Nina Coombs Pykare (4 page)

“Yes,” said his grace and Penelope together.

“But whatever for?”

Penelope laughed. “Really, Licia. Byron is all the rage with the ladies. His curls. His melancholy looks. And, of course,
Childe Harold.”
She turned to the duke. “Has George taken up writing poetry?”

“I should hope not. I’ve no doubt he’d be dreadful at it.”

He gazed after the two young people. “But Miss Desiree seems to find the boy quite admirable.”

How could Dezzie prefer this pale young fop to the duke? Licia wondered. But it was just as well. Dezzie and the duke would never deal well together. He needed someone more mature, more sensible, more . . . This train of thought led her to some pleasant daydreams that occupied the rest of their short walk.

When they returned to the carriage, the viscount made his good-byes with evident regret, and Dezzie gazed after his departing figure with wide, admiring eyes. “Oh,” she said to Ravenworth. “Your nephew is such an admirable man, and so learned. Why, he knew the names of all the persons we passed.”

And then she subsided into a silence in which she gazed off into the crowd with sighs and dreamy looks of the most exquisite sensibility.

Some time later the duke left them at the door, and Dezzie, newly invigorated, rushed into the sewing room, discarding bonnet and pelisse as she went. “Oh, Mama, Hyde Park is so wonderful! We saw the Prince Regent and all the lords and ladies. And we met the duke’s nephew.”

“Ah, yes,” said Aunt Hortense. “Young Lockwood. A bit of a—A nice young man.”

“Yes, Mama,” Licia added. “And the duke seems very fond of him.”

Dezzie cast her a look of such impassioned gratitude that it was a wonder Mama didn’t become immediately suspicious. But Mama was not too bright in some respects.

“Do you think,” Dezzie began, “that since the duke’s nephew is in town .
.
.
” She hesitated, plainly afraid to go on.

Penelope stepped into the breach. “I’m sure David would appreciate his nephew being invited to the ball. And as Mama says, the viscount is a fine young man.”

Aunt Hortense looked about to speak but at a glance from her daughter remained silent.

Dezzie, too, said no more, but to Licia her agitation was so apparent, she wondered that Mama could not see it. As usual, Mama had other thoughts to occupy her. “Well,” she said, “I suppose it would be the polite thing to do.” She smiled. “We want to keep Dezzie’s intended happy.”

“Yes, Mama, we do.” Licia grabbed Dezzie by the arm before she could speak and dragged her out the door. “Come, dear, let’s go wash up.”

“I won’t marry the duke,” Dezzie exclaimed as they reached the room she and Licia shared. “Why didn’t you let me tell Mama so?”

“You have already told her. And she didn’t hear you.” Penelope nodded. “Your sister is quite right. Besides, there is nothing to worry about. David is not the marrying kind. And no one, not even
.
your mama, can persuade him to be otherwise.” She paused in the doorway. “If you’ve a minute, Licia .
.
.
”

“Oh, yes.” Being with Ravenworth had  quite driven out all other thoughts out of her mind. But now she was again wondering about that man who had smiled at Penelope.

“You freshen up, dear,” she told Dezzie. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Dezzie nodded and sank down on the chaise. From the look of her she was already lost in dreams of the melancholy young viscount.

Licia hurried down the hall beside her cousin. “Who—”

But Penelope shook her head. “Not here.”

Once they were safely inside Penelope’s room, the door closed behind them, Licia grabbed her cousin by the arm. “Now, Penelope. You must tell me now. Who is he?”

Penelope’s smile was beautiful. Her whole face glowed with it and her eyes turned soft and misty. “He’s the most wonderful man in the world. And he loves me.”

Licia settled herself into a chair. “But who is he? You must tell me all.”

“His name is Harry Bates. And he’s a painter.”

“A .
.
. painter?”

“Don’t look at me like that. He’s studying painting with Turner. On Queen Anne’s Street.”

It was plain that Penelope cared a great deal for this man. But even in York one learned that ladies of good family did not marry artists. Licia sighed. “It must be fine to be loved. But your mama—”

Penelope’s expression sobered. “Mama doesn’t know.” Catching Licia’s expression of dismay, she hurried on. “Oh, I know how she’ll respond. So we are waiting. To see if Harry can make a name for himself.”

Much as it pained her, Licia had to say it. “I don’t think—”

“Neither do I. But Harry says we must try. He wants to do the right thing. And above all, he does not want Mama to think him a fortune hunter!”

“But she will! How can she not?” Licia took a deep breath. For Penelope’s sake the question must be asked. “Are you quite sure he is not?”

Fortunately Penelope did not bristle. She was too levelheaded to fly up in the boughs. “Yes, I am sure. When you know him, you will be sure too. I would have taken you to the gallery today. But with Dezzie along .
.
.
”

Licia’s head was spinning. Imagine Penelope in love! After all these years. “How did you meet?”

“Mama sent me for a painting. We saw Turner’s work at the Royal Academy. He does the most marvelous things with storms. And sunlight.” She smiled. “When I went to the gallery to inquire
,
Turner was out. And Harry talked to me.”

She settled on a nearby chair. “He is so different from most men of my acquaintance. There’s not a bit of the dandy or the fop about him.”

Thinking of the shabbiness she had glimpsed, Licia could only nod.

“He’s a dutiful son too. He sends money to his mama.” She sighed. “I know you will think me strangely befuddled, but I
know
I should be happy anywhere with my dear Harry. But he .
.
. he wants us to wait till he can better support me. Can you imagine? He doesn’t want to take my dowry.”

“But how shall you live?”

Penelope shook her head. “I don’t know. But I shall not give him up. He’s the first man I’ve ever known that made me consider matrimony a blessing.”

Licia thought for a moment. Her cousin’s happiness was evident, and Penelope, even in love, was a good judge of character. But this was a real problem. “Is there no one to whom you can turn for help?”

Penelope shook her head. “No one else knows. You are the first to be told. And for heaven’s sake, don’t let Dezzie know.”

“Of course not. But why haven’t you told Ravenworth? I thought you said you were friends.”

Penelope sighed. “Yes, we are. But Ravenworth is a peer. He cannot be expected to understand this. And beyond that, he holds no belief for love. He would simply tell me to stop acting the green girl.”

This information gave Licia a most disconcerting feeling. “But I thought he had not married because he had found no one he could love.”

“That is my belief. And his mama’s. But David
says
he does not believe in the institution of marriage.”

There was no reason this news should leave her feeling so dispirited. After all, she did not want him to marry Dezzie.

“You must promise not to tell a living soul,” Penelope went on. “Mama must not find out too soon. It would ruin everything.”

“I would never tell Dezzie. Like Mama, she cannot keep anything a secret. But I think you are wrong about Ravenworth.”

“Promise,” Penelope commanded. “Not a single word.”

Licia bowed to the inevitable. “You have my word. Oh, dear, I wish I could help.”

“Perhaps you can. I have been going far too often to the gallery. Perhaps sometimes you may carry a message for me.”

The prospect was not thrilling. Clandestine liaisons could only lead to disaster. But Licia nodded. She could do no less for the friend of her childhood. Sighing, she settled back in her chair. “So tell me all about your Harry.”

Chapter Four

Several days passed, days that seemed singularly empty without Ravenworth’s company. And then early one afternoon while they were all sitting at their needlepoint and Mama was elaborating on her plans for Dezzie’s come-out, Herberts entered to announce, “The Duke of Ravenworth. The dowager duchess. And her friend, the Duchess of Oldenburgh.”

Mama’s eyes lit up. Dukes and duchesses were her favorite people. English or Russian, French or German, these details made no difference to her. In her view, nobility was made to be cultivated. “My dear duchess,” Mama cooed, “do come sit by me.” She stroked the sable wrap the duchess wore. “Tell me about those dreadful Russian winters. I hear that they are so very cold.”

To Licia the duchess did not look particularly noble. There was a strange cast to her features an un-English flatness that made her seem indeed quite foreign.

While the ladies were fussing over her, the duke took a chair near Licia. She experienced a brief fluttering on her heart but resolutely put it down. Such reactions were for green girls, not for women of her age.

Then, finding the duke’s eyes upon her, she searched her mind for something to say. “Dezzie has talked so often of our drive in Hyde Park. Thank you again for taking us.”

What a stupid way to open a conversation. She was getting as bad as Mama, practically asking him to take them for a drive again.

But Ravenworth didn’t seem to mind. “The pleasure was all mine,” he said politely. He shifted his gaze to Mama then back to her. “Your mama seems to find the duchess quite charming. Has she a penchant for things foreign?”

“Not exactly,” Licia replied. “It is more likely that she has a penchant for things noble.”

The duke absorbed this information with a dry laugh. “No doubt.”

In the silence that followed, Licia heard Mama say, “It was truly the most magnificent bed. Twelve feet long and eight feet wide, with the most lovely decorated dome. And figures that played the most marvelous, most delightful music.”

The duke pulled in a breath. “My word, don’t tell me she’s—”

Licia sighed. “I’m afraid she is.”

“But I distinctly told her .
.
.
”

Though the situation could hardly be classed as humorous, Licia swallowed a sudden urge to giggle. Ravenworth looked so startled. No doubt few people had ever dared to cross him. Unfortunately he would find Mama a different story.

“Mama only hears what she wishes to hear,” she explained. “You cannot expect her to forgo telling the story of the Celestial Bed. Aside from running off with Papa, it was the most romantic event in her life.”

He frowned. “She ran off with him? What a fool thing to do.”

She could hardly disagree with that. Runaway marriages
were
most often disastrous. Still, Mama was
her
mama
.
“Perhaps. I thought I had told you that.”

He shook his head. “You told me she loved him. I thought the family had come round.”

“No indeed. They ran off and Mama’s family disowned her. But then, when Papa became successful, they relented. So when we were girls, Penelope used to come visit in the summer.”

He nodded. “She told me how much she enjoyed those visits. Tell me, do you find her much changed?”

Her heart rose up in her throat. Careful. She must be careful with Penelope’s precious secret. “Changed? How?”

He adjusted his cuff. “I don’t know exactly. I can not quite put a finger on it. She’s just different somehow.”

She let herself relax a little. He didn’t really know anything. “You must remember that I haven’t seen her for several summers, so it’s hard to say. But she seems like herself to me.”

The duke frowned. “There’s something different. I know it.”

“My dear duke,” said Mama, smiling at him from across the room.

“Yes, Mrs. Dudley?”

Licia felt the hair rising on the back of her neck. That was the tone Mama used when she wanted something from a man.

“How is the weather today?”

Ravenworth looked a little bewildered but he replied, “The sun was shining when we arrived.”

“How excellent! My dear Dezzie has been languishing for want of fresh air. And now the sun is shining.”

She stared at him pointedly. But either Ravenworth was stunned by this frontal attack or he had determined to ignore it.

While he sat there, still silent, his mama intervened. “The duchess and I should like to make this a longer visit. Perhaps, David, you could take the young ladies out for a drive.”

“As you wish
,
Mama,” he said dutifully.

Licia, who had no desire to be foisted on the man, opened her mouth to protest. But a look from Penelope caused her to close it again without saying a single word. For some reason Penelope wished to take this drive.

Licia ventured a glance at the duke. His face remained quite expressionless. But there! By his mouth the muscle was twitching again. He must think them a veritable raree-show!

She fumed while they got their wraps, but once settled in the carriage with Ravenworth beside her and the spring sun peeping through the clouds, she found it quite impossible to be upset.

“I must say, David,” Penelope observed in a chafing tone, “that you were dreadfully slow to put your carriage at our disposal.”

He smiled, not at all disturbed. “Since you are as well equipped as I in the carriage line, I had no idea Miss Desiree was wilting away.”

“I am afraid Mama is rather transparent,” Licia said. “I must ask you to forgive her.”

The duke frowned. “I can forgive her for maneuvering me into something I am quite willing to do. But the story of that horrendous bed .
.
. Is there no way to stop her?”

Licia suppressed an urge to pat his hand. She must remember he was not Dezzie, to be comforted with a pat. “I’m afraid not. But do not fret. I have grown used to it.”

His frown deepened. “Used to it, indeed. The details of one’s . . .”

“Introduction to life,” she supplied helpfully, wondering why she was almost overwhelmed by a desire to laugh.