Nina Coombs Pykare (19 page)

“Yes, Mama. But please hurry, Mama! What
are
you looking for?”

“My new kid gloves. I’m quite sure I had them when I came in. Now where have I put them?”

“Mama, you must leave at once. I shall find them. Do go. And do not tell a soul where you have been.”

Mama went, still muttering. And Licia began a systematic search of the room. It would be a miracle, she thought, searching through the clutter of playbooks and costumes, if they managed to get Dezzie safely to her wedding.

At last the gloves turned up, stuffed half under a cushion on the threadbare settee. Licia snatched them up and hurried toward the door.

And just as she reached it, it opened. “Well, well,” said Kean, his eyes growing brighter. “What have we here?”

“I was lo—”

Ravenworth appeared in the doorway, his face registering shock at the sight of her. “Licia, whatever are you doing here?”

“I—I—shall tell you later,” she stammered, easing past him. “Good evening, Mr. Kean.”

Ravenworth followed her down the hall. “Licia! Miss Dudley!” His hand on her arm stopped her.

“Yes, your grace?”

“I think an explanation is in order.”

“Why?”

It was a stupid thing to say, and his expression told her so.

“I find you alone in an actor’s dressing room and you ask me why I think you should explain?”

“We are not really . . . that is, I mean nothing to you.”

His face grew grim. “Miss Dudley, may I remind you that we have an agreement? I thought you wanted to see Dezzie safely married. If this should get back to my sister—”

“That is why I didn’t tell you in front of Kean.” Her hands were trembling and she hid them in the folds of her skirt. “I went there to find Mama.”

“I did not see—”

“I sent her out. So she shouldn’t be found there.”

“And why didn’t you go too?”

“Because she had lost her gloves. I was trying to find them.”

“And did you?”

“Yes.” She held them out. “Here they are.”

He let out a big sigh and offered her his arm. “Whatever possessed her to do such a thing?”

“With Mama it is hard to say.”

The others were waiting near the door of the Green Room. Licia heard the duke’s quick intake of breath and felt the arm under her hand stiffen. And then she saw! Mama was wearing gloves.

“Licia, where have you been?” Mama’s tone was plaintive. “It’s quite impolite of you to keep us waiting. We are all weary and ready to go home.”

“But, Mama, you knew where I was.”

Mama put on her best look of innocence. “Why, Licia, I’m sure I haven’t the foggiest notion. I’ve been all the time here in the Green Room, except for just a moment when I stepped into the hall.”

“Mama—”

“Enough,” said the duke. “Your mother is right. It is time to leave.”

The ride home was made in silence. Dezzie and Lockwood were lost in each other’s eyes. Penelope gazed into nothingness, no doubt thinking of Harry. But Licia had little thought for any of them. All her attention was on Ravenworth, whose face, in the light of the carriage lamps, was grimmer than she had ever seen it.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she turned to him. “Your grace, I should—”

“Do not bother,” he said in a voice so cold that Penelope shifted her gaze to him.

“But I want to—” Licia began.

“And I do not.” The words were quiet, courteous, and even, but the look in his eyes was not. Licia subsided into a miserable silence. He suspected her. He actually suspected her of lying to him. In truth, he suspected her of something far worse.

Chapter Sixteen

The next week passed, a miserable week in which Dezzie’s wedding grew ever nearer and Ravenworth sent word that he was called out of town on land-reform business. Licia, remembering the coldness of his eyes when he had last left her, doubted the truth of that excuse. Perhaps it was all a story, so he need never see her again.

She was tormenting herself in this fashion one afternoon when Penelope appeared at her chamber door. “Come in,” said Licia, “sit down. You look dreadfully pale.”

“It’s just a few more days,” Penelope said, her lips trembling.

Licia nodded. “Aren’t you frightened?”

Penelope sank down on the bed. “Of running away? Yes. Of marrying Harry? Not at all. I would go anywhere to be with Harry.” She sighed. “I am most frightened by the fear that something will go wrong.” She glanced at the door. “We are making our final plans. And I must ask you to make a visit to the gallery.”

“But why? Why don’t you go?”

“We decided it would be safer not to see each other until it’s time to leave. That way people will not remember seeing us together.” She stared hard at Licia. “We need those first few hours. Please, you must do all you can to delay Ravenworth.”

Licia pulled nervously at her sash. This was not an easy task her cousin had set for her. “I will do what I can. You know I will.”

“That’s all I ask. Now, will you take this note to Harry?” Licia nodded. The role of secret messenger was not at all to her  liking, but Penelope needed her help. “Give me the note. I only hope I don’t see anyone I know.”

Several hours later she pushed open the door of Turner’s gallery and gazed nervously around. There were very few people about. Perhaps it would be easier than she had thought. She opened her reticule and extracted the note. If she could just pass it to Harry and go home, she would be forever grateful.

The door to the inner room opened. “Mr. Bates,” she began, hurrying toward him. “I have—”

Something in his expression made her hesitate, stop. And then she saw why. Ravenworth stepped out the door behind him.

“I—I have come to see the newest painting,” she said, stammering. “And to take a last look at
Frosty Morning,
if it is still here.”

Ravenworth’s expression did not falter. “You have sold
Frosty Morning,
then?”

“Yes, your grace
.
” Harry looked nervous. He was not good at lying. “But the buyer has left it here temporarily.”

“Good. Then we may look at it again.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Harry was plainly flustered, and Licia herself hardly knew how to behave. She had thought Ravenworth safely off in the country. To find him here was definitely unsettling.

She must give the note to Harry, but his grace did not seem to be leaving. His demeanor was not as cold as it had been when he left her after the play, but she still felt uncomfortable with him.

However, she took the arm he offered her and they followed Harry to the farthest corner of the gallery. There he set out the painting.

“Oh.” The word slipped from Licia’s lips as for a moment she forgot everything except the beauty before her. “It is so very real,” she said finally. “I almost believe I could reach out and touch the frost.”

“And it would sting your fingertips before it melted there,” Ravenworth said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “That’s it perfectly.”

They stood for some moments, admiring the painting. But Licia was brought quickly back to reality. The folded note seemed to be burning its way through her palm.

Harry raised his head. “If you will excuse me, your grace, I see some others have come in. I must take care of them. Please, take your time and look all you please.”

“Thank you,” said the duke in absentminded tones. His whole attention seemed centered on the painting.

“Yes,” said Licia, extending the hand that hid the note. “Thank you very much.”

Harry’s hand met hers, and when they parted, he had the note. He was gone immediately, nervously sticking a hand in his pocket as he went. Licia allowed herself a small sigh of relief.

“Miss Dudley,” said the duke.

Licia looked up at him. “Yes, your grace?”

“I know it is not my place. You have told me that we are nothing to each other. But still, you must have a care.”

Panic filled her. She’d been so careful. He couldn’t have seen! She squared her shoulders. “I don’t know what you mean. I am most careful.”

“Not of your reputation. Fortunately Kean is a friend of mine.”

Her panic eased. He had not seen then.

“He will not tell anyone of your little escapade,” the duke continued.

The last week had seen her nerves wound tighter and tighter. Now they snapped. “It was not an escapade,” she retorted sharply. “And I was not lying to you. It all happened exactly as I said.”

He frowned. “It couldn’t have. When we rejoined the others, your mama was wearing her gloves.”

“Yes, because she had stuffed them in her reticule and forgotten them.”

“But the gloves you were carrying .
.
.
”

“Obviously belonged to someone else. I returned them to Mr. Kean the next morning. By messenger.”

“But that night your mother claimed—”

The last thread other patience broke. “Your grace, I find this questioning most irritating. You’ve no right! And .
.
. and if you must know, I told Mama not to breathe a word about where she’d been. And for once she listened to me.”

“But there’s—”

“I don’t care to discuss anything else,” Licia said. “I thank you for your part in arranging Dezzie’s happiness. And now, good day!”

“Wa—”

But Licia swept on, out the door, and into the carriage. “Home,” she told the driver. “Take me home.”

* * * *

Later, sitting with the others in the drawing room, she wondered if she had been too hasty. Perhaps she should have stayed longer, listened to what he had to say. But he had no right ordering her about. Now, if he loved her as Harry Bates loved Penelope, then he might have been within his rights to question her so closely.

She glanced up. Across the room, Penelope sat beside her mama, placidly stitching on a chair cover that she might very likely never finish. Her expression was serene, but Licia recognized the small signs of strain—a slight tightening round her mouth, a certain stiffness to the set of her head.

As Mama continued to prattle on about Dezzie’s wedding, Penelope’s tension increased. And no wonder—she and Harry should have been planning a wedding too.

Dezzie, overflowing with nervous energy, flitted from one window to the next, pausing at each to peer out.

“Dezzie, my dear,” Aunt Hortense remonstrated. “Do sit down. It’s quite distracting to have you continually on the go.”

“I’m sorry. Aunt, truly I am. But I am so excited. When I think about it, I want to laugh and cry at the same time.”

Aunt Hortense chuckled. “My, it is wonderful to be young and in love.”

Penelope, her face gone white, stabbed her finger and winced.

“Yes,” said Licia quickly. “It is quite wonderful.”

“Oh, why doesn’t he come?” Dezzie cried.

“You are expecting Lockwood?” her aunt asked.

“Yes, he sent word that he is coming. And he asked us all to be here. He’s bringing a surprise.”

“A present?” asked Mama, her eyes lighting up.

Dezzie frowned. “I’m not really sure. The note said only that it was a surprise.”

“Did he mention that the duke has returned?” Licia asked.

“No. It was quite a short note. Oh, I do wonder what the surprise is.”

Aunt Hortense smiled. “You’ll know soon enough, child. Just be patient.”

Dezzie hurried to the window again. “He’s here! And”— she glanced at Licia— “his grace is with him. And—”

“Dezzie, sit down.” Aunt Hortense’s tone was grave. “I’ve spoken to you about this before. You must learn to comport yourself with dignity.”

“Yes, Aunt.” Dezzie sank into a chair, her eyes on the doorway. But she was on her feet again the moment Herberts announced Lockwood. “Lockwood,” she cried, rushing to his side.

“Dezzie, my dear.” The viscount looked nervous. He was already pulling at his cravat.

Licia’s heart sank. Surely Lady Lockwood had not changed her mind.

“The Duke of Ravenworth, the dowager duchess, and guest,” intoned Herberts.

Across the room, Penelope turned deathly white. Ravenworth and his mother stood in the doorway. And behind them, his face drawn with anxiety, stood Harry Bates.

“Come in,” said Aunt Hortense. “Well, Mr. Yates—no, Bates—is there something wrong with my painting?”

Harry looked startled. “No, milady.”

“This is not about a painting,” said the dowager. “This is about something far more personal.”

Penelope gave a little moan, and Licia hurried to her side.

“Well, then,” said Aunt Hortense, “don’t just stand there. Get on with it.”

The dowager exchanged a look with her son and settled into a chair. The duke motioned for Harry to come forward.

Harry looked haggard, and Penelope, supported by Licia’s arm, was in no better case. Harry stopped in front of Penelope’s mother. “I have come to you, as a gentleman should, to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

For a moment Aunt Hortense appeared not to have heard him. Then she laughed. “Really, Ravenworth, this joke is in poor taste.”

“It is not a joke,” said Mama calmly. “The young man is in earnest.”

Aunt Hortense bristled. “This is outrageous! How dare you?”

Harry drew himself up to his full height. “I dare because I love her.”

“You cannot—”

“And I love him,” said Penelope, shaking off Licia’s arm and hurrying to stand by the man she loved.

“Ungrateful child,” sputtered Aunt Hortense.

“That is exactly what my mama said to me,” Mama observed. “And I could never understand why. I did not fall in love to spite her.”

Aunt Hortense looked about to explode, her face turning a dangerous shade of crimson.

“You should be grateful,” said the dowager to her. “They were planning to run off.”

“Penelope!”

“I love him, Mama. And he loves me. We don’t ask for much. Only your blessing.”

“You shall never—”

“Wait,” said his grace, his tone commanding. “I advised Mr. Bates to come here. To declare himself.”

At that moment Licia loved him more than she ever could have supposed possible.

“But why?” Aunt Hortense demanded. “And how did you get involved in this?”

“It came to my attention”—he cast Licia a dark look— “that Penelope was planning to run off. Mr. Bates had wanted to come to you before.”