Nina Coombs Pykare (3 page)

Enough, she told herself. She was past the age of hanging out for a husband. And even if she were not, Ravenworth was beyond her reach. How fortunate Penelope was—to have him for a lifelong friend. If only she . . .

But the same nagging little voice informed her that though lifelong had a nice ring to it where the duke was concerned, friend was not the word she wished to have follow it.

“Licia,” said Penelope, and it was evidently not for the first time. “Do stop your woolgathering. We have much work to do.”

And work they did, emerging more than an hour later, tired but triumphant. “I think they will serve quite well,” Penelope said.

“Yes,” Licia agreed. “But I don’t see why you insisted on such a gown for yourself. The color is all wrong. It doesn’t show you to advantage.”

“This is not my come-out.”

“But still—”

Penelope’s eyes grew hard. “Licia, dear, I appreciate your concern. But please believe me, I know what I am doing.”

She glanced around her. “Perhaps Dezzie would like to walk a little. See the sights. Parker can follow us with the coach.”

“Yes, of course.” There was clearly no sense saying any more about it. But why had Penelope deliberately set out to make herself less attractive?

“Licia, look!” Dezzie cried. “Here’s the most delightful bonnet. And look there.”

Licia looked. And so with much looking and exclaiming on Dezzie’s part, they made their way along Bond Street.

But unlike her sister, Licia found herself far more interested in the people than in the shop window displays. While Dezzie exclaimed over bonnets and ribbons, Licia enjoyed the dandies in their shining boots and high cravats, the ladies in their gaily colored gowns and pelisses.

It was not until sometime later, when a gentleman smiled at her, that she realized what she was doing. She jerked her glance away immediately and the gentleman passed on. But he did not take with him the rather disturbing knowledge that she had been scrutinizing the faces of passing gentlemen for the features of one particular man. She’d been searching the crowd for the Duke of Ravenworth.

It was ridiculous, of course, to hope to find one man in such a press of people. But beyond that, it was quite disturbing. Why, when he was clearly not the man for Dezzie, had the duke stayed so much in her thoughts? It was a question she could not answer and this was not the place to discuss it with Penelope.

Dezzie stopped to admire a display of half-boots and Licia caught herself, turning again to look for
him.
He was not there, of course. But a youngish man was going by and he glanced her way. At first she thought his smile was meant for her. But then, turning indignantly away, she got a look at Penelope’s face. Her cousin was smiling back—with such love and tenderness that it was apparent the young man meant a great deal to her.

Licia turned back toward the crowd, determined to get another look, but he was almost out of sight. She could not remember much, just a general impression of shabbiness—a coat that did not quite fit and a cravat that was tied very plainly. “Penelope, who—”

With a glance at Dezzie, Penelope shook her head. “Later,” she whispered.

* * * *

But later seemed a long time in coming. As soon as they returned to Grosvenor Square, they must sit down to some refreshments. Licia, listening to Penelope describe the cut and color of each gown, marveled at her cousin’s duplicity. Her glowing account made her own gown sound quite the most dazzling when actually . . . But perhaps Aunt Hortense wouldn’t notice even when the gowns arrived. The striped puce-and-yellow creation she was wearing looked more appropriate for covering a chair than a matron. And even then . . .

“And then,” concluded Dezzie, “we strolled along Bond Street.”

Only Licia noticed the slight paling of her cousin’s cheeks. But Penelope needn’t have worried. Dezzie had seen nothing but the marvelous shop windows, the contents of which she now began to catalog.

Mama nodded complacently and observed, “I knew my decision to come to London was the right one.” She fixed her elder daughter with a stern eye. “You were quite wrong, Licia, to go against me in this. You must see that now.”

“Yes, Mama.” Since the damage was done and they were already in the city, there seemed little use in defending herself. And besides, she was eager to get Penelope alone. To find out more about the shabby young man.

“I’m feeling .
.
.
” she began but paused as Herberts entered the room.

“The Duke of Ravenworth
,
” he announced.

Aunt Hortense looked a little surprised but she rallied. “And the dowager duchess?”

“No, milady. His grace is alone.”

This information seemed difficult for Aunt Hortense to assimilate. But Penelope rose to the occasion. “Show his grace in.”

“Yes, yes,” echoed Aunt Hortense. “Show the man in.”

The duke was looking his usual modish self. If anything, his boots shone even more brilliantly than they had the day before. But Licia no longer found his sartorial splendor offensive. He was a fine figure of a man. Why shouldn’t his dress show it?

Penelope smiled at him and waved a hand. “Good afternoon, David. Have a seat and tell us why you are here.”

Licia stared. How could Penelope talk to the man like that? As if he were the gardener or the butler?

But he only chuckled. “Of course
,
Pen. But I don’t mean to stay long.”

“I’m sure you’re always welcome here,” observed Mama with that sickeningly sweet smile.

His grace shrugged. “Of course, ma’am.” He directed his look at Penelope, but somehow, in doing it, his glance crossed Licia’s. She could not help herself—she smiled. And then, feeling foolish, she looked away again. He would think her as addlepated as Mama!

“I have come
,
Pen, to take you and your guests for a ride in the park. The fashionable hour approaches. And it will do Miss Desiree no harm to be seen out driving.”

“Indeed,” said Aunt Hortense, finally regaining the use of her tongue. “It will do her much good to be seen driving with
you.
As you well know.”

He accepted the compliment with a complacent nod. “So, Pen, what do you say? Shall we show them Rotten Row?”

“We have been shopping all afternoon,” Penelope began.

Licia’s heart started a dangerous dance. Surely Penelope would not deny them this ride. She tried to think what she could say that would not be too forward.

But Dezzie didn’t bother with such niceties. “I should like to go to the park,” she said. “If it’s full of people.”

“It shall be,” his grace promised. He turned then, his eyes meeting Licia’s. “I hope Miss Dudley will find it entertaining too.”

“No doubt I shall,” she murmured, wondering if her cheeks were as rosy as they felt. “No doubt I shall.”

Chapter Three

The Duke helped Dezzie and Penelope into the front-facing seat so Dezzie could see as much as possible. He seated himself and Licia on the squabs that faced backward. It took a little getting used to, seeing where one had been instead of where one was going, but Licia soon forgot that in the wonder of looking around her.

Hyde Park was indeed full of people. Considering the press of carriages, Licia wondered that any of them could move. “Is it always like this?”

Ravenworth smiled. “Only from five onward. Earlier in the day it is quite deserted.”

“Then I shall always come after five,” declared Dezzie. “For I love to see the people.” And she commenced to quiz Penelope about those passing by.

The duke raised an eyebrow. “Your sister seems to have taken to the city.”

“Yes,” Licia replied. “But she is so very young. And since she has never learned to ride, she has not had the opportunity to enjoy the countryside.”

“My word! Never learned to ride! Have you no horses, then?”

“Oh, yes, we have horses.” Now she’d gone and gotten herself in the suds again—made the family sound ever dottier than it was. “But Dezzie was afraid of them. And so Mama said she didn’t have to learn.”

“I see.”

His tone spoke volumes—and all of them not to her liking. “Mama is a little . . . flighty,” she hurried to explain. “And by then Papa was gone.”

His eyes softened. “And the management of family affairs fell upon your shoulders.”

She did not even think of denying it. “Yes,” she murmured. “And sometimes it is difficult. Though Mama is a dear, she can be so .
.
.
”

The duke chuckled softly. “Determined?” he offered.

“Yes indeed.” For some reason she found herself wanting to laugh. “You, your grace, have a wonderful facility with words.”

He bowed slightly. “Thank you for the compliment. Though I am not sure I deserve it. Words are often quite inadequate for describing the curiosities of nature.”

She had the uncomfortable feeling that he had classed Mama as one of those curiosities, and then she felt a twinge of disloyalty. But Mama
was
eccentric. Everyone at home said so.

“So,” continued Ravenworth. “What do
you
think of the city?”

“I prefer the country. Since I like long rides and quiet days.”

“You have not spent much time in the city.”

She replied, “No, Papa loved the country. He said he only pursued business in order to live where he pleased. And he pleased to live in York.”

“I wager your Mama was not so pleased.”

“Mama loved Papa.” She saw his look of surprise. “It’s true. She married him when he was young and poor. For love. And he always had a way with her.” She sighed. “I am not so fortunate. Or we should still be in York.”

“That would be a pity.” Something flickered in his eyes, something she did not understand.

She laughed. “Oh, yes, indeed. A real pity. Then all London should be spared the details of my . . . ah, introduction to life.”

“She hasn’t already—”

“No, your grace. So far I am safe. Unless, of course, someone has come to call while we are out.”

The duke did not look pleased. “It’s a shame Lady Hortense cannot keep her more in hand.”

“I think she did when they were young. But now Mama has means. And she has always had determination. So we are here. And Dezzie will have a come-out that dazzles all London.”

“And you .
.
.
”

There was a softness to his voice that gave her a curious sort of feeling inside. “Why, I, your grace, shall go on as always.”

“Why doesn’t your Mama bring you both out?”

“Your grace!” The blood flooded her cheeks. “How can you suggest that? I am far too old for such a thing.”

“You don’t look old to me.” His voice had fallen another octave, and a curious sensation of warmth rushed through her limbs.

“You . . . you are most kind.”

“Kindness has nothing to do with it.”

This interesting statement hung in the air between them while Licia sought a reply. But before anything could come to mind, Dezzie leaned across and said, “Look, Licia, at that man over there. The one with the light-colored horses.”

The duke leaned forward to get a better view, and the sleeve of his coat brushed that of Licia’s pelisse. A curious weakness invaded her body as she, too, leaned to look.

“That is Prinny, the Prince Regent,” Ravenworth explained. “Driving his Hanoverian creams. Some admirable cattle, those.”

Dezzie fixed him with an accusing eye. “You are bamming me, your grace. That can’t be the prince. He’s too—”

The duke did not allow her to finish. “That
is
the Prince Regent,” he said sternly. “And whatever adjective you were about to use is better left unsaid. Prinny is Prinny, and that’s that.”

Dezzie subsided, but she did not look convinced. And no wonder. The Prince Regent had obviously been eating to excess. Licia made a mental note to have a talk with Dezzie. Obviously it was not de rigueur to speak of the prince’s corpulence.

“Ah,” said the duke with such obvious satisfaction that all the women turned to look at him.

“There is my nephew. Viscount Lockwood. Pearsons, take us to my nephew.”

Soon the carriage had pulled up beside a young man on horseback. “George,” called the duke, “stop a minute. Over there.”

The young man nodded and guided his horse off the roadway. The carriage followed.

Lockwood dismounted and came over to the carriage. He was a pale young man with curly blond locks and a look of such intense melancholy that Licia wondered if he suffered from some fatal illness.

“George,” said the duke, “I want you to meet Pen’s cousins. Miss Licia Dudley. Miss Desiree Dudley. This is my nephew, George, Viscount Lockwood.”

“Pleased,” said the viscount. His eyes went to Dezzie. “Very pleased. P’rhaps the ladies would like to get down. Promenade, you know.”

“Oh, yes!” Dezzie got eagerly to her feet.

The duke cast an amused look at Licia before he said, “Well, Pen, do we have time?”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, puh-lase,” implored Dezzie in tones that almost reduced Licia to helpless laughter. It was unfair of Ravenworth to make sport of her, but Dezzie’s reactions were amusing.

“Very well,” said the duke. “We shall walk for a while. Perhaps, George, you’ll give Miss Desiree your arm.”

“ ‘Lighted,” said that gentleman, and moved with alacrity to help Dezzie descend.

As the two moved off, chatting amiably, the duke offered his arms to his companions. “We’ll just follow behind, as proper chaperons ought.”

Licia tried to take in the sights, but she found leaning on his grace’s arm strangely debilitating. In some odd fashion it seemed to interfere with her breathing.

“Well,” said his grace to Penelope, “what do you think of George?”

“He looks like a washed-out copy of Byron. My word, David, where
did
he get those curls?”

The duke chuckled. “Probably the same place as his hero.”

“You can’t mean . . . Byron uses curl papers?”

“So I’ve heard.”

Licia could remain silent no longer. “Please, are you saying that your nephew is aping the poet?”