A Heart in Jeopardy (12 page)

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.

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."