Nina Coombs Pykare (13 page)

“Isn’t that . . . rather dangerous?”

Penelope shrugged. “Perhaps, but if Mama disowns me, Harry will be
forced
to marry me. At any rate, I must do something. I cannot wait forever.”

Licia nodded. “Yes, well. Tell me what you want me to do.”

So it was that afternoon found them at Turner’s Gallery. Aunt Hortense frowned as she stepped down from the carriage. “I truly do not see what is so difficult about choosing a painting for me,” she said to Penelope. “You have never been one to shillyshally about such things. You had no such trouble when you purchased the Constable.”

“I know
,
Mama,” Penelope said soothingly. “But then I knew exactly which one you should prefer. This is quite a different case.”

Licia swallowed a sigh. Penelope was treading on very dangerous ground. And to what purpose? Even if Aunt Hortense liked Harry, it would not be in the role of son-in-law. She could not imagine Aunt Hortense allowing her daughter to marry an artist of any kind.

Penelope escorted her mama inside, and the others followed.

“So many pictures,” Mama said plaintively, “but they are all of the country. Doesn’t the man like the city?”

“I don’t know
,
Mama.” Dezzie led her off, peering into every dark corner, as though she expected to conjure up Lockwood.

And Penelope was growing paler every second. It seemed strange that her mama did not notice it. Harry Bates came down the room to greet them, and Licia felt herself grow weak. If she felt so, how much more Penelope must feel the tension of this moment. Was her cousin going to get through this meeting without giving away her secret?

“Mama,” Penelope said, “this is Mr. Bates, Mr. Turner’s assistant. He has kindly been helping me with the paintings. Mr. Bates, this is my mother
,
Lady Chester.”

Harry looked nervous too. His face was pale and his lower lip had a tendency to tremble. But the feelings of inferiors were beneath the notice of a lady. Aunt Hortense merely nodded. “Show me the paintings,” she said crisply. “I’ll soon have the matter settled.”

When she surveyed
Hannibal Crossing the Alps,
she chuckled. “Eglantine’s boy is right. Hannibal’s hardly visible. But that is quite a magnificent storm. Look at how the clouds are roiling about. Where’s the other?”

“Here, Mama,” Penelope said. Licia detected the tremor in her cousin’s voice, but her aunt seemed oblivious to it.

While Penelope’s mama was occupied with studying the sunlight breaking through the clouds onto Calais Pier, Licia watched her cousin smile tenderly at Harry Bates and receive a smile in return. Why must it be so difficult for them? They were not asking for such a horrible thing—just the chance to be together.

“Well,” said Aunt Hortense, turning to Harry. “Which painting do you think the better?”

Harry smiled tentatively. “I believe I prefer the
Hannibal,
milady. See how Turner has used the circular swirl of the storm rather than the verticals and horizontals we artists traditionally employ. He shows the majesty of nature reducing men to utter insignificance.”

Aunt Hortense frowned. “I am not sure I care to be considered insignificant.”

Penelope blanched, and Harry straightened as though to defend his statements. But Aunt Hortense went on. “Tell me about the other. What is unusual about it?”

Harry swallowed. Obviously he was feeling the strain.
“Calais Pier,”
he said, “is different because instead of showing the waves as dark blue or green, the master makes them peak and swell, raging in a white froth.”

He pointed with his forefinger. “Notice how the pier tapers sharply, leading the eye to the horizon and from there up to the clouds where the sun is breaking through.”

Aunt Hortense nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I see. And what do you feel is the meaning of this one?”

Harry shifted from one foot to the other. “Meaning, milady?”

Aunt Hortense eyed him shrewdly. “Yes, meaning. If the
Hannibal
shows nature reducing men to insignificance, what does this one show?”

Harry’s response was immediate. “Man’s bravery, milady. Bravery in adversity. These fishermen are setting out in the face of the storm with great determination because it is what they must do.”

His glance slid over Penelope, and she nodded emphatically, but Aunt Hortense was too deep in thought to notice.

“Yes,” she said finally. “I can see that in this painting. Thank you, Mr. Yates.”

“Bates, Mama,” Penelope said, hastening to correct her.

Aunt Hortense shrugged. “Yates, Bates. No matter.”

“But his name—”

Aunt Hortense stared at her daughter. “How many times must I tell you? The man is a tradesman. It matters little to him what we call him, as long as we buy.”

Harry Bates reddened but remained silent.

Penelope did not. “But—”

Licia laid a restraining hand on her cousin’s arm. “So, Aunt, which painting is to be your choice?”

Thus distracted. Aunt Hortense forgot the subject of names. “I’m going to purchase
Calais Pier.”
She nodded to Harry. “Wrap it up and send it along.”

“Very well, milady.”

Licia could feel Penelope trembling. She smiled at her sympathetically and willed her to remain silent.

“Come along now, Dorothea, Dezzie,” Aunt Hortense called. “If I’m not mistaken, the Duchess of Oldenburgh means to call today. You know you’ll be up in the boughs if we are not home to receive her.”

* * * *

They had just gotten in the front door and removed their bonnets when the sound of a carriage sent Dezzie rushing to look. “It’s the duke!” she cried. “And he’s brought his mama. And the Duchess of Oldenburgh.”

“Well, let us go into the drawing room,” said Aunt Hortense. “I’ll ring for some refreshments.”

Licia followed, her knees trembling. She had not seen Ravenworth since their visit to Almack’s. But she thought of him constantly—of his kindness, of his attentions to her.

She wanted Dezzie to wed her Lockwood. But when that happened, when Mama was finally convinced, then Mama and she would return to the country. She would not see much of Ravenworth. Oh, perhaps he would still be her friend, as he was Penelope’s friend. But there was no denying it. She did not want Ravenworth as a friend. What she had said to Mama was the truth. She wanted Ravenworth as a husband.

She settled into a damask-covered chair and took her needlepoint from its basket. But immediately she put it down again. The way she was feeling, her stitching would be as unrecognizable as Mama’s. And the house in York was already overflowing with that sort.

“Come in, come in,” said Aunt Hortense as the visitors appeared in the doorway.

The dowager duchess paused. “This is not a social call. We have come on important business.”

Licia’s breath stopped in her throat and her hands gripped the hard wooden arms of the chair. Ravenworth had not mentioned such a visit. He couldn’t have come to ... no, it must be something else.

Aunt Hortense looked a little surprised. “Well, then, suppose you tell us with whom you have this business.”

The duchess chuckled and smiled at her friend. “It is difficult to say exactly. You see, the business is David’s. And it is with Mrs. Dudley.” She sent Licia a comforting, warm smile as she crossed the room and took a seat. “The duchess and I have come along, to play the advocate should he need us.”

Licia’s heart began to thud madly. He did mean to ...

Aunt Hortense looked to the duke and smiled. “Do you wish privacy, Your Grace?”

Crossing to the fireplace, he leaned against the mantelpiece. He raised a dark eyebrow. “That hardly seems possible now. Everyone in London knows that I have been often seen with Miss Dudley. Miss Licia Dudley.”

Mama opened her mouth, but the duke did not permit her to speak. He bowed toward her and said firmly, “I know, Madame, that this is not the way you wished it to occur. But I have formed an intense attachment for Miss Dudley. And I wish ...”

He paused, and Licia, realizing that her knuckles had turned white, loosened her grip on the arms of the chair and carefully moved her hands to her lap. He was not going to be able to say it. The lie would stick in his throat. And no wonder—a man who could not stand the institution of marriage saying that he wished to marry.

“I wish to court your elder daughter formally,” Ravenworth continued, and to her surprise the words rang out loud and clear. “And eventually I wish to make Licia my duchess.”

Mama frowned. “But Your Grace, surely you can see that Dezzie would make you the better wife. She is younger and prettier.”

The Duchess of Oldenburgh snorted. “Foolishness,” she said, giving Mama a haughty look. “The elder daughter is the beauty. My brother, he says so. And Alexander—he knows the beautiful woman.”

Ravenworth frowned. It must be irksome for him to have to do this at all. And to have to do so publicly made it even worse.

He pulled himself to his full height and turned a stern eye on Mama. “I feel constrained to tell you, Mrs. Dudley, that if you do not grant me permission to court Licia, I shall take the first opportunity to run off with her.”

Aunt Hortense dropped her fan with a clatter. Penelope shot her cousin a searching look. And Mama gasped. “Your Grace, you wouldn’t!”

But the duke stood firm, every inch the lord. “I would indeed. For I intend to have her, one way or another.”

“My dear Dorothea,” said the dowager duchess in a placating tone. “I know this is somewhat of a shock to you. But believe me, my son means what he says. I have never seen him so adamant upon any matter.” She gave Mama a sweet smile. “Besides, you will still have Ravenworth in your family. And just think, a daughter of yours wed to a duke!”

“And if you play your cards right, another to a viscount,” said his grace.

Mama sent him a sharp glance.

“Yes,” he said. “Let me woo Licia. And let Lockwood woo Dezzie.”

“Well, I never.” Mama looked almost stunned. “I never would have believed it, Licia with a duke.” She sent the Duchess of Oldenburgh a bewildered glance. “He said that? Alexander said Licia is a beauty?”

The duchess nodded emphatically. “He admires her greatly. She talks to him of land reform, of things to which he has given his heart.”

“But he said she was a beauty?”

“This is so. And this marriage he approves of very much.”

Licia found she was twisting her hands together in her lap. It was all very well to pretend like this, for Dezzie’s sake. And she certainly appreciated Alexander’s help. But she hadn’t counted on so many people getting involved. When the day of reckoning came, when she had to announce that she was not becoming a duchess
,
Mama would be properly incensed. And it would be Licia who remained to listen to the complaints—for many, many days. Still, if it would ensure Dezzie’s happiness, she would be glad to do it.

“So,” his grace was saying, “you will give Lockwood permission to call on Dezzie?”

“Yes, yes. He is your nephew, after all.” Mama smiled. “And when shall you wed Licia, Your Grace? Oh, I can hardly wait to start planning it. Imagine, a great wedding for Licia.”

Licia saw the shadow that crossed his face. Even the pretense of a wedding was painful to him.

“We have not gotten that far, Madame. I wished your consent before I spoke to Licia.”

“Well, well, you have it.” Mama smiled happily and turned to the others. “I always knew my Licia would do well in life. After all
,
Dr. Graham promised ...”

The duke took a step toward her. His eyebrows met in the center of his forehead and his frown was ferocious to behold. Never had Licia seen him look so forbidding. “Mrs. Dudley—” he began.

“You must call me Mama now.” Evidently Mama saw nothing amiss.

“I believe I shall reserve that privilege until after our nuptials.”

“Well, if you must, but—”

“Mrs. Dudley, please. You must listen to me.”

Mama stopped and Ravenworth pulled in a deep breath. “I must beg that you desist from speaking of that infamous bed,” he said. “Ever again.”

Mama frowned. “Why, Dr. Graham’s bed was perfectly proper. I was there with Mr. Dudley, wasn’t I? I’m sure—”

“He is right,” pronounced the Duchess of Oldenburgh solemnly. “Such talk is not good. People laugh.” She sent Ravenworth a sympathetic glance. “His grace does not wish people should laugh at his duchess.”

Mama considered this in puzzlement but finally she nodded. “Very well. I shall mention it no more. But I think you’re all quite ridiculous.” She turned to her sister. “Now, Hortense, who is the best modiste in London? We must think about...”

Ravenworth crossed the room to Licia. “Perhaps you’ll walk with me in the courtyard,” he said, his smile warm and inviting.

“Of course.” She wanted nothing more than to get away from Mama’s empty babbling. A wedding gown that would never be worn and probably the most grandiose feast the city had ever seen but which, of course, would never be served.

The door had barely closed behind them when Ravenworth grabbed her ‘round the waist and whirled her in a great, exuberant circle. “We have done it!” he cried. “We have actually changed your mama’s mind!”

“Your Grace, please! You are making me quite dizzy.”

He looked instantly contrite and set her carefully on her feet. “My dear, I am sorry. In my excitement I was carried away. But do you think it went well?”

“Yes.” Still dizzy, she clung to him, her head against his shoulder. She even laughed a little. “Very well. And now you have Mama in your pocket. You will soon find that she meant you for me from the beginning.”

His eyebrows rose. “I shall find what?”

She nodded. “Oh, yes. Mama will insist it was all her idea.”

He smiled and shrugged. “Then we shall take care not to disabuse her of the notion.”

He offered her his arm and she leaned on it gratefully as they strolled on among the blossoms. “But,” she continued, trying to keep talking, trying not to remember his arms around her, “you did surprise me with that talk of running off. Why, what should you have done if Mama still did not consent? We could not possibly have run off.”