A Heart in Jeopardy

by Holly Newman

  Leona laughed. "Thinking to hire her away from me?"

  Lady Nevin shrugged. "Not so long as you have need of her, but that may be not be forever, hein?"

  Leona blushed. "I do not intend to get married."

  "Why is that, Miss Leonard?" Deveraux asked, coming to sit in the chair vacated by Maria.

  "Because my brother needs me, and I have a duty to him," she said simply, as if it were obvious.

  Deveraux and Fitzhugh exchanged glances. How well they remembered Captain Leonard's deprecating comments about his little sister. Then, too, there was the news in Keirsmyth's letter.

  "But what if your brother were to marry?" Deveraux asked neutrally while seemingly absorbed in removing a piece of lint from his coat sleeve.

  Leona laughed. "To marry, my brother needs to wed an heiress and has often stated that to be his object. But I put it to you, what heiress would wish to marry a mere country gentleman when there are impoverished peers on the hook for a wife? My brother, though I love him dearly, is not often clear-thinking. No. My position in my brother's life is secure."

  He tilted his head. "I bow to your superior knowledge."

  "Piffle. You are merely for the moment at point-non-plus. You, Deveraux, would never bow to me in any way!"

  He relaxed then and grinned a slashing, feral grin. "At least we understand each other, Miss Leonard."

  "Indeed we do, indeed we do," she said comfortably as she settled back in her chair, satisfied with achieving a win over Nigel Deveraux.

  Leona's fragile feelings of good-will toward Deveraux saw no obstruction during the next few days. This was from a two-fold cause.

  First, she rationalized, a man given to army life—which Deveraux had lived for four years—would naturally come to view action as a uniquely male province. This was an unfortunate occurrence; however, given time and distance from a military life, she was certain such an outlook would fade in his perspective. The truth was that the women of England had become more independent and cognizant of their unique capabilities. Coupled with this circumstance came the expedience for action, particularly in the last generation or two as the sons of the English aristocracy and the landed country gentry became involved in war in far distant locales, thereby insuring long absences from the mother country. Thus, when these men returned home to pick up their long discarded reins, they discovered women handling situations that were normally men's alone. This was unsettling to the men. On the one hand, they grudgingly admitted praise should be offered, but on the other hand was that niggling notion that they—men—were becoming virtually superfluous. Add to this the rise of the industrial and mercantile ranks to the status of wealth, and the propertied men—from whence for centuries wealth was measured—felt pressured that their old social order was changing. Quite simply they did not know how to handle the changes—particularly as the specter of the French Revolution continued in memory.

  Secondly, Nigel Deveraux was acting under a particularly noisome handicap. He was responsible for the well-being of his family at a time when, for unknown reasons, some people were determined to do the family and estate harm.

  It was not, Leona ruefully admitted to herself, the best of circumstances in which to see either the contributions made by women or to recognize their capabilities.

  With these realizations, and with the acknowledgment of a continuing danger, Leona felt it wise to rethink her position in the Deveraux household and show grace under pressure. Instead of feeling useless, as she had when she first arrived, it became Leona's objective to lighten Deveraux's load by not showing the independence of spirit that was her wont. Furthermore, she determined to show him a friendly countenance and thereby perhaps lead him to rethink his position regarding women. The poor man currently had enough troubles without her adding to them with pressure that he acknowledge women and their new status in society. What was that old adage? You can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink? Thus it was with Deveraux. She could only continue to lead him to water and hope that he would one day decide to drink from the waters of her experience and the experiences of other women.

  The truth was—although Leona only peripherally appreciated it—she enjoyed the easy camaraderie and teasing she and Deveraux were capable of achieving. He possessed a ready wit which delighted Leona, for it was something she'd never been able to share with her own brothers.

  She discovered much to her surprise that she could be happy at Castle Marin. In truth, she realized she'd been happy even while vexed with inactivity and boredom. It was puzzling. At first the days lagged. Not so as of late, yet she was beyond understanding the difference.

  She was happy, that is, until the third morning after the fire and aborted horse theft, when an unusually sullen Betsy waited upon her.

  "Gracious, Betsy, gently," Leona admonished when for the fourth time the maid pulled her hair while brushing it.

  "Sorry," mumbled Betsy. She gave it another vicious yank.

  "Betsy!" Leona pulled out of her reach and turned on the low stool to face her. "Whatever is the matter with you, my girl?"

  Betsy threw the brush on the dressing table. "I don't hold with traitors."

  "What?"

  She stomped over to the cupboard. The door opened with a bang. "Be this dress to your ladyship's likin'?" she asked, drawing out the word ladyship as if it bore a particularly foul stench.

  Leona rose and walked toward her. "I remind you I do not have a title nor do I anticipate gaining one. Now I ask you, who is a traitor?"

  Betsy rummaged about for a clean chemise, petticoat, and stockings. She tossed the lot on the bed. "I be thinkin' it be right odd that ye were the one to rescue Lady Chrissy from yer own house." She faced Leona with arms akimbo, hands on her hips, and the light of anger's fire in her eyes. "Then, too, it be peaceful enough for weeks till ye come here."

  Leona leaned back against the dressing table and stared at Betsy in wide-eyed astonishment. "Are you daring to accuse me of having a hand in Lady Christiana's kidnapping?"

  Betsy lowered her arms and shuffled her feet. "That's wot they're all beginnin' to say."

  "Who's beginning to say?"

  "Everyone!"

  "Everyone in the servant's hall you mean? To what purpose?" she asked when she saw Betsy mulishly lower her head.

  "I-I don't know. That's wot no one has figured yet."

  Leona sighed heavily. "I swear to you, Betsy, I had nothing to do with that. I never heard of the Deverauxs or Castle Marin until I met Lady Chrissy."

  "Ha! I'll not swallow that bouncer. The Earl of Nevin, he be known all over England! He's rich and-and he's important, too!"

  Leona looked up at the ceiling, praying for salvation from the provincial mentality. She looked back at Betsy. "Do you think Mr. Deveraux or Lady Nevin would have me here if they thought I were a threat?"

  "I'll grant ye be mighty innocent actin'. Ye fooled the family but ye ain't fooled the staff, so count yerself warned!"

  "Betsy!" Leona cried, exasperated. "Oh, never mind. If that is to be your attitude, then I suggest you leave. I've done well enough for myself for years. It shall not harm me to do so again." She turned her back on her and returned to the dressing table to pick up the discarded brush and pull it through her long, thick hair. She brushed it vigorously with long, rhythmic, angry strokes.

  Betsy watched her uncertainly. "Yer not going t'order me to serve ye?"

  "No."

  Betsy wrung her hands on her apron. "Yer not going to complain to the master?"

  "And say what? ‘Oh, you know that maid you gave me? Well, she is just not going to work out. She thinks me capable of doing harm to that delightful little niece of yours.'" Leona said with treacle sweetness. "She also thinks I tried to steal your horse and set fire to the dovecote and who knows what else. No, she just is not working out—' There, is that what you would have me say?"

  "N-no."

  She threw up her hands. "Well, maybe I should. Maybe then he would let me leave an
d go back home!"

  "Ye want to go home?"

  "I never wanted to come here! But the great Nigel Deveraux decreed that I come to Castle Marin for my own safety. Ha! What a laugh. I am sick with the humor of it!" Leona raged. "Sick—sick—sick!"

  "Wot do ye mean, fer yer safety?"

  "Two days before I came here I received a threatening letter vowing revenge for my saving Lady Chrissy. Not that I expect you or your fellows to believe me, for you have me tried and sentenced! But it does not seem as if I am in the most enviable position, does it? Oh, forget it.... What am I talking to you for?" She wound her coronet of hair high on her head. With jerky, angry movements she stuck the pins in to hold it up, scraping her scalp.

  Leona stood up to throw off her dressing gown. She looked up to see Betsy still standing by the bed.

  "What? Are you here still? Why don't you run along back to your servants' hall and make up more tales to paint me blacker still!" She put on her chemise, petticoat, and stockings, ignoring the maid. When she moved to toss her dress over her head, Betsy reached out a hand to help her.

  "Don't touch me!" Leona shrilled. The eyes she turned toward Betsy glittered with unshed tears, though twin flags of red anger flew high on her cheeks.

  "I-I'm sorry, miss." She licked her lips. "Mayhap we were a mite hasty—"

  "Hasty! Hasty, you call it!" Leona's chest heaved. "I have never suffered the service of those who would not give it willingly. I do not intend to start. You may leave. Now!"

  "Oh, m-miss," the little maid sobbed. She turned and ran from the room.

  Leona slowly sank down onto the rumbled bed. She grabbed one of the pillows, cradling it to her chest as the tears began to flow in earnest. Could they actually believe her guilty? Yes. And if they did, how far might their tales travel? Dismally she remembered Deveraux's tale of her heroism among the country people. What were they now saying?

  Suddenly she was frightened, more frightened than she'd ever been in her entire life. What was she going to do?

  It took more than an hour for Leona to compose herself enough to venture out of her room. She knew that she was helpless against scurrilous rumors. People believed what they wanted to believe and, sad to say, they always tended to believe the worst!

  Her best defense—nay, her only defense—lay in not granting importance to the accusations. She was innocent and she numbered one of the victims. To hide in her room or to leave Castle Marin—with or without Deveraux's blessing—would be tantamount to admitting guilt. That she would never do. Though she detested scenes with servants, she was not a quitter.

  Before finishing her toilette, she splashed water on her face to ease her puffy eyes and blotchy complexion. She took her time in dressing, giving her face the opportunity to erase the signs of bitter weeping.

  When she went downstairs to breakfast, she was gratified to find she was the last to arrive. To her relief Deveraux and Fitzhugh had breakfasted earlier and were out on the estate. Lady Nevin and Maria sat with their heads close together, a sheaf of closely written paper before them as they discussed preparations for the upcoming ball. Lucy was the only one to notice her entrance.

  "La, how late you are, Leona. I shall tease you dreadfully for this, you know. I've heard how you often get up with the dawn at Rose Cottage. You're fast becoming a slug-a-bed!" Her eyes sparkled merrily as she spread jam on a last bit of muffin.

  Leona smiled wanly and agreed. She reached for the chocolate pot, but a footman was before her. He grabbed it and offered to refill Lucy's cup. She waved him away. He moved around the table to Lady Nevin and Maria to refill their cups, then he carried the pot out of the room. No one else seemed to notice his gross act of insolence. Leona bit her lower lip, wondering if she dare ask him to bring it back. She decided she was not ready for another scene. She went to the sideboard to get the coffee pot instead. The footman returned while she was pouring herself a cup. He glowered, and Leona repressed a smile. In reprisal, he began to gather all the food from the sideboard to return to the kitchen. Boldly Leona grabbed the muffin platter out of his hand, daring him with a blank look to fight her for it. He sniffed haughtily and grabbed the jam pot from the table. That last finally caught Lady Nevin's attention.

  "Jason, whatever are you about? Leona has just come down to breakfast. Leave those things. You can collect them later," she said off-handedly before returning her attention to Maria and their lists.

  With ill grace the footman abandoned the tray he'd loaded with food and stalked out of the room.

  "I'd wager he's made an assignation with one of the maids that he's anxious to make," giggled Lucy.

  Leona choked on a muffin crumb. "N-no doubt," she managed.

  "Leona, do you feel quite the thing? Your eyes look funny."

  "Do they? I didn't sleep well last night. Perhaps that's why," she lied weakly.

  "Oh, dear, and here I was teasing you dreadfully about being late. I'm sorry."

  Leona shook her head and waved her apology aside. "You couldn't know."

  "Well, you must see that you get some rest today. Though most of the people who will stay here for the ball will not be arriving until tomorrow, Nigel says we are to receive some special guests late this afternoon. He won't say who they are. He's being terribly secretive about it."

  Leona mumbled some response, but Lucy did not pay attention. She was already thinking of other issues. "Mrs. Hatcher has written to say that a gouty foot must keep her from my betrothal dinner and ball. But she shall be sure to come to the wedding even if it must be in a sedan chair. She is the dearest soul. But the upshot is that we shall have an empty place at the table, so Mother has decided to let Chrissy come to the dinner. Isn't that wonderful! I can't wait to tell her. She shall wear the beautiful little dress we had made up for her last Christmas. It will be perfect, but I think we will probably need to change the ribbons. What do you say we steal her away from that dragon governess of hers and take her into the village to buy ribbons and perhaps new stockings and gloves as well?"

  "That will be delightful," Leona said softly.

  "Good, then while you finish, I shall tell her."

  Leona watched her leave, then sighed, wondering how she was going to get through the day. She turned back toward her plate to discover Maria watching her.

  "Are you taking sick again, Leona?"

  "No! No! Not at all. I'm just tired."

  "Humph. So I heard you tell Lady Lucy, but I've been around you longer than she has, and I know something is the matter."

  "It is nothing, really."

  "Leona Clymene Leonard, you never could lie worth a ha'penny."

  "Especially not to you," Leona countered with a smile, hoping to divert her friend.

  She failed.

  "Just so, now what is it?"

  "Oui, ma pauvre. What has you so pinched looking?"

  Lady Nevin came around the table to feel Leona's brow with a cool, delicate touch. "It may be more than thirty years since I was a physician's wife, but there are things one does not forget or stop." With gentle fingers she tilted Leona's head up and looked into her face. "Oh, what is this? You are not sick. You have been crying. Why is this? You are unhappy?"

  "Yes—No! It is nothing. Missish nonsense," Leona assured her, summoning up her best smile.

  Lady Nevin eyed her shrewdly. "Me, I do not think you have ever been missish, eh, Maria?"

  "Not to my memory," Maria affirmed grimly.

  "Please, do not make much of it, I beg of you," Leona said. "I just do not want to talk about it at present."

  The dowager countess's lips compressed into a firm line, then she nodded abruptly. "All right. We shall not plague you now. But this cannot last. If you would like to talk..."

  "Yes, I know, and I appreciate your concern." Leona gulped down the rest of her coffee, anxious to be out of the room.

  Lady Nevin walked slowly back to her seat. Before she sat down she turned again to Leona. "If you do not feel the thing, do not let my daughter an
d granddaughter plague you. Stay here and rest."

  "They don't plague me. I enjoy them too much," she assured her as she rose to leave, anxious to get away from kind, all-seeing eyes.

  "Well, Maria, what do you think? Could those tears be for that scapegrace son of mine? I own I would be happy if they were."

  Maria Sprockett shook her head. "I don't know. This is not like Leona."

  The countess smiled. "Ah—but to a woman in love, anything is possible."

  "Still..." Maria left her thought unfinished, a worried expression clouding her pale blue eyes.

  Leona encountered Lucy as she descended the stairs. A slight pout pulled at the corners of Lucy's lips.

  "You would not countenance it, Leona. When I told Miss Benedict what we intended to do this morning, she insisted she be allowed to join us. Said she didn't trust Chrissy out of her sight, even with me!"

  Leona sighed. What Miss Benedict didn't trust was allowing Chrissy to be with Leona Leonard. That meant the stories were already circulating out of the realm of the lower servants.

  "Listen, Lucy, maybe it would be best if only Miss Benedict go with the two of you. I am feeling a bit fagged. I trust I am not coming down with anything. Perhaps it would be better if I just stayed in today and coddled my health."

  "But I was so looking forward to showing you around the village. We haven't had a chance to go there yet."

  "I-I know, but really, perhaps it's for the best"

  "Well, all right but only because I do not want you to be sick for my ball!"

  Leona smiled. "I promise, I won't be."

  Leona saw the shopping party off, then retreated to. the library for some quiet reading. Unfortunately, it became more a useless exercise in imagining the high flights of fancy that now had her as villainess. What the time did achieve, however, was a quieting of her nerves. She had not realized how edgy the situation with the servants had made her. Maria was right She was definitely not acting herself. Disgusted with herself, she returned the book of Latin she'd been trying to read and instead drew out a slim volume of poetry. She sat down on the sofa, her legs curled up under her as she sought to lose herself in the poem.