Nina Coombs Pykare (9 page)

Aunt Hortense had lingered over tea and fortunately was still alone. “Well, my dear, did you finish attending to things?”

“Yes, Aunt. Do you suppose I might have the carriage for a little while?” She forced herself to smile apologetically. “I find last night’s entertainment leaves me restless. I should like to ride about a little. Perhaps look again at a painting at the gallery. There was one there I am much taken with.”

“I suppose it is all right. Is your sister going?”

Licia lowered her voice. “I have not asked her. I know it sounds dreadful, Aunt. But sometimes she talks so much, I cannot think. And I must always be looking out for her.”

Aunt Hortense smiled. “I quite understand, my dear. I used to feel the same about your mama.” She winked. “Go down the back way. Tell Ben Dibbens I sent you. And I will say you have gone on an errand for me.”

Licia bent and kissed her aunt’s white cheek. “Thank you, you are—”

“Scat. Hurry now.”

Scurrying out through the kitchen, Licia blinked back the tears. In most ways Aunt Hortense was most understanding, most kind. But how angry she would be if she discovered this ruse.

Of course, she reminded herself, everything she had said had been quite true. It was the things she had left unsaid that were so dreadful. And so damning if she were discovered.

The carriage stopped in front of Turner’s gallery long before Licia was ready for it. She had not seen a thing in the teeming streets through which they’d passed. Her mind had been a whirl of catastrophic events. What if the gallery were full of people? What if no opportunity to pass the note arose? What if
.
.
.

“Turner’s Gallery, miss.” Dibbens obviously expected her to get down.

And so she had no recourse but to go inside. She would hurry, she told herself. Get this dreadful task finished with.

So when she saw Harry Bates approaching her, she felt more than a little relief.

“Miss Dudley,” he said, “I did not expect to see you today.”

“I—I find myself restless after last night’s festivities. And I thought a little drive might calm me.” She glanced around. There were others within earshot. And they might see. She should have folded the message small and kept it in her palm. She could not reach in her reticule for it with all these people about.

“Also, there was a painting I liked very much. I am thinking .
.
.
” The words came hard. She was not accustomed to lying. “I am thinking of buying it as a gift.”

“I understand,” said Harry. “You want another look at it. Which painting was it?”

“Frosty . . . Frosty Morning.”

“Of course. It’s over this way. But I must tell you. Someone else has already spoken for it.”

“Who?” She asked the question quite without thinking, and she really didn’t care about the answer. But she was surprised when he frowned and said, “I’m sorry, I am not at liberty to say. Some of our patrons wish to remain anonymous.”

“I see.” She pushed the mysterious purchaser from her mind. “Well, I shall just have another look at it before it’s gone.” She hesitated. “Perhaps when you have finished your business with the others you will return. And . . . and show me something along the same line?”

“I shall be glad to, miss.”

After he left her, she opened her reticule. Fortunately the note was on the small side. She maneuvered it into her palm and covered it with a handkerchief before she withdrew her hand. There, no one should notice it now.

It seemed a long time before Harry Bates returned. And unfortunately the glories of
Frosty Morning
were completely lost on her. She wanted only to finish this dreadful task and be on her way.

“So,” he said, “perhaps you would like to see—”

“No thank you.” The strain was too much. “I find I must go. Perhaps another time.” And she extended her hand, the note hidden in her palm.

He had evidently been expecting as much. His face showed no expression of surprise, and when their hands parted, the note remained in his. Surreptitiously he transferred it to his pocket. “Good day, Miss Dudley.”

She drew a deep breath as he left her. At least the deed was done. How did spies do this sort of thing all the time? It was dreadfully hard on the nerves.

“Admiring the frost?” said a voice by her elbow.

“Ravenworth!” Her heart rose up in her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“I might ask you the same.”

She repeated the lie yet again. “I was restless and wished to see the paintings.”

“And is that all?”

Her heart threatened to jump right out of her mouth. But she managed to say “All?”

“Yes, all.”

He looked so stern, almost ferocious. Could he have seen? “I do not understand.”

“Very well, I shall explain. I believe that earlier today we devised a plan.”

She nodded.

“It is a plan fraught with difficulties. Would you not agree?”

“Yes, your grace
.
”

“And I undertake it at no little risk to my reputation.”

“Your reputation?”

“Yes, my reputation. Here I am about to forsake my role as Corinthian and undertake that of lovesick Lothario. And I find the object of my affections tête-à-tête with another man.”

“Your grace! We were discussing pictures.”

“Indeed.” He looked around, then lowered his voice. “Really, Miss Dudley. It is not
de rigueur
to pass notes to men in public places. How are we to convince your mama of our undying passion if word of this gets about?”

“Your grace, I should never knowingly put our plan in jeopardy. Surely you must realize that. The note was merely .
.
.
” The thought came to her out of nowhere, and she grabbed it with relief. “It was a few lines of instruction from Penelope concerning the painting she wishes to purchase.”

His frown lightened a little. “Why did she not come herself?”

“She has a headache. And I was restless. So she entrusted the errand to me. Truly, your grace
,
I am very grateful to you for your help. And I should certainly not wish to do anything that would make things more difficult.”

Slowly his frown vanished. “Perhaps I should beg your pardon,” he said finally. “I find I make quite a jealous swain.”

If only, she thought, such jealousy were real. But it was his reputation he was thinking of, not her. “It was my fault, your grace. I was nervous about delivering the message, and I bungled it.”

His smile wrapped her in the most delicious warmth. “Do not turn around,” he said, all the while continuing to smile. “But smile at me.”

There was little need for that instruction. His smile had already elicited one from her. But he had piqued her curiosity. “What is it? Why can’t I turn?”

“Across the room. The Countess Lieven. And she has been observing us. I think, my dear, that we are well on our way to becoming an item. We have just had our first lovers’ quarrel. And in public. The whole ton will know of it by nightfall.”

He pulled her arm through his. “Smile some more while we stroll and complete the effect.”

Chapter Eight

And so the days came and went. Every afternoon Ravenworth arrived, usually with his nephew in tow. True to his word, the duke danced attendance on Licia like the most devoted of suitors. But Mama, secure in her own little world, beamed happily, content that all his intentions were for Dezzie. And no one cared to try to disabuse her of this absurd notion. At least not yet.

The day of their theater excursion finally arrived. In the afternoon Mama began dropping not so subtle hints. “Licia, my dear, you are looking positively haggard. Are you sure you’re not ill?”

But Licia would not be pressured. “Mama, I am feeling fine. I wouldn’t miss Mr. Kemble’s performance for anything.”

Coming down the stairs in her gown of lavender silk with bishop sleeves and a softly draped skirt, Licia swallowed a sigh. If only mama wasn’t accompanying them. How marvelous it would be to attend the theater alone with Ravenworth, to be able to discuss the play without Mama’s interruptions. But of course that would never happen.

In the carriage Ravenworth contrived to get Penelope on one side of him and Licia on the other. He gave her a reassuring smile, but she found it difficult to smile in return. To the best of her knowledge their arrangement had accomplished one thing, and one thing only. It had made clear to her the inescapable fact that she had let herself develop a feeling for the duke.

It was a pea-brained thing to do. And she certainly hadn’t meant to allow it. But emotions did not wait on permission. And the uncomfortable truth was that every moment she spent in his company increased the intensity of her feelings for him.

She must never lose sight of the fact—she could not allow herself to do so—that this was all make-believe. The light in his eyes, the smile on his lips, the pressure of his fingers—all were trappings to make their performance more convincing.

She looked across to the other seat, where Dezzie sat between Mama and Aunt Hortense. Dezzie was clearly disappointed that Lockwood was not one of the party. Her pretty lips were pursed in a pout that looked very much like one of Mama’s. But there was nothing Licia could do about it at the moment.

When they arrived at Covent Garden, the street was congested to the extreme. Coachman battled coachman with verbal insults that would have reddened the ears of any lady who allowed herself to overhear them. The crush was terrible, and there was no chance for conversation in such a hubbub. But Ravenworth managed quite well, leading them all to safety through the throng.

Climbing to their box, Dezzie exclaimed. “Oh, isn’t this the most marvelous place?” But Licia, though she looked, could register little. All her senses were intent on the man to whose arm she clung.

When they reached the box, Mama’s mouth took on a mutinous pout. Licia’s heart began to sink. Mama meant to get between them, to keep Ravenworth from her older daughter’s side.

But the duke was before her. He put Mama and Aunt Hortense and Dezzie in the front row. Then he seated himself between Penelope and Licia in the back. He smiled at Penelope. “I much prefer this gown to that sausage casing you insisted on wearing the other night.”

Penelope smiled. “So do I.”

Licia nodded in agreement. This tunic dress of soft gray silk, though it could not make her beautiful, made Penelope look quite nice. It gave her a quiet dignity.

“What are you whispering about back there?” demanded Mama crossly.

“The duke is complimenting me on my gown,” Penelope replied with a look at the others.

“Oh. Well, I’m sure I don’t see why he put Dezzie up here with us. She belongs with you young people.” Such a look of amusement passed between Penelope and Ravenworth that Licia had to bite her lip not to laugh.

“You’re quite right, Aunt,” said Penelope. “I suppose Ravenworth thought Dezzie could see better up there. But if she wants to change places with me. I shall be glad to do so.”

“Dezzie, change places with your cousin.”

“But, Mama, I want to see—”

“Now.”

Dezzie got to her feet, her lower lip trembling, and changed seats with Penelope. But while Mama was saying complacently, “There, that’s much better,” Ravenworth was leaning forward and whispering something in Dezzie’s ear. She brightened immediately and settled into her seat with a happy smile.

“Now, that that is settled,” the duke said to Licia, “let me help you with this mantle.” The touch of his fingers on the nape of her neck sent her into a fit of trembling. Oh, why had she been so foolish? Why hadn’t she seen this coming?

“May I say,” he went on in a tone calculated to reach Mama’s ears, “that you are looking lovely tonight? That lavender certainly becomes you.”

Since Dezzie’s gown was blue, there was no way Mama could ignore that this compliment was meant for Licia. But mama was never one to be thwarted. “Don’t you think Dezzie’s gown is lovely, your grace? She has such a sense of fashion.”

Since Dezzie’s gown was one of those Licia had come to think of as sausage gowns, she had to smile.

Ravenworth smiled, too, and pressed her fingers. “Miss Desiree must get her fashion sense from her mama.”

This observation sent Aunt Hortense into a fit of coughing. She might not know much about fashion, but she was quick enough at recognizing the duke’s dry humor.

“Please, your grace
,
” said Dezzie, “name for me some of these people.”

Obligingly Ravenworth pointed out “Golden” Ball, Lord Alvanley, “King” Alien, and other well-known figures. “Over there, the tall dark woman in the rubies. That is the Countess Lieven. One of the patronesses of Almack’s
.
”

“Oh.” Dezzie’s eyes widened. “Do you think we shall be invited there?”

The duke shrugged. “Perhaps. But the place is greatly overrated. The cake is stale and the lemonade warm.” He turned to Licia. “The company is not of the best, either.” He gave her a smile that turned her bones to water.

“Why do . . .”she began.

The door to the box opened and Lockwood entered. “I say, Ravenworth, got an extra place here? I gave my box to Mama for tonight and she’s filled it to overflowing. No place in there for another soul, not even the living skeleton from the raree-show.”

Ravenworth chuckled. “You’re welcome here,” he said. “Come in and take a seat.”

Licia could see Mama’s back stiffening. But Penelope and Ravenworth had outfoxed her. They had deliberately set up the situation so that
she
would move Dezzie to the back. Most women would have conceded defeat, but not Mama. As always, she only accepted what fit her plans.

“Dezzie, dear, I do wish you were up here by me. You can see so much.”

“I can see quite well
,
Mama.”

“Yes, perhaps. But . . .”

Dezzie cast the duke a look of appeal. “Now that Miss Desiree is back here,” he said, “I think it wise for her to stay. I may wish to comment on the finer points of the play.” His eyes twinkled at Licia, but his tone remained pompous. “I do think it important that a young woman have a proper appreciation of the theater.”