A Heart in Jeopardy

by Holly Newman

  "That is different."

  "How so?" he demanded. "No, please, don't turn your head away. I wish to understand."

  She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know."

  "You are quick to defend others or to defend ideas. Why can't you now? ... Oh!" he said, pausing. He crossed back to the sofa with quick long strides and sat down beside her, searching her face. "Lucy was right. You can't defend yourself, can you? You can fight for anyone and anything else but not for yourself. Why is that?"

  Leona squirmed. His words were truer than she cared to admit. "I-I believe people should accept themselves as they are. If they cannot..." She looked up into his eyes, searching for understanding for the thoughts she couldn't put into words.

  She became lost in the glittering blue depths of his eyes. Suddenly there was warmth there. The image of sharply cut gems gave way to the velvety softness of blue cornflowers. The rigidity in his jaw muscles eased, allowing a smile to pull up on the corners of his lips and light his eyes. He reached out a gentle hand to caress the side of her face. Instinctively she pulled back, then stopped when he paused with a fleeting expression of pain in his eyes.

  "How I have hurt you," he murmured, shaking his head sadly.

  "No! No! Not you! How could you?" She caught his hand between her own and boldly carried it to the side of her cheek, tilting her head to fit in the curve of his calloused palm.

  "I have railed at you for all the good you have done, saying you shouldn't, that you should leave everything to a man. Yet, in all honesty, if you did, you would not be the Leona I admire—the Leona I have come to love," he finished on such a whisper that Leona wondered if she heard right.

  His head bent towards hers, his hands grasping her shoulders, pulling her nearer. Slowly, gently, giving her time to pull away if she felt she must, his lips settled over hers.

  Leona sighed, her hands coming up to his head to touch the thick pelt of black hair that curled over his collar. Against her lips Deveraux groaned. Leona leaned into him, questing, curious. Her blood sang in her ears, and a curious coiling, tingling feeling came up from her toes.

  Deveraux ran his hand down her back and around the curve of her spine until he could pick her up and shift her into his lap. "Oh, my proud beauty, my lioness," he murmured against her lips, "how could we have hurt you so?"

  She parted her lips to deny his words, but no sound could come for he covered her mouth with his own, his kiss a fierce apology and demand. Willingly she answered his kiss, her own a passionate denial of what he would not let her say aloud.

  When their lips finally parted, he leaned his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged, his hands trembling. "My God, Leona," he managed hoarsely. He lifted his head up to stare blindly at the ceiling as he clutched her tightly to him. Then he released her and set her gently back beside him on the sofa.

  A knock on the library door had him surging to his feet. "Yes?" he snapped.

  "The servants are assembled, sir," the butler called through the closed door.

  "Thank you, Purboy. I shall be there directly." He held out his hand to her. "Come."

  She hesitated.

  "Leona, you must come. You see that, don't you? It is the only way I can go to battle for you, as you so courageously would do for us."

  She took his hand and rose reluctantly. "It is no use. Someone has obviously poisoned their minds."

  He glanced at her. "Yes," he agreed slowly. "I believe you are correct." Thoughtful now, he tucked her arm in his and drew her slowly toward the door. "Clever. Very clever. I shall not underestimate them again."

  "Pardon?"

  He cocked an eyebrow as he looked down at her. "It means, my dear, we have a traitor in our midst. Perhaps I did you more harm than good by bringing you to Castle Marin. I may have played directly into their hands."

  Leona shivered.

  He smiled at her crookedly. "Have faith. This is only a skirmish, a mere test of arms. We shall win the battle," he assured her before opening the library door.

  Word of Deveraux's anger traveled swiftly through the household and estate staffs. Consequently it was a subdued group that gathered in the hall. Anxious, frightened faces looked first at Leona, then at Deveraux.

  The butler cleared his throat and cautiously admitted that one person remained absent—George Ludlow, one of the grooms. Leona remembered him as the warm, bandy-legged fellow who saddled Lady Talavera for her every day.

  Deveraux's face became a cold mask. Without a word he led Leona to where his mother stood with Lucy just returned from her outing, still wearing her bonnet and cloak. The two women gathered Leona to them, their arms protectively around her, their faces as set as Deveraux's. Fitzhugh and Maria stood to one side with Chrissy, who tucked her hand in Maria's while fat tears rolled down her tiny face. She dabbed at them with her handkerchief, her lips set in a stubborn line.

  Deveraux walked through the hall, scanning the faces. Many he'd known for years. A few had a history of generations serving the Earl of Nevin. In their faces he saw fear, in others a stubborn bravado. Only a few, like Miss Jewitt, Lucy's dresser, Mrs. Henry, the housekeeper, and Gerby, the head groom, stood impassively, but that was their habitual mien.

  "I should turn you all out!"

  A keening wail came from one of the young housemaids. The other servants turned to stare angrily at her. Quickly she buried her face in her apron, muffling her sobs.

  "Unfortunately," Deveraux continued, thoroughly disgusted, "that is not practical. Lady Lucille's betrothal ball is two days hence, and the first guests are due to arrive this afternoon. What I can do is promise you that if there is the slightest whisper of insult to Miss Leonard or Miss Sprockett, the perpetrator shall immediately be turned out without a character and possibly subject to prosecution."

  "But, sir," protested one of the young grooms. He glanced around at his fellows for support. He saw a few encouraging faces so he plunged on. "We is only thinking of the family. It's her that's caused the problems. We don't want you takin' in by no hussy."

  "Hussy! You impudent maw-worm!" Deveraux grabbed him by his leather vest and swung him into the center of the hall. "How dare you question my judgment! If you wish to retain your position, then you'd best be happy shoveling horse manure for that will be your duty for the next week. You'll shovel it from one pile to another and back again, endlessly. Maybe that will teach you to listen to filth!" roared Deveraux, dropping the man. He fell in a sprawl at Deveraux's feet. Quickly he grabbed up his fallen cap and scuttled to the side of the room.

  "Isn't there any among you who is smart enough to realize that I might possess information you lack? Do you think I tell you everything? I know Miss Leonard is innocent!" He glared at every face in turn, his eyes thin slits of glittering ice.

  "And I will tell you something else I know," he said with dangerous quiet. "One of you is not. So, I put it to you to look carefully at your fellows. Someone is responsible for starting the rumors regarding Miss Leonard. Someone is responsible for twisting the facts. And more than likely that someone is an accessory to Lady Christiana's kidnapping. I give warning now that when I discover who that person is, he, or she, may regret they ever heard of the Earl of Nevin."

  He turned his back on them and approached his family, guiding them into the parlor. Leona looked up at him, worry clouding her autumn-colored eyes. He smiled at her, and a tentative smile of her own answered his.

  "Purboy," Lady Nevin ordered with all the calm dignity of her years as Countess, "we'll have refreshments in the drawing room."

  "Well, I don't ever want to see Miss Benedict again!" declared Chrissy after listening to her elders discussing the contretemps. "Tell her to go away, Uncle Nigel."

  "Chrissy, that's unfair," protested Leona over the dismayed voices of Chrissy's family.

  The mutinous child pouted. "She was mean to you."

  "Honey, she wasn't mean to me," Leona soothed, moving to sit next to Chrissy on the couch. "She was trying to protect you in the
only way she thought she could. Miss Benedict loves you, as do all the servants here."

  "You are very generous, Leona," said Lady Nevin, a sad smile on her face.

  "She has a warm and forgiving heart. I pray she never loses it," said Deveraux softly.

  Leona looked up at him leaning against the carved marble mantelpiece. Her breath stuck strangely in her chest as memories of his kisses poured through her mind. A slight smile kicked up the comers of his mouth as if he could read her thoughts. She felt a warm blush rise up her neck. She turned away, flustered.

  "I have an idea, Chrissy. Why don't you and Miss Benedict talk about it. I'll wager she's feeling pretty badly now. She probably expects you to dislike her and order her to go away. She might even be crying."

  Chrissy tilted her head in thought, then nodded. "She does cry at the silliest things."

  "She most likely needs cheering up, not more scolds."

  "And that is what your father would wish you to do, non?" Lady Nevin added.

  At the mention of her father Chrissy looked stricken. "Papa is always kind," she whispered.

  "Oui. He would not wish Miss Benedict needless hurt."

  Chrissy fidgeted in her seat, her face reflecting indecision and shyness.

  "May I come with you?" offered Maria. "Maybe I can help get you talking together. Remember, I was a governess once. I know how she feels."

  "You do? Oh, would you?"

  The hopeful expression that lit Chrissy's face was nearly comical. Leona struggled against laughter. When she looked at the others, it appeared they also struggled against mirth.

  In answer, Maria smiled and held out her hand. Eagerly Chrissy took it, and the two of them left the drawing room.

  "And if you ladies will excuse me, I'll go to my room to clean up. We had a rather, ah, interesting morning in the village," Mr. Fitzhugh said, glancing down wryly at his dusty clothes.

  Leona noted his soiled clothing with surprise. She'd not noticed it before, nor the wild disarray of his hair so out of character for Mr. Fitzhugh. Then again, she hadn't had eyes for anyone save Nigel since he walked into the library.

  It was then she remembered Deveraux's hand. "What did you do to your hand? Is it cut badly?"

  "Cut? What cut? Let me see," demanded Lady Nevin rising from her chair.

  "It is nothing, Maman. Merely a graze."

  "And a graze may not get infected? Give me your hand." She took his hand in hers, clucking her tongue over the dirty handkerchief bound about it. "Imbecile! Look at this dirt! Lucy, tell Purboy to fetch a basin of water and my basket." She glanced over at her daughter. "And afterwards you go upstairs to change. Remember, we are to have guests soon."

  "Perhaps I should go as well—"

  "Is Miss Leonard squeamish?" Deveraux asked with a teasing smile.

  "No, it's just. . ."

  "Please stay," he asked her seriously.

  Leona blushed and agreed.

  Lady Nevin looked from one to the other, well pleased with what she saw. "Come, ici. Sit on the couch that I might tend you better." She led him over to sit next to Leona. Deveraux laughed.

  "Maman, you are not at all subtle."

  She shrugged. "Subtle, bah! It is the mistake of the young. When one gets old, one no longer has the time for subtleties. There you are, Purboy. Bring those here, s'il vous plait."

  From outside the Castle came the sounds of a carriage approaching.

  Deveraux cocked his head, listening. The Sharplys! How could he have forgotten they were due to arrive today! Too late he understood how his invitation to them would appear to Leona. "Damnation!" he swore, yanking his hand out of the basin of water. "I didn't expect them so soon."

  "Nigel! Put your hand back in the water. Purboy will show them in."

  His eyes anxiously sought Leona's. "I didn't mean— I meant to explain—"

  "Wonderful place. Wonderful atmosphere," said a new voice from the entrance hall.

  It was for Leona an all too familiar voice. Her eyes widened as the color drained from her face.

  "This way, you say? Lead on, my man!" said the voice with loud heartiness. "Come along, my dear. Seems like that hoyden sister of yours has done well for herself, very well indeed."

  Leona closed her eyes and cringed. She missed seeing the anguished look Deveraux sent her along with the dull red that crept up his neck.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Sharply," announced the butler from the doorway.

  Leona rose slowly, a sick feeling of betrayal gnawing at her heart. She cast one glance filled with anger, loathing, and pain at Deveraux before she crossed to her sister to enfold her in a stiff embrace.

  "Rosalie! What a delightful surprise!" Her smile was strained.

  "And how about a hug for your ol' brother-in-law, you sly puss," George Sharply said heartily. He grabbed her, nearly throwing her off balance as he took his hug.

  Deveraux's face darkened and he moved to rise, but his mother held his hand firmly keeping him seated.

  "Bring your family to meet us, Leona. You forgive that we do not rise? As you see, my careless son has hurt his hand, and I must dress it"

  Leona brought them forward and made the introductions stonily.

  "But you must be tired from your long journey, non? I confess we did not expect to see you for some time yet. Leona, ring for Madame Henry to show our guests to their room," Lady Nevin said courteously yet dismissively.

  George Sharply looked like he would have denied fatigue and settled down to join them, but his wife pulled on his arm, timidly agreeing with Lady Nevin that they could do with a chance to rest and freshen up.

  After the door closed behind them, Lady Nevin released Nigel's hand and sat back in her chair. "Maintenant. What is going on? Leona, you are not pleased with my son's little surprise?"

  "No, no I am not!" Leona declared, whirling around to face Deveraux.

  He rose to his feet.

  "Of all the arrogant, high-handed things you have said or done in our brief acquaintance, Mr. Deveraux, this is by far the worst! You know how I feel about that-that idiot! How could you?" The last was almost a wail.

  Deveraux crossed to Leona, grasping her shoulders. He could feel the anger and chagrin pulsing through her. He had to explain, had to make her understand—but how?

  "I thought—I thought—Damn. How did this get so complicated? Leona, I didn't understand before—"

  She laughed shrilly, her eyes glistening. "No. All you understand is what you think is right! You have no concern for others. It must always be your way! I thought you listened when I told you of Sharply, how he was, how he tries to usurp me. You seemed to understand. How could I have been so wrong, so blind! Let go of me!" she cried, twisting out of his grip. Her entire body was trembling. She stepped backward toward the door.

  "You have never respected me or my judgment. Everything I do is wrong in your eyes. You are continually trying to change me into some weak, helpless bit of fluff. Well, I won't change, for this is me!"

  "Leona, please listen. I know I was wrong. I didn't understand until this morning—"

  "Be quiet! Just be quiet, do you hear me! I don't want to hear any more!" She clapped her hands over her ears, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Haven't you done enough for one day? Just leave me be," she sobbed, turning to run from the room.

  Deveraux started after her.

  "Let her go, Nigel," said Lady Nevin.

  "No, I must explain—"

  "Nigel, let the poor girl go. She has suffered enough this day." Lady Nevin rose tiredly to her feet. "You make me feel so old…. You are an imbecile," she said, coming up next to him.

  "I know, Maman, I know."

  She shook her head sadly. "I do not understand all that has happened, but I have a good notion."

  Deveraux laughed harshly. "Most likely a very good notion."

  "Still, I would understand more. Sometimes even a man needs a mother, non? So come, sit down with me and explain this mess of your making. Perhaps I may be of some
little help in straightening out this imbroglio."

  Leona rarely cried. So rarely did tears flow that the villagers of Crawfords Dean gossiped about Leona's lack of tears. No one recalled her publicly shedding tears at funerals or weddings. Long-time family retainers reported that the last time they knew of her crying occurred when reports circulated that her mother lay dying. Showing misty eyes was the closest she came to tears. When emotions welled and her eyes filled, her sense of duty kicked in to dry her eyes. With duty, she maintained, there was no time for maudlin displays of tears.

  Castle Marin was rapidly proving her undoing. At Rose Cottage she thrived on her perceived duties and their adjunct responsibilities. They were her identity. At Castle Marin there were no duties. Like a person floundering at sea, she tried to find something worthwhile she could grasp onto. Every time she did, Deveraux was there to rip it away. She felt lost, helpless, and directionless. Now, twice in one day she suffered bitter bouts of tears that left her drained and headachy.

  She lay on her back on top of the coverlets and stared up at the ceiling and the wooden crown above the bed with its swagged apricot silk hangings. She studied the contrast of hand-carved oak, sturdy and timeless, against the soft flowing silk with its watered pattern and fluttering appearance. Silk, for all its beauty, was a strong fabric, but it was nothing compared to oak.

  She sighed and raised her arm, laying it over her eyes to cut off the sight of silk and oak. Why would he do such a thing? Why would he invite the Sharplys to Castle Marin?

  He must not believe her capable of managing her own affairs, or that any woman was capable of doing what a man did. The truth was, not all men were created with equal intelligence. But if women were behind the lowest man, then they were low indeed in Deveraux's mind! Then again, maybe he'd tired of protecting her; maybe he never wanted the task, his words were lip service, and he'd called in Sharply to take her off his hands. Or perhaps—worst of all—he, too, thought her guilty. The thought ran through her like the thrust of cold steel. She winced as the pain cleft her heart. She rolled over.

  Tomorrow she would make plans to leave Castle Marin, for she doubted she possessed the strength to float alone any longer, let alone fight She was so tired. Deveraux was correct; she was not accustomed to defending herself. Defending herself would mean first drawing attention to herself, Leona Clymene Leonard. It would mean revealing herself. She wasn't comfortable with that especially to Deveraux.