A Heart in Jeopardy

by Holly Newman

She raised one black brow and gave her son a quelling, haughty look.

  He laughed. "You do that so well. No one would know you were not born and bred to be a countess."

  "One learns what one must, and I've over thirty years of practice," she said placidly, her French accent now less distinct. "Still, I am waiting. . . ."

  "You have the persistence of a bee. To answer your question, I do not know. Something about the way she thrusts that little stubborn jaw of hers forward and looks at me with those strangely mottled green and gold eyes of hers has me wanting to throttle her. She is an irritating little creature. Full of pluck but much too given to going her own way and to hell with the world."

  He walked over to a silver tray on the sideboard that contained a decanter of sherry and several glasses. He picked up the decanter and opened it then paused, musing almost to himself. "I've seen that sort of independent stubbornness in a few soldiers, and they were al-ways the first to die."

  Had she been a man, no doubt an heroic early battlefield grave would have been her fate. But she most definitely and delightfully was not a man. But how did a man control a woman possessed with her brand of waywardness? An interesting puzzle.

  "You are that afraid Miss Leonard is in danger?" she asked as she watched her son pour the sherry into two glasses.

  "What? Oh, pardon, Maman, my mind was wandering. Do I think Miss Leonard is in danger? Yes. You've seen the text of that note she received. From what Cruikston said, it is obvious she does not take the danger seriously. She has to be made to realize there is danger, but not just in this instance. She has to learn her own limitations. I doubt she believes she has any!" His voiced reflected astonishment and disbelief. He tossed off the last of his sherry.

  Lady Nevin smiled. It appeared her son had at last discovered a woman worthy of him—not that he recognized that, of course. It should prove an interesting visit.

  "Fitzhugh and Lucy will be down soon. You've not told Lucy of the reasons behind Miss Leonard's visit?" Deveraux asked.

  "You requested I not do so. So I merely told her Miss Leonard decided to accept the long-standing invitation you extended in December. I do believe you are being unfair to your sister. She is no longer a child. Her discretion can be trusted."

  Deveraux shook his head. "The fewer who know the truth, the safer for all."

  Lady Nevin shrugged gallically. "Oh, I have given permission for Chrissy to join us at dinner this evening. She is excited."

  He nodded. "She should help to diffuse any awkwardness."

  Remembering the sparks that flew between her son and Miss Leonard, the countess smiled wryly. "Perhaps," she murmured as she raised her sherry glass to her lips, "perhaps."

  It was nearly an hour later before Leona and Maria followed Mrs. Henry back through the winding maze of corridors to the main staircase and downstairs. Leona was apprehensive, but not for how she would get along with Nigel Deveraux—for she was certain that was impossible. Her concern was for the other inhabitants of Castle Marin. What did they know, or think they knew, about her? She was a stranger thrown into their midst so they might protect her. It was all so ridiculous. They did not need a reminder of the horror they lived through three months ago. Her presence was bound to churn up unwanted memories and buried guilts. And how would they see her? Certainly they would know how she had effected Chrissy's rescue. Would they view her as some oddity? Some man-hating woman with republican notions?

  Though she was not prone to caring what others thought of her, for she went her own way regardless, she unaccountably found herself wanting to be accepted by these people. Of course, her reasons, she told herself, were perfectly simple. She knew life with the Sharplys would be filled with acrimonious confrontations with her brother-in-law which would distress her sister. Noting the marital gleam in Miss Cruikston's eyes, she had deduced staying at Furleigh House would be uncomfortable in the extreme, and Leona did not wish to hurt as fine a man as Sir Nathan Cruikston. At least at Castle Marin the Deverauxs could look upon her staying with them as a payment of debt. That was an idea Leona could accept. Left with the Castle Marin alternative, without proof of good or bad, she could only hope circumstances would be more congenial than her other two choices.

  Remembering Deveraux's attitude when she arrived, she doubted it.

  At the bottom of the stairs stood a paunchy gentleman Mrs. Henry introduced as Purboy, the butler. He led them across the hall to the elegantly appointed yellow and white Chinese drawing room.

  "Miss Leonard!" squealed Chrissy, jumping up from a Chippendale chair positioned next to a chess table with ivory and onyx carved pieces. She ran to Leona and threw her arms about her first and then Miss Sprockett. "Oh, I so hoped I'd see you again! Uncle Nigel said you might come to visit."

  Visit? Confusion dimmed Leona's smile for a moment, but Chrissy didn't notice as she led her over to Lady Nevin. Leona glanced up to find Deveraux looking at her with a shuttered expression on his face. Ever so slightly, he shook his head. She dipped her head in understanding. Chrissy did not know of the circumstances that brought her to Castle Marin. Fleetingly she wondered if the others did. With determination she broadened the smile she bestowed on her hostess.

  "I hope you are not too tired from your journey?" Lady Nevin said.

  Leona laughed. "Tired? How could I be in that beautiful well-sprung carriage? I've never had a more pleasant journey."

  "Bon. But you must meet my daughter and her fiancé. Miss Leonard, Miss Sprockett, this is Lady Lucille—my Lucy, imp that she is," she said, winking merrily. "And this gentleman, soon to be my son—only because I have made him strictly promise not to take my daughter far from me— is Monsieur David Fitzhugh."

  "Oh, Maman," scolded Lady Lucille, blushing delicately.

  "A pleasure, Miss Leonard," Mr. Fitzhugh said, bowing over her hand. Attired in a long-tailed jacket of blue superfine, a cream-and-blue-striped waistcoat sporting two fobs dangling from an elegant gold-chased watch chain, and impeccable biscuit-colored pantaloons, he was the epitome of the elegant dandy, though the twinkle in his brown eyes banished the notion that all dandies were arrogant, vain fellows. "During the journey last December from Crawfords Dean to here, Chrissy bait my ear with your exploits. I must admit, I don't know what to believe or not. I give you fair warning that Chrissy's tale has improved creatively with each telling, and the locals have expanded on it from there."

  "I'm almost afraid to ask how!"

  From his place by the fireplace Deveraux laughed harshly. Languidly straightening, he walked toward her. "The last version—overheard at the farriers—was that you climbed up six stories in a blizzard to rescue Chrissy from her tower prison, single-handedly overpowered at least two, if not three kidnappers, and just as you thought you had safely escaped, you were forced to fight and kill a rabid dog," he drawled.

  "Gracious," murmured Maria, thunderstruck.

  Deveraux looked over at her and grinned, his smile transforming his entire face. "You also figured in the tale, Miss Sprockett. After the fight with the dog Miss Leonard became disoriented and lost in the blizzard. You, worried at your friend's long absence, braved the blizzard to go out and search for her and lead her to safety."

  "Oh-h-h," breathed Chrissy, "what a great story!" Everyone laughed.

  "Do not go about repeating this tale, mon petit choux," warned Lady Deveraux good-naturedly, "lest the tale grow even bigger."

  Deveraux nodded. "Regardless of the accuracy of the stories being told, you are true heroines in these parts. Do not be surprised if you find people staring and creating reasons to be hovering in your vicinity or to do you some service."

  "We are all indebted to you," said Lady Deveraux softly.

  Leona felt heat rise in her cheeks. She didn't know what to say. Her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth. Fortunately the butler arrived to announce dinner. She felt an awkward moment when Deveraux courteously offered her his arm to lead her into the dining room. His face was again carefully polite. The c
hange between the smiling, teasing man she'd glimpsed this evening and the man who greeted her at the door was too much for her to comprehend. Regardless, remembering the wild flutterings that flew up from her stomach to her throat when she saw his open smile, she thought it might be safer to prefer the cold, arrogant gentle-man who stood at the door.

  The dining room was formally appointed with a red damask wall covering that matched the chair cushions. Gilt-edged plasterwork framing a ceiling painting of cherubs offering food to the gods, and large pastoral paintings by Turner, Constable, and Reynolds adorned the walls. Despite the elegant formality of the room, the diners—much to Leona's surprise—were not formal. Conversation flowed freely around and across the table. It was a lively, casual affair.

  Very quickly, Leona and Maria were asked to call members of the family by their first names, the Dowager Countess of Nevin explaining that she detested aristo formality because she herself, she candidly admitted, had not a drop of blue blood in her veins. She'd been the widow of a French physician who fled France during the reign of terror because his patients were all aristocrats. She came to Castle Marin to care for Brandon, the 5th Earl of Nevin's infant son, following the death of the earl's wife.

  "Of course, quite soon Papa wanted to care for her!" her daughter added with a roguish twinkle in her eyes.

  Lady Nevin frowned and wagged an admonishing finger at Lucy, then continued her explanation. "I do follow the conventions when in London and admonish my incorrigible children to do likewise. Sometimes they listen. . . ." She shrugged lightly, implying the rest.

  Laughter sounded throughout the large room. Deveraux raised his wineglass in silent salute to his mother.

  "Bah!" she said dismissively before turning to address Leona. "It is tres convenable, your visit here at this time. Lucy's betrothal ball is in less than a fortnight!"

  "Ball? Oh, no, I—"

  "You shall both be our special guests. I have longed to reward you for helping my granddaughter, but my son says you refused reward. Well, now I may offer what you cannot refuse! Please give me the pleasure of giving you ball gowns. That would be tres convenable non?"

  "Lady Nevin, I must refuse—"

  "I, too. It is quite beyond me. Most improper," said Maria, though there was a trace of a quiver in her voice.

  Leona looked across the table at her friend. Maria Sprockett had never attended a ball or even a country assembly in her life. That realization sent a pang of regret through Leona.

  "There is so much to do before the ball!" Lucy said. "I was depending upon you to help me. Maman dislikes balls."

  The Dowager Countess nodded. "I find them tedious affairs. All the planning and worrying just so people can gather like a herd of vaches to see each other's clothes and chew over the latest gossip like a cow's cud. Bah! But to the young, ahhh such things are important."

  Deveraux laughed. "Do not let my mother fool you. This ball she is avidly looking forward to, even if she doesn't care for the preparation."

  "You cannot wish for visitors at this time," protested Leona, weakening. She noticed the slight look of hope growing in Maria's eyes. "If I had known—"

  "You would not have come. Quite foolish," drawled Deveraux, a faint smile on his lips.

  "Oh, do not say you do not wish to share our happiness, you who have done so much to give us happiness," protested Lady Veronique.

  Leona laid her spoon down by her plate. "I beg your pardon. It is not that, of course not. It's just. . ."

  "Yes?"

  "Mr. Deveraux—" she began sternly.

  "Nigel. Remember our informality." The smirk on Deveraux's face was more pronounced.

  Leona sighed, struggling with her temper. She knew he was provoking her, but she would not succumb to a fit of temper at the dinner table. That would be unfair to the others. "Might I address you as Deveraux? My respects to you, Lady Nevin—I mean Lady Veronique, but that is how I think of him."

  "I'm flattered, Leona, that you should think of me," he said, stressing the use of her first name.

  "When I do," snapped Leona, goaded, "it is not fondly!"

  Lady Lucile and David Fitzhugh laughed.

  Lady Nevin shook her head, struggling against her own humor. "Nigel, do not tease. You must forgive my son, Leona dear. He must always be the tease. But what has my scapegrace son done to warrant your displeasure?"

  "Your pardon, my lady, but our first meeting did not begin auspiciously. He thought me in league with the kidnappers."

  "What?! Nigel—"

  "Then he scolded me for risking Chrissy's life when I rescued her, accused me of not knowing what the word duty means, and finally coerced a promise from me when I was too ill to think clearly regarding what I was promising! Then, the day before yesterday he sends a coach to fetch me—for which I was not ready—and the minute I walk in the door, drenched from the sudden rain, he yells at me for being late! I ask you, is there any reason why I should think of him fondly?"

  Everyone laughed, and Leona was gratified to see a tell-tale dark red creep up above Deveraux's stock.

  "Frankly, I'm surprised you don't call him far worse!" David Fitzhugh said.

  "Oh, I do, but not in polite company," she assured him with a sly smile in Deveraux's direction.

  "I don't understand," said Chrissy. "Why did he think you were risking my life to rescue me? You wouldn't let me climb down the vines you came up, and we were oh so careful."

  "I believe he thought that after finding you I should have climbed back down the vines and gone to the magistrate."

  "But you said they were too weak. You might have been hurt—or killed, even!"

  "I know. But it is a sad fact of life that men do not often think as clearly as we women."

  Lucy giggled. "I believe, dear brother, you have met your match. Leona, you must stay for the ball. I insist! Never in memory have I seen my brother so thoroughly routed. As the poor sister who has tried and failed so often to get the best of Nigel, I salute you! What joy! Stay, for I can see we shall be fast friends."

  Leona stirred, coming up out of a light sleep and strange dreams of a ball and dancing that shockingly fast dance that was introduced in England just last year: the Waltz. Her partner was a tall man with piercing blue eyes.

  She wondered what it was that woke her. An unfamiliar sound? Yes, there it was again, a soft scraping. Curious, she turned over in bed. A plump young girl in an oversized mob cap was carefully sweeping coal ashes out of the grate, a fresh bucket of coal at her side.

  Leona yawned. "Gracious, is it morning already?"

  The young girl started, her little shovel clanging against the grate. "Beg pardon, miss. I didn't mean to wake ye. I just thought to warm up the room a mite 'afore ye got up."

  "No harm," Leona said, stifling another yawn. "It was betimes I was up anyway."

  "Oh, no! 'Tis early yet, miss. Scarce on eight."

  Leona laughed. "At home I'm up and about by seven, if not earlier."

  The little maid nodded. "So it is with Master Deveraux. Been that way since he was a tyke, me mum says. Me mum used to be housekeeper here until she met me da. He's a carter, is me da," she said with pride in her voice.

  "Ah, I see. And what is your name?"

  "Betsy, miss. Betsy Snivel." She bobbed a curtsey. "Can I fetch ye some hot chocolate, miss? Or somethin' to eat? Breakfast's not laid out in the morning room until nine- thirty."

  "Hot chocolate would be wonderful, thank you."

  "There's nay thankin' me, miss. 'Tis an honor to serve ye, that is. Ye saved our Lady Chrissy's life! We're all beholden to ye. Ye want anything, just ask, we're that thankful. Now, ye stay right there while I nip on down to the kitchen to fetch it." She plumped up the pillows so Leona could sit up comfortably. "Be back directly."

  "Thank you," Leona murmured weakly.

  Left alone, Leona studied the room she'd been given. It was the handsomest room she'd ever slept in. The room was done in shades of apricot and white with gilt trimmings.
The drapes and bed hangings, swagged from an ornately carved oak crown above the head of the bed, were watered silk. On the walls was hand painted Chinese wallpaper with an overall bamboo pattern. The fireplace had one of the new coal stoves before it. All the chair coverings had tapestries of flowers while the padded bench at the foot of the bed and the small settee over by the windows were covered with velvet.

  After all she saw yesterday, the elegance of the room did not surprise Leona. What she still couldn't get over was the plain to downright ugly exterior of the manor. All in all, Castle Marin was an amazing dichotomy—in its appearance and its people.

  Last evening was an interesting example. None of the people at the table—except perhaps Chrissy—were quite as she expected, particularly Nigel Deveraux! She would never have thought him able to tease gently or show humor. In her mind's eye, she always saw him as stern, slightly cynical, and full of self-consequence. Never would she have imagined his smile unless it was colored by cynicism. To see his enjoyment, to watch the interplay with his family, was unsettling for it revealed a kinder man than she'd expected. She wasn't sure she wanted to know a kinder Nigel Deveraux. That man might undermine her independence. It was difficult to maintain a truly independent spirit around sympathetic people who only "wanted to help." They did not see their help as crippling, but so it could be. Leona had worked on her independence, worked to renew respect for the Leonard name and therefore herself. She wasn't ready to turn over her hard-earned success to another. It was her duty that spurred her on, but it also gave her a sense of fulfillment heretofore missing in her life. It was not a fulfillment she would abandon easily, for that fulfillment also gave her identity.

  A knock on the door interrupted her reverie. Her face relaxed, the lines of determination smoothing. Laughing at her own fierceness, she called out permission to enter.

  It was the maid with her tray of chocolate.

  "May I come in, too?" Lady Lucy bade from the doorway. "I saw Betsy coming with your chocolate and thought I might steal a march on the others."

  Leona nodded and waved her forward. "Come in, do. But what do you mean by others?" she asked with mock trepidation.