A Heart in Jeopardy

by Holly Newman

  All her life she was the last child, the tag-along after two headstrong, madcap brothers, her existence only tolerated if she proved useful and kept quiet But most of the time she was ignored, her very existence forgotten.

  Until her mother died.

  Her beautiful, smiling mother was a shrunken shell the last time Leona was called to her bedside. Her face was drawn, her skin the color of parchment. Dark circles rimmed dull green eyes that once sparkled like emeralds when she laughed. Her beautiful blond hair lay drab and thin. The only thing the illness failed to take away from her was the beauty in her smile when Leona came to her bedside. That smile meant the world to Leona, and for a moment she held its existence as proof that her mother would not die. Too soon the evidence of the other ravages to her mother's body stole away that brief moment of hope.

  Leona was twelve, struggling fitfully between childhood and womanhood. But after that day she closed the door on childhood forever. Her mother admitted, as gently as she was able, that she was dying. She let Leona cry for a moment then told her she must put away her tears for in the future she would have no time for sorrow. She confided quite frankly to the young girl what she saw as the personality faults of her two older brothers and her father. They were selfish, vain men. It was how they were born and was how they would always be. One learned to accept another's faults and even to learn to work around them. No one was perfect, and there were all manners of faults. To her brothers' credit, they were not stuffy or haughty, which was often an adjunct of those with a selfish, vain temperament. On the contrary, they were quite fun-loving, and that must stand in their favor.

  Still, her mother worried about them. Because of their selfishness they did not always judge situations correctly. They needed to be gently and continually guided. That was Leona's role. That was her duty. She must take care of them, stand up for them, and protect them—as much from themselves as from others—to the best of her ability. Her mother warned it would not be an easy job, and she must expect that they would at times resent her interference. But that must be her duty until such time as they might marry and their wives assume that mantle.

  For ten years she scrupulously followed her mother's request, never thinking of herself. It was ironic. She hadn't realized until she came to Castle Marin to what extent her mother's last words to her had completely shaped her life. She was so continually involved with taking care of others and their concerns that she never had time for herself. She felt like an empty husk. She shifted uneasily on the bed. That was neither a pretty nor a comfortable image.

  At the sound of a timid knock on her bedroom door, Leona groaned. Struggling up on her elbows, she sat up. "Who is it?"

  "It's Lucy, Leona. May I come in?"

  Leona closed her eyes briefly, her mind full of all the questions Lucy would ask when she saw her disheveled appearance. Of course, there was the possibility—nay, the probability—that Lucy was fully aware of her lack of enthusiasm for Deveraux's little surprise. The Deverauxs were so close they could not understand the antipathy she felt for George Sharply. How her sister could be happy with the man, Leona herself failed to understand. But her sister, the eldest of the Leonard offspring, had been married for three years before their mother's death. More than thirteen years total now. Perhaps thirteen years ago George wasn't an officious fool. Somehow, Leona could not fathom that.

  "Leona?" Lucy called through the door again, concern coloring her voice.

  "Come in. ... I was just lying down." Leona got up quickly, turning her head away slightly. She crossed to the dressing table, keeping her head down as she took out the hair pins. A dark golden fall of hair tumbled down to her waist. She ran her fingers through the hair at her temples, seeking relief from the pounding headache that threatened to explode the top of her head off.

  "I-I know you're angry with Nigel." Lucy hesitated, wishing Leona would look at her. "I hope you're not angry with the rest of us, too. I didn't know you didn't get along with your brother-in-law. You never mentioned him."

  "It is precisely because we do not get along that I did not mention him," Leona said, pulling her brush through her hair.

  Lucy winced. "Yes, well, I suppose I or someone should have figured that out."

  Leona laid the brush on the table. She sighed. "Don't worry yourself. Even if you knew that I detest Sharply and had said as much to Deveraux, I'm certain he would have still brought him here. The man is a law unto himself and let others be damned."

  "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 glanc
ed 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 f
rom 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."