A Heart in Jeopardy

by Holly Newman

  But it was more than that to the Deveraux family. It was the oldest surviving building on the estate, and it still housed pigeons. It was part of the ambiance of the estate, and even though it could be rebuilt for the stone walls would remain standing, its place in time was forever destroyed.

  "Well, ladies," Lady Nevin said crisply, "we'd best return to the house. These men will be hungry and thirsty when they are finished here. We shall need to make arrangements for their comfort." She turned to march back to Castle Marin, Maria at her side.

  Leona and Lucy followed more slowly.

  "How could that old dovecote simply catch fire?" Lucy asked as they retraced their steps. "It's a clear night. There's been no lightning. It's impossible!"

  "I don't see how it could," Leona said slowly. She shivered. "I don't mind telling you, Lucy, that I don't like this. I wonder . . ."

  "You wonder what?"

  Leona shook her head. "Nothing. It's a ridiculous idea."

  "Leona!" Lucy said, exasperated.

  Leona frowned. "I just wonder," she said hesitantly, "if it might not have been purposefully set."

  "What?!"

  "See, I told you it was ridiculous. Forget it."

  Lucy was silent for a moment, thinking, as they neared the far edge of the paddock. Ahead of them, her mother and Maria were reentering the house.

  Leona gazed absently at the dark shapes of the house, paddock, stable yard, and outbuildings beyond. Her steps slowed further. She laid a hand on Lucy's arm.

  "Maybe—" Lucy began, but a firm hand clasped across her lips stilled her tongue. She looked at Leona, wide-eyed.

  "Ssh-hh! Look there!" Leona whispered, pointing toward the stable.

  The dark shape of a man was creeping around the building.

  Lucy nodded her understanding. Leona's hand fell away from her mouth.

  "We can't raise the household, he'd see us and escape. Run back and fetch Deveraux," Leona ordered. "Hurry!"

  "Wh-what are you going to do?"

  "Keep an eye on his activities and see he doesn't escape. Now go!" She gave Lucy a gentle shove then dropped down to crouch among the bushes and shadows along the paddock fence. She crept closer to the stable, seeing in her mind the layout of the building. From inside the stable came the rattling of bits and the pawing of hooves. Leona slipped in the open carriage house door and cautiously made her way over to the door that connected the carriage house with the stable courtyard. Carefully feeling her way along the wall's dark shadows, her hand touched a rack of carriage whips. Silently she drew one out. The sounds from inside the stable were louder, more distinct: the scuffle of boots, the sliding of a latch, the nervous neighing of a horse. Whoever was in the stable was not supposed to be there. Was that the reason for the dovecote fire? A diversion? But it had only been luck that she spotted it. She shook her head. Nothing made sense.

  She crept into the courtyard, staying to the deeply shadowed side.

  A horse whinnied shrilly, and a man cursed before they burst into the open courtyard. The horse reared and pawed the air, fighting the man. He hung on, viciously pulling the horse's head down. The horse was Nuit, Deveraux's stallion!

  Rage burned in Leona. She would not let this man get away with stealing Nuit! "No!" she yelled, running out of the shadows. "Let him go!" With a muffled curse the man turned toward her. She cracked the whip at him. It flung off his hat and caught his cheek. The man howled in pain, losing the reins. "Go! Go!" she screamed at the horse. She flicked the whip again, catching the horse on his withers. Nuit reared and plunged out of the stable yard, knocking Leona backward against a post. Pain shot up her arm, robbing her of breath. She stumbled to the ground, dropping the whip.

  The man swiped at a stream of blood on his face, and his eyes glittered with hatred. He stepped toward Leona. She skittered backward in the dirt, her arm useless at her side.

  "Bitch," he spat. "Didn't believe Sally at first. She's clever but a bit loose in the cockloft. But you'll pay—" He stopped abruptly, turning his head to listen. The sound of horses and men shouting split the night air. The man swore, then turned and ran out of the stable yard.

  She lay on the ground gasping for breath and shuddering. She squeezed her eyes tight, but she could not get the sound of his voice or the look on his face out of her mind. Though dressed shabbily and his face contorted in rage, Leona recognized him. It was Howard North.

  Leona swallowed convulsively, her good arm brushing tendrils of dirty hair from her eyes. Chrissy's kidnappers, though foiled, had not been defeated. Deveraux was right.

  Leona was struggling to her feet, cradling her injured arm, as Deveraux rode bareback into the courtyard. He slid off the horse's back before the animal came to a complete stop, and ran to her. "Leona, what happened? What's going on?" He grabbed for her, but her cry of pain made him jump back.

  "What?!" He glanced down at his hand to see blood on it. His face contorted.

  His voice came as if from far away. She swayed dizzily, fighting to keep her balance. She would not disgrace herself by fainting!

  "Leona!" Swiftly he picked her up, her uninjured side against his chest, and strode out of the stable yard toward the house.

  "No, no, please," she cried weakly. "It's just my arm. I can walk."

  He ignored her as he strode grim-faced up the drive.

  "Find the bastard!" he bellowed to the soot-streaked clustering of grooms and stable boys. Fitzhugh, coming up on them took one look at Deveraux and was before him, flinging open the manor house door and shouting for water and bandages. Lucy ran alongside her brother, whimpering apologies for not being swifter in her task.

  "Leona!" cried Lady Nevin and Maria as one when they came out of the drawing room to see who was injured.

  "Venez ici! Vite! Vite!" demanded Lady Nevin, her English forgotten in her shock. She scurried back into the drawing room to place pillows at the arm of one of the sofa's and direct Nigel to lay his precious burden down.

  "No! No!" whimpered Leona. "The blood, the dirt—"

  "Chut! Maria, see what is keeping Madame Henry with those bandages and water!"

  "How bad is it?" Deveraux asked softly, his hands clenched into white fists at his sides.

  "How can I tell until I have cleaned it?" snapped his mother.

  Leona looked up at him, her face white and pinched. Dirt streaked across her face warred with the purple smudges under her eyes. "Not broken, I think," she offered, smiling gamely.

  Deveraux, his face implacable against a myriad of emotions that roiled, nodded then turned on his heel and strode from the room and out the manor house door, shouting to his men.

  ‘Tain't no one to be found, sar," said a young groom running up to Deveraux, huffing and puffing. "But 'appens Nuit's ol' right, sar. Farrow found 'im in the paddock munchin' grass as calm as yur please."

  Alan Gerby, the Earl of Nevin's head groom, walked up to them frowning heavily. "Found this in the stable courtyard." He handed Deveraux the carriage whip then scratched the back of his head, knocking his cap forward on his brow. "Can't figure why she took a carriage whip to get ol' Nuit out."

  "The carriage whip was for the intruder," Deveraux said frostily, disliking the man's manner.

  Gerby shrugged. "Mayhap, but there ain't no trace of anyone about save that Miss Leonard." He turned to walk back toward the stables, calling to the men to see that the fire wagon was put away and the horses tended. The young groom followed him.

  "Dev, have the men found anything?" Fitzhugh asked, coming up behind Deveraux.

  "No," he said shortly, tapping the carriage whip against the palm of his hand. "And I believe they don't think there's anyone to be found."

  "Egad! They're not suggesting, are they, that. . . well, that Miss Leonard fabricated the whole?"

  Deveraux slammed his fist into his palm. "I don't know, David. I just don't know."

  Leona didn't see Deveraux until the afternoon of the next day and had no opportunity to relay the information as to
the identity of the last evening's would-be horse thief. Lady Nevin and Maria clucked and fussed over the gash in her arm. It was long and cut into the muscle, but it was not serious—though they warned it would hurt for some time. Together they cleaned the wound and bandaged her arm. Over Leona's protests, they ordered Leona carried to her room. Once washed, her hair brushed, and her nightgown on, Lady Nevin insisted Leona drink laudanum to help her sleep. Laughing weakly, Leona said she now knew where Deveraux inherited his stubbornness. Lady Nevin smiled thinly and calmly agreed before insisting again that she drink the sedative. Leona gave up and did as she requested.

  Soon, she was deeply asleep. She slept heavily until noon the next day. She neither heard nor saw the door to her bedchamber open and a tall, broad-shouldered figure glide silently over to the bed to gaze down on her as she slept, an expression of hunger, pain, and worry in his clear blue eyes.

  The next day Leona's arm was sore and stiff, but thankfully free of infection. Satisfied that her guest would not suffer lasting injury, Lady Nevin allowed Leona to get dressed and come downstairs—so long as she promised to keep her arm in a sling to hold it immobile and prevent reopening of the wound.

  The maid Betsy, who had been seeing after Leona since she came to Castle Marin, was so mindful of Lady Nevin's strictures when helping Leona get dressed that Leona was ready to scream with frustration. She kept her temper and suffered Betsy's slow ministrations in silence. She was tempted to point out to the maid that it was her arm that was injured and not her head, for she'd never had a slower hairstylist in her life, but she refrained. Finally she was deemed ready to go downstairs, and this time, after quite firmly refusing to be carried anywhere, she joined the family in the parlor.

  The gentlemen rose instantly to their feet and were at her side inquiring after her health. She assured them, struggling against laughter, that she was fine.

  "Though I'm beginning to believe that is not the answer anyone wants to hear!"

  "Nonsense, ma pauvre," said Lady Nevin. "But it is thanks once again that has us so attentive."

  Leona laughed as she sat down in a chair before the fireplace. "Thanks for what? I'm afraid I bungled my gallant deeds."

  "Bungled? Not at all! You are again our heroine. First you warn us of fire, then you prevent Nigel's prize stallion from being stolen!"

  "Oh, then he didn't get Nuit? I wasn't certain. . . ."

  "Nuit obligingly jumped the fence into the paddock. When we found him, he was placidly eating grass as if nothing happened," explained Deveraux. "But why did you do it?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Why did you risk your life to rescue a horse?"

  She looked at him queerly. "I did not stop to think. It simply seemed the right thing to do at the time."

  "Miss Leonard, you really have to curb this instinct of yours to leap willy-nilly into every fray. If Wellington had done that, Napoleon would no doubt have won by attrition alone!"

  "What would you have had me do?" she inquired acidly. "Hide in the shadows wringing my hands?"

  "Yes! A woman does not belong on the battlefield. That is a man's duty. A woman's is to home and hearth."

  "I say, old man, that is doing it a bit brown," protested Fitzhugh.

  Deveraux glared at him. He knew he was irrational; however, the memory of Leona streaked with blood and dirt would not leave his mind. The woman was headstrong and impetuous. She needed to be saved from herself or surely she would come to harm.

  "Why, you conceited, pompous ass! Do you men hold the sole prerogative to action? No! A person's duty, any person's, is to family and fellow man!"

  "Typical of a woman not to mention a person's country, as well."

  "All right! We'll say to one's country, too! The point, you idiot, is that no one should sit and observe someone or someone else's property being harmed! We have a responsibility, a duty, to treat our fellow man as we wish ourselves to be treated, and quite frankly, I would wish someone to prevent my horse from being stolen or to rescue my niece if he had the opportunity."

  "Why?" he asked with unruffled calm, his arms crossed over his chest as he stood towering over her.

  "Nigel! Nigel! For shame!" scolded his mother.

  He turned toward his mother. "I should like to know why she has so little regard for her own life."

  "Oh, is that what you have, little regard for your own life?" Leona asked waspishly. "I know what your problem is, Mr. Deveraux. Jealousy."

  "I beg your pardon." His voice was suddenly deadly cold, his stance rigid.

  Dark waves of anger emanated from him, buffeting Leona. She threw her head up, her chin thrusting forward. "You heard me. I say you are eaten up with jealousy because you did not get an opportunity to thrash Howard North yourself."

  "Howard North!" exclaimed several at once. Shock and incredulity mingled in their voices.

  Leona flushed, her head sinking. Guilt softened her expression. "Yes. I meant to tell you last night, but.. ." Deveraux slowly lowered his arms and turned to pace the room. He ran his fingers through his thick pelt of hair, disheveling it. "So I was correct. These Norths are motivated by more than greed," he said heavily.

  "What is there besides greed?" asked Lucy.

  "Vengeance?" suggested Leona softly.

  Deveraux nodded grimly. "A possibility. But vengeance for what? Mother, Lucy—do either of you know anything that Brandon ever did that might cause someone to swear vengeance?"

  Lady Nevin laughed hollowly. "Ne rien. You know that."

  "What about Jonathan Tregate?" Deveraux asked. "He was pretty well cut up over his father's death. Didn't he blame Brandon?"

  "For a time only. He soon realized Brandon had nothing to do with his father's death. It was just an accident. The real problem was that Tregate had no heart for farming— particularly the home farm. He wanted to emigrate. Brandon arranged for him to emigrate to Canada fifteen months ago.... Brandon was tres gentil always. Alors, even when that tiresome Miss Northythe, the surveyor's daughter, fell in love with him when he was confined to a bed in their home after breaking his leg while riding, it tortured him to take his leave of her. He thought perhaps he had in some way led her on, but her father convinced him it was missish nonsense. She was dreaming above herself. The fault of beaucoup novels. So, I ask, can a man who would care for a country girl's feelings be a man to cause vengeance in the breast of others? Non et non et non."

  Leona sighed. "Whatever the reason, I am cognizant of the fact that I owe you an apology, Mr. Deveraux."

  He turned his head, to look over his shoulder at her.

  She smiled ruefully. "I never believed they would actually do anything more. Even when I received that button, I thought it merely a bit of childish spite to try to scare me."

  "What button?" asked Lucy.

  Leona flushed, realizing too late that Lucy was never apprised of her real reason for coming to Castle Marin.

  "Two days before I came here, I received a box with a button from the suit I wore when I rescued Chrissy. It was accompanied by a threatening note warning of reprisals for my actions that night. When your brother learned of the note and button, he sent a coach to fetch Maria and me. In truth, I did not believe it necessary and I'll grant I came with ill grace."

  "So that is what all the antipathy has been between you! I did wonder, you know, for you are both so much alike."

  Two heads spun around to stare open-mouthed at Lucy. She grinned briefly, then her eyes narrowed, and her mouth twisted into a grim line. "What I do not understand is why I was not told of this!" she said archly, tapping one tiny foot impatiently against the Axminster carpet.

  Fitzhugh laughed and came up to drape an arm around her shoulder. "I'm afraid, my dear, you shall ever be the baby to your mother and brother."

  "But what of you?" she asked, twisting free from him.

  He spread his hands deprecatingly. "He was a higher rank than I in the army. The habit of service, I suppose."

  Lucy made a disgusted noi
se deep in her throat.

  "Then, too, Lucy, you do not have the constitution for keeping secrets," said her mother dryly.

  Lucy opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. "You're wrong. You're all wrong, though I know no amount of argument on my part will convince you otherwise. I make this promise to you. I shall not let anyone else know of this, of that you may be assured. Then you will see that I can keep a secret! By the way, why must the revenge—if that is what it is—be targeted against Brandon? Maybe they're against the Earl of Nevin in general, without caring who is currently Earl. Like that Hinkley fellow Father had deported seven years ago for horse theft. Now if you all will excuse me, I have to see Miss Yardmouth for another fitting." Her skirts swirled angrily about her legs as she turned to go, her face set in a grim line.

  "Oh dear," murmured Maria Sprockets feeling for the proud young woman.

  Lady Nevin waved her hand airily. "Oui, but do not be overly concerned. My daughter, she is made of sterner stuff. Still, perhaps Maria, if you would be so good as to bear her company this afternoon—"

  Maria brightened. "Until she calms? Yes, of course. I should be delighted. Besides," she said rising to her feet and walking toward the door, "I have yet to see her wedding dress, or talk to Miss Yardmouth on my own for a ballgown. Though it does seem rather silly, a woman of my age and station attending a ball," she tentatively suggested.

  Leona hid a smile. The prospect of attending a ball wrought unbelievable changes in the retiring Miss Sprockett. Before Leona's eyes years were falling away from her former governess. It was amazing to her to consider how little she knew her friend. She would never have thought Maria harbored yearnings for society—though, when one considered the carefully preserved wedding chest in Maria's bedroom at Rose Cottage, it should not have been a surprise.

  "Nonsense, Maria. We insist. It is settled. No more talk, s'il vous plait."

  "Oh, yes, of course," Maria said, happily flustered and pink-cheeked as she left the room.

  "You are very kind to my companion," Leona said.

  "But, of course! And why not? Though I should warn you, I am fast becoming quite attached to Maria myself."