Nina Coombs Pykare (16 page)

Ravenworth turned. “Your sister .
.
.
”

“I know.” Licia sighed. “She grows more like Mama every day.”

The duke frowned. “Poor Lockwood.”

Worried as she was about Penelope, Licia had to smile. “Don’t fret, your grace. Dezzie loves Lockwood. He’ll be able to control her, as Papa controlled Mama.”

“I suppose so.”

Licia wanted to get back to the subject at hand. “So if a direct attack on the mama failed, you would enlist the help of someone powerful. And if that failed and Gretna Green was your only recourse—”

His scowl grew fiercer. “You must . . . you must know that Gretna Green is no solution. A young woman of breeding should not be subjected to such an indignity.”

“But if she loves—”

“If he loves her, he will find some other way.”

She stared at him. “But you just said there is no other way.”

This was not working as she had hoped. Penelope was right. She could look for no help from the duke.

“Come,” he said, giving her a smile that looked patently false. “Let us get some lemonade.”

* * * *

It took Licia several days to feel once more in good accord with his grace. Not that she denied the veracity of his statements. She herself would have said the same things before she knew about Penelope, before she had met Harry Bates. Before, she admitted to herself, she knew what it was to love someone she couldn’t have. Though in her case the reasons were different, still, she felt she knew something of Penelope’s pain.

Toward the end of the week Ravenworth sent word that he would take them Friday next to see Kean. Licia tried to feel excited about it. Everyone was talking about Kean’s feeling for Nature, about the marvelously natural effects he brought to his roles.

But Licia was laboring under a heavy load of worry. As August approached, Penelope’s elopement grew more imminent. And more frightening. Licia was sure Aunt Hortense would disown her daughter. Mama might not, considering that she, herself, had run off with Papa.

But even if she didn’t, Penelope would be lost to her cousin. As Harry’s wife she would not have funds for visits to the country. And Licia, once she had prevailed upon Mama to return to the peace and quiet of York, never wanted to come to London again.

And that brought her round to Ravenworth. Possibly, if she stayed in town she could have him for a friend. But she knew, somehow, that that would be even more painful than not seeing him at all.

She found that she could not really imagine what it would be like not to see him. He had become so much a part of her life. The old days of contentment seemed bland and uninteresting. But they were the best she could hope for now.

And so the night of the theater party arrived. Penelope, whose expression had been growing more melancholy daily, tried to put on a cheerful face. But Licia could see the strain beneath the smile. “Oh, my dear,” she said as they descended the great stairs. “I wish there were some way I could help.”

Penelope only shook her head.

Ravenworth smiled as he handed them into the carriage— Dezzie and Penelope and Licia. “Your mama and Aunt Hortense will follow in the other carriage,” he said, sending Licia a smile.

She tried to return it, to behave in a normal fashion. “I am eager to see Mr. Kean.”

Dezzie sighed. “Will the viscount be there?”

“I believe so,” Ravenworth replied. “His mama has commanded his company.”

“His mama?”

“Yes.”

Dezzie withdrew into silence.

“And your mama,” Ravenworth said to Licia, “how is she?”

“Well,” said Licia. “Quite well.”

Penelope chuckled, the first time Licia had heard her do so in some time. “Aunt Dorothea is quite taken. She speaks of nothing but the Duke of Wellington, and in the most glowing terms.”

Dezzie smiled. “She plans to invite him to my wedding. And yours, of course.”

“Of course,” repeated his grace in that dry tone he sometimes affected.

Licia swallowed a sigh. “Dezzie, Wellington is a very busy man. He may not have time.”

Dezzie’s laugh was lighthearted. “Oh, Licia, I know that! You mustn’t think me such a goose. Now, your grace, what is the play for tonight?”

The duke sent her an amused smile. “I believe it is
The Merchant of Venice.”

Dezzie frowned. “Oh, dear. I was hoping it would be
Hamlet”

His grace chuckled. “Come now, Dezzie. The path of true love has been made smooth for you. What need have you of Ophelia’s laments?”

“None at all,” replied Dezzie with a bright smile.

* * * *

But once they had reached the duke’s box, her smile turned sour. First, Mama decided that this time Dezzie must sit in the front. And then Dezzie spied Lockwood.

“There he is!” she cried excitedly and was just about to wave when the duke leaned forward and touched her arm.

“I should not do that,” he whispered. “Lockwood’s mama is a dragon for proper decorum.”

Dezzie subsided immediately, whispering, “Yes, your grace. Thank you, your grace
.
”

Licia swallowed a little smile. When it came to Lockwood, Dezzie would do anything.

But as the duke leaned back Licia saw he was still frowning. “What is it, your grace?”

“Nothing,” he began. Then, seeing her disbelieving expression, he leaned closer to whisper into her ear, “My sister has been balking. She wanted someone higher for him, a nobleman’s daughter.”

“Oh.” A cold hand closed ‘round her heart. “She will not
.
.
.
” She could not finish the sentence.

Ravenworth covered her gloved hand with his. “My dear, do not take on so. It will be all right. Mama and I will bring her round.”

“I hope so.” Their continued whispering had brought their heads quite close together. For a moment dizziness threatened to engulf her. She wanted so desperately to lean her head upon his shoulder, to feel his arm around her. She struggled with these thoughts and with her worry for Dezzie. But, she told herself, she need have no fear for Dezzie. If Ravenworth said he would make it right, he would.

When the play began, Licia found it difficult to concentrate. She was familiar with the story, of course, but she had not seen the actual play before.

“Why, that’s not Shylock,” Mama observed plaintively. “He hasn’t any red wig.”

“Kean doesn’t use a wig,” the duke explained. “He does not believe the role is comic.”

“Not comic?” cried Mama. “Why, everyone—”

“Dorothea, please!” Aunt Hortense used her most quelling look. “I should like to
hear
the play.”

Mama lapsed into silence, but the set of her shoulders told Licia plainly that she had not changed her mind about a thing.

“Well,” she said when intermission came, “that was the strangest thing. Why should he play Shylock in that peculiar fashion?”

“Because,” replied Penelope with a bitterness that caused Licia’s heart to beat faster, “because Shylock is a human being, a person with feelings.”

Mama looked puzzled. “I don’t see how that can be. He’s a moneylender, a—”

“Aunt Dorothea!” Penelope’s eyes were growing dangerously bright. “Weren’t you listening? That’s the whole point. That it doesn’t matter who we are. Rich or poor, Christian or Jew. We are all
people.
We all suffer the same pains.”

Mama digested this for some moments. Then she sighed. “These things are too difficult for me. I don’t know why people are always changing things. Why can’t they leave things the way they were? I have always laughed at Shylock. And now I cannot. It is most distressing.”

The duke and Licia exchanged glances. “I am—” she began.

“Oh, no!”

Dezzie’s wail made the duke turn toward her in alarm. “What is it?”

“There are ladies there, in the box with Lockwood. And he is . . .”

“Dezzie.” The duke’s tone was low but commanding. “Compose yourself immediately. Smile a little. Say something to your aunt.”

“But—”

The duke was insistent. “The eyes of the ton are upon you. And Lockwood’s mama is watching. You must act the lady. Believe me, this is of vital importance.”

A sigh came from Dezzie, but she nodded and smiled at Mama. Still, from behind her, Licia heard the muttered words. “I hate him. Oh, I hate him! How could he do this to me?”

Chapter Fourteen

The next afternoon found Dezzie still in a fulminating mood. The three young women were gathered in Penelope’s rooms. Licia, seated on a lyre-backed chair, watched with some misgivings while her sister paced in indignation and Penelope endeavored to calm her.

“Lockwood must listen to his mama,” Penelope pointed out. “You know she controls the purse strings.”

“That is no excuse!” Dezzie stopped her pacing to stamp in exasperation. “Look at the awful manner in which he behaved! Laughing and chatting with those horrible creatures. And not coming near me the entire evening!” She stamped her foot again. “It is inexcusable.”

Licia sighed. She had problems enough without having to listen to Dezzie carry on. But if Dezzie lost Lockwood, everything they had gone through would be wasted. Licia couldn’t stand that. “Dezzie, calm down. You know the viscount loves you.” And how fortunate she was to know such a thing. “He was just trying to please his mama.”

“I hate her, too,” Dezzie cried, “the mean old dragon. She wants to keep him away from me.”

Since Ravenworth had told her essentially the same thing, Licia could not give her sister much comfort.

But fortunately Penelope intervened. “Dezzie, you are being quite pea-brained. You know Licia is right. You know Lockwood loves you. You must just be patient. It will work out.”

Licia, seeing Penelope’s pain-filled eyes, wanted to shake some sense into her sister. What right had Dezzie to build a little imaginary nothing into a tremendous obstacle to her happiness when poor Penelope had to face very real, very difficult obstacles? And Licia herself was in even worse case. At least Penelope knew she was loved. Licia didn’t even have that bittersweet comfort.

“It will all work out,” Penelope repeated in a soothing tone. “Now, why don’t you go talk to your mama about wedding plans?”

Dezzie shook her head, her golden curls bouncing vehemently. “I am never going to marry such an insensitive, uncaring—”

“Then,” said Penelope, her voice sharp enough to make Dezzie’s eyes widen in astonishment, “go tell your mama that! But for pity’s sake, spare us any more of these ridiculous diatribes!”

“Well, I never!” And Dezzie flounced out, an unconscious imitation of Mama that, had Licia not felt so melancholy, would have set her to laughing. As it was, she merely sighed.

When the door had closed behind Dezzie with rather more force than was necessary, Penelope turned with a contrite smile. “I’m sorry. Cousin. But I simply could not take another complaint. The way is so smooth for them.”

Licia nodded. “I know. Dezzie can be quite a trial.” She frowned. “But you know Ravenworth told me Lockwood’s mama is against his marrying Dezzie.”

“And
she
doesn’t even know her.” Penelope threw herself down on the chaise. “Sorry, Cousin. But my nerves are all unstrung. And Dezzie is not much help.” She frowned. “I wish we had run off before. Then all this terrible waiting would be over.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I have such frightening dreams.”

She sat up, clasping a pillow to her. “Oh, Licia, I don’t want to hurt Mama. You know I don’t. But I cannot give Harry up. He is such a wonderful man.”

“I know.” In spite of all her efforts, tears rose in Licia’s eyes.

Penelope sprang to her feet. “Oh, dear! I am being just as insensitive as Dezzie! Pouring all my woes on you when you’ve more than enough of your own.”

“I shall be all right,” Licia said, getting to her feet too. With great effort she managed a smile. “Come, let us go join the others. I am quite sure Dezzie has
not
told Mama that the wedding is off.”

Later, as they all sat at their needlework in the drawing room, a carriage could be heard pulling up outside. Dezzie flew to the window. “It’s him!” she cried. “Oh, I shall make him—”

A loud cough from Penelope reminded her that Mama was still ignorant of any disagreement with the viscount and should remain that way. “I shall make him welcome,” Dezzie muttered, coming back to her chair.

Aunt Hortense shook her head. “Young women these days, they’re so flighty.”

“She’s just in love,” observed Mama, mangling another stitch. “Licia knows.”

Licia looked up in surprise. She did know, most painfully. But she was too old to go running off to the window whenever a carriage arrived, much as her heart might prompt her to do so. No, she must sit quietly and hide her disappointment that the duke was not with his nephew.

“The Viscount Lockwood,” announced the butler. “And the Duke of Ravenworth
.
”

Licia’s needle slipped, and she gave her finger a vicious stab. Trust Dezzie only to speak of the one
she
was waiting for. Licia put her finger to her mouth.

Lockwood went directly to Dezzie, who greeted him with a frosty smile that left him plainly bewildered.

Ravenworth came to Licia. “Good afternoon.” He glanced at the finger she still held to her lips, and his eyes twinkled. “An injury?”

“I accidentally pricked myself. It is nothing.” Her eyes were on Dezzie and the frosty reception she was according her suitor. “Suggest a walk in the garden or a carriage ride,” she whispered urgently to the duke.

The duke raised an eyebrow, but he said to the others, “The weather is lovely. Shall we take a carriage ride?”

“I don’t wish .
.
.
” began Dezzie truculently.

“Then a walk in the garden. I insist.” And Ravenworth had the young ladies on their feet and out the French doors before Dezzie could do more than glare at him.

In the courtyard Dezzie stood firm, gazing coldly at the man she claimed to love. “I’m not taking a single step with
him.”

“All right,” said Ravenworth with a sigh. “Kindly tell me what is going on here. We come to make a simple call and you treat us like French spies.”