there was such a flurry of activity, a coming and going of people, that there wasn't the time or opportunity to further ponder Deveraux's childish ultimatum. She was much too busy. Chrissy wanted Leona to help convince her grandmother to allow her to wear her hair up. Gently, Leona told the pouting child that she agreed with her grandmother. Maria wanted Leona to talk her out of attending the ball, to talk her into it, to say her dress was all wrong, to say her dress was perfect, all at least a dozen times each. It took all of Leona's patience to soothe her frazzled companion's nerves. Rosalie came in later to plead for her husband. It finally occurred to him that the inhabitants of Castle Marin were keeping him from talking with Leona, and he very much needed to talk to her. With reluctance Leona agreed to speak with him that night at the ball, but she would not grant him a private speech that afternoon. Betsy Snivel caught up with her just as she was going to her room to lay down for an hour before getting ready. She begged to be allowed to dress her for the ball, exclaiming bitterly that Leona was still punishing her for thinking her a traitor. Leona explained that she had already promised Lady Lucille that she would share the services of her dresser, Sarah Jewitt.

"Oh, her," Betsy said with a sniff. "She ain't as proper as how she makes out to be, y' know."

"What do you mean?"

"I seen her sneakin' out at night."

Leona laughed. "Well, then at least we know there is warm blood in her veins, for haven't I heard you doubt that in the past?"

Betsy dropped her head down, a bright red blush staining her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't tease you, but I really have promised and I'm certain your services will be in great demand this evening with all the other guests. At least you will have the opportunity to see many of the other women and their gowns. Perhaps you might even spy a new hairstyle that we might try."

Betsy tilted her head, the sparkle coming slowly back in her eyes. "Oh, yes, miss, I might at that"

Leona laughed at the change in her demeanor and sent her on her way. Finally, blissfully, she was able to lay down. To her surprise she fell deeply asleep. She didn't waken until more than an hour later—after several repeated loud knocks on her door.

"What?" she called out disoriented and coming awake groggily.

It was Sarah Jewitt at the door. "Lady Lucille sent me to discover what was keeping you, Miss Leonard."

"What? Oh, the ball!" She rolled out of bed, stretching. "I overslept. Tell her I shall be along directly."

The dresser stood impassively, her hands folded in front of her. "May I take your gown and things?"

Her colorless voice grated on Leona's nerves. Leona frowned a moment wondering what Lucy could find to recommend this woman. Her skills must be great indeed. She gave permission and waved her toward the wardrobe where the new gown, commissioned by Lady Nevin, hung. Silently the woman gathered all her accoutrements for the ball and left the room. Watching her leave, Leona suddenly wished she hadn't made her promise to Lucy. Miss Jewitt's sour face could spoil anyone's excitement. Maybe that was why Lucy asked her to join her.

Leona crossed to the wash basin and poured water into the bowl. With a cool cloth she bathed her face and upper body, chasing the last of her sleep and lethargy away, This was Lucy's special day, and Leona would do all she could to help make it memorable. Thinking back on the events of the last week, she only hoped no other mischief was planned by Howard North and his associates, whoever they might be. Funny. He mentioned a Sally, but Leona didn't recall any Sally on the Castle Marin estate that she'd met. She bit her lower Up. Why should she think of her now? She'd even forgotten to mention the name to Deveraux. It had waited this long. It could wait another day. A betrothal ball was not the time to bring up bad memories. Now was the time to join the bride-to-be to soothe her jitters, grant compliments, and share friendly, excited laughter.

As Leona expected, Lucy was in a high state of anticipation. She talked nearly incessantly, speculating on the evening and the guests. There wasn't much for Leona to do but laugh, nod, or sigh at the appropriate moments. Sarah Jewitt wordlessly went about her tasks, her own colorless appearance in striking contrast to Lady Lucy and Leona.

Lady Lucy's gown of India gauze shot with silver was pale blue, so pale as to be almost white. Medallions of dark blue silk embroidered at the hem and on the bodice gave the gown an elegance that lifted it above debutante status. To complete her toilette, Jewitt massed her black hair on top of her head, held in place by gleaming polished silver combs.

Leona's gown was gold raw silk embroidered with gold metallic thread. Gold lace was set on at the hem and on the bodice. The dress's color was a perfect foil for her dark golden hair and the flecks of gold mingled with green and brown in her eyes. Jewitt dressed her hair a la greque—a more elaborate style than Leona had ever worn—and threaded it with bright gold ribbon. To her surprise, Leona was entranced with the new style.

"Oh, Leona," breathed Lucy. "You look so... so regal!"

Leona laughed but privately agreed the style gave her a polished elegance she'd never had before. She turned toward the dresser standing passively by her side. "Thank you, Jewitt You truly are as gifted as Lucy says."

Jewitt bobbed her head once in acknowledgment then turned to straighten the room. Lucy grabbed Leona's hands, squeezing them, her own blue eyes sparkling.

A knock on the door interrupted them. "Lucy, it's Nigel. May I come in? I have something for you."

Lucy exchanged glances with Leona, then shrugged. "Yes, of course."

Nigel entered the room slowly, a small wooden casket under his arm. Lucy's eyes widened at the sight of the wooden box. He caught her expression and grinned. He walked over to the dressing table where Leona sat and set the casket down. Then he turned to face his sister.

"You are beautiful, imp. If you weren't my sister . . ." he drawled. He looked her up and down, leering comically.