Nina Coombs Pykare (6 page)

“Your servant,” said Lockwood, bowing over Dezzie’s hand rather longer than necessary.

She dimpled and curtsied and made quite the fool of herself. But the viscount didn’t seem to care. And Mama thought all the attention was for the duke.

“Good evening,” Ravenworth said to Licia. “You are looking well tonight.”

Licia felt the warmth flooding her limbs. “So are you,” she said. “Very well.” As indeed he was. There were probably few men in London with a better leg than that revealed by his evening breeches and stockings.

There was something about his eyes—a warmth, a friendliness—that pleased her immensely. But then she reminded herself that the man himself pleased her. For a moment she allowed herself to enjoy the feeling.

And then, of course, Mama had to ruin it. “You must get your name on Dezzie’s card immediately,” she said to the duke. “I’m sure she’ll want to have several dances with you.”

The duke bowed, and while Licia watched in embarrassment he dutifully put himself down for a dance. Then he turned to Licia. “Where is your card. Miss Dudley?”

“I’m afraid I have none.”

“Then will you honor me with the first dance?”

Though his request took her quite by surprise, it took her only a moment to regain her senses. And she was able to reply with a smile. “Of course, your grace. If you wish it.”

His smile warmed her. “Yes, I wish it.”

Fortunately Mama soon decided that they no longer needed to stand to welcome people. So when the orchestra struck up and the duke appeared at her side, Licia was free to put her hand in his.

They danced the quadrille with great enjoyment, at least on her part. And when they had finished and he returned with her to the sidelines, he lingered to talk. “I, ah, do not quite know how to say this,” he began.

Her heart fluttered under the new gown. “Oh, dear. It’s the bed. The story has already spread.”

His smile stopped her. “No, Miss Dudley. It is not the bed.”

She heaved a sigh of relief. “Then what is it?”

“It’s the waltz.”

She was confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Knowing your mama .
.
.
” He coughed delicately and seemed to be considering how to continue. “Let me put it like this. I am afraid she may insist on the orchestra playing a waltz. And that would be folly.”

She might have known. It was always Mama. It would be a miracle if they survived this season without some terrible slander besmirching their name. “The waltz? Is that the new dance?”

He nodded. “From Germany. The patronesses of Almack’s are against it. They do not permit it to be danced in their rooms. And they set the fashion.”

“I understand. I have not heard Mama mention it. But surely Aunt Hortense would tell her—”

The duke sighed. “Knowing your mama as I do, I seriously doubt if she would consult with your aunt. If someone requests a waltz”—he looked out over the crowd—”as some young buck well may, she will simply instruct the orchestra to play one.”

“Oh, dear. Now what shall I do? Sometimes Mama can be very trying.”

His smile was comforting. “A notion occurs to me. If you would be willing to leave the matter in my hands?”

How could she be otherwise? “Oh, yes. Most willing.”

“Then excuse me while I attend to something.”

He disappeared into the crowd, but not before a startling realization came to her. She would gladly have put any matter, including her own life, into his hands. It was a sobering thought, but she had no time to reflect on it, for Penelope pushed her way through the crush, closely followed by a portly, florid-faced man of middle years. And neither seemed particularly to be enjoying the other’s company.

“There you are, Licia.” Penelope took hold of her arm as though she’d found a rescuer. But the portly man stopped too.

“Your cousin?” he inquired, looking from one young woman to the other.

“Yes, Major. Major Fitzsimmons, my cousin. Miss Licia Dudley.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said the major in a voice that reflected absolutely no pleasure. “Dreadful crush, this. Don’t like crowds.”

Penelope laughed—a high, shrill sound so unlike her normal laughter that Licia was hard put not to stare at her. “Ta, major! What a stick you are. When I am wed, I shall hold a ball every week. With salmon patties and fresh ices and all the newest French cuisine.”

The major’s florid face took on a greenish hue. “Waste of funds. Terrible.”

Penelope cackled again. There was no other word to describe the horrid sound. “Ha, when I wed, I shall waste all the funds I please. It will be the greatest fun.”

The major shook his head. “ ‘Scuse me,” he said. “I see an old friend over there. Really ought to talk to him.”

As soon as he was out of earshot, Licia asked, “Penelope, whatever do you think you are doing?”

Penelope smiled. “I am protecting myself. I hear the major is hanging out for a wife. Unfortunately Mama heard too. That’s why she invited him tonight. So I am endeavoring to protect myself in the best way I know.”

Behind them, Ravenworth laughed. “And you think to do this by looking for all the world like a little sausage perched sideways on a big one?”

Penelope chuckled. “David, how dare you sneak up on us like that?”

He shrugged. “If I had asked outright, would you have told me the reason for this outlandish getup?”

“Of course not,” Penelope said. “But speak softly. I don’t want Mama to suspect.”

The duke grimaced. “How can she not when you wear such a gown?”

Penelope tapped his arm with her fan. “You forget. Mama has no sense of fashion. One look at her should make that clear. And you know these dresses are now all the rage.”

“And quite the ugliest things I’ve seen in an age.”

“Quite so,” agreed Penelope cheerfully. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find the major and give him another good dose of married life. Perhaps that will be enough to discourage him altogether.”

Ravenworth laughed. “I rather expect so.”

Penelope was soon gone, and Ravenworth turned to Licia. “She’s a resourceful girl, Pen is.” The duke adjusted his cuffs. “She’ll manage to elude this one.” He turned his smile on Licia. “But tell me, how did you outwit your many suitors?”

He seemed determined to be kind to her. And she did not really mind answering his questions. It was always pleasant to talk to him. “It was very easy. I simply said no.”

“And your mama did not protest?”

“No. You see, she was not eager to have me marry.”

“Because that would leave everything upon her shoulders?”

She wanted to deny this, but she had never been good at lying. “Perhaps. It was a sad time—after Papa died. And for a while she needed someone to lean on. Truly I did not mind.”

“There were none of these suitors that took your fancy?”

“No. I did not find the institution of marriage particularly appealing. Nor any of the men who proposed it. So I simply stayed home with my family.”

“An admirable choice,” he said with warmth. “The institution should be avoided.”

“Perhaps.” She wondered that she should go on with him in this fashion, but perversity drove her to say, “I have nothing against the institution itself. But I should wish to enter it with the right man.”

A strange gleam came into his eyes. “And have you encountered such a man?”

Oh, dear. She felt the warmth flooding her limbs. How could she reply to such a question? But there he stood, waiting for an answer. “I
.
.
. I am past the age of marrying.”

“But—”

“Ravenworth.” Lockwood appeared, tugging at the duke’s sleeve. Ravenworth did not look pleased to be thus interrupted, but he said, “Yes?”

“We need your help. Miss Dezzie wishes to try the new waltz. And the orchestra will not comply. P’rhaps if you’d speak to them .
.
.
”

Ravenworth fixed his nephew with a stern eye. “I have already spoken to them. And I assure you, they will
not
be playing a waltz.”

Lockwood shifted uncomfortably. “But—”

“No buts,” said the duke. “You know how Almack’s patronesses are. Do you want to ruin the girl’s chances altogether?”

“No, no. Course not.” Lockwood pulled nervously at his cravat. “I’ll tell her. I’ll ‘splain.” And he scurried off.

Ravenworth sighed. “The boy means well. He just doesn’t think.” He offered her his hand. “These affairs are abominably slow. Shall we dance again?”

As they traced the steps of the quadrille Licia tried to think sensibly. Aunt Hortense and Penelope had both cautioned Dezzie. She might dance two dances with the same gentleman but no more. Even two dances might mean the gentleman held her in high regard. And more than that . . . more than that just wasn’t done.

Of course, Ravenworth was not dancing with
her
because he held her in high regard. He was simply a kind and generous man. And he was looking out for Penelope’s country cousin. But in spite of this sensible and undoubtedly true fact, her pleasure in the duke’s company was quite untouched.

They finished the quadrille and stood again upon the sidelines, watching Lockwood and Dezzie tread a measure. As the two young people finished, Ravenworth said, “Excuse me. I believe this is my dance with your sister.”

As the duke dutifully led Dezzie through the maneuvers of the dance, young Lockwood came to stand beside Licia. With his face flushed from the exertions of the dance and his eyes sparkling from whatever cause, he looked rather less melancholy than usual. He stood for several minutes before he said, “Miss Dudley, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“I
.
.
. that is .
.
. do you think . . . confound it!” He swallowed and tried again. “I’m wanting to ask you: Do you think Miss Dezzie might . . . might welcome my suit?”

Licia took pity on the boy. “I think she might.”

He grabbed her hand and pumped it with great exuberance. “Oh, Miss Dudley. Thank you! You’ve made me so happy!”

“I only said
might,”
she reminded him. “And do not let on to Mama yet.”

“Yes, yes. Thank you.”

Watching him go, Licia sighed. They would have a hard time of it. Mama was determined that Dezzie land the duke. And she didn’t care in the least that the duke had no wish to be landed.

“So,” Ravenworth said, coming up behind her. “What was that all about?”

“What?”

“I saw my nephew beaming at you. And pumping your arm like—”

“Oh, he wanted to know if I thought Dezzie liked him.”

“Just as I suspected. The boy is head over heels in love.”

She waited for him to say more, but he remained silent. Finally, unable to restrain her curiosity, she inquired. “And what is your feeling on the matter?”

He smiled. “I think they suit each other.”

This statement rather took her back. “You mean, you aren’t against their marrying?”

“Of course not. The boy’s been into his melancholy state far too long. With your sister around he couldn’t possibly
stay
melancholy.”

Licia absorbed this. “But I thought you were against the institution.”

He shook his head. “Not for others. Only for myself. You see, I think it takes a certain sort of person, like you and I, to be able to function alone.”

For some reason his compliment failed to make her feel pleasure. “But they’re so young. Aren’t you afraid they’ll run amuck?”

“Not really. Underneath the patina of fashion the boy’s really a sensible chap. I think they’ll do quite well together.” He frowned. “Of course, there’s your mama to be considered. I collect she’s aiming higher than a viscount.”

Licia sighed. “I’m afraid so.”

* * * *

The evening passed far too rapidly to suit her. Ravenworth seemed to take the duties of friendship quite seriously. He spent much of the evening by her side while they engaged in the most pleasant conversation. So it was with some surprise that she heard the clock strike such a late hour.

She was trying to cope with a strong sensation of regret that this lovely evening would soon be ending when from beside her the duke uttered an exclamation of dismay. “That mutton-headed boy will ruin it all!”

He grabbed her hand. “Come. We must be quick.”

“But we’ve already danced twice. We can’t—”

He swung her expertly into the procession and whispered, “We must. With luck, the gossips will fix on us instead of your sister and my unthinking nephew. This is the third time he’s danced with her.”

“Oh.” The prospect of becoming the topic of gossip was not at all to her liking, but there was Dezzie to think of. So she followed him through the steps, a false smile on her lips.

“People will not .
.
.
” she began when the figure of the dance brought them together again. This whole incident was most distressing to her. And trying to talk about it made her want to cry. But talk she must. She tried again. “I do not think people will believe that you have . . . fixed your interest on me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Take a look at those dragons over there. See the one with the purple turban and the four ostrich feathers?”

She looked, and saw the wagging fans and sidelong glances. Perhaps he was right. And if the Duchess of Oldenburgh talked about the bed . . . “But they are looking at Dezzie too.”

“So they are. Hmm.”

Her mind raced. Some way. There must be some way out of this.

“I’ll wager that by tomorrow—”

“That’s it!”

He almost missed a step. “That’s what?”

“Can you say it was a wager? That you dared him to do it?”

He considered this for a moment. “It just might work.” His smile warmed her. “I congratulate you
,
Miss Dudley. You have a felicitous turn of mind.”

She shrugged.
“Devious
is perhaps a better word. But when one is Mama’s child, one learns to be inventive.”

He nodded. “I can well believe that.”

The dance was soon finished, and he led her back to the sidelines. “Now,” he said, “you must laugh and smile.”

She tried but it was not easy, since what she most wished to do was run away and hide. First the Celestial Bed and now this. Would the embarrassments never stop?