Nina Coombs Pykare (2 page)

Aunt Hortense cleared her throat, but a glance from the duke kept her silenced. “And,” he went on, “since you are here to find Miss Desiree a husband, it’s hardly the thing to frighten the prospects off by talk that even borders on the unseemly.”

Mama looked about to argue, but then she apparently remembered that the duke was the first man on that very list of prospects, the man she’d singled out for Dezzie. She dimpled and said, “Thank you, your grace, for your advice. It’s most kind of you.”

Kind! Oh, yes, he was kind. He wasn’t laughing at them. At least not out loud. He wasn’t giving Mama the set-down she clearly deserved. But
what
was the man thinking? It couldn’t be anything good.

Though the conversation continued, it was most thankfully about the latest London
on dits.
Licia, letting it all flow past her ears, endeavored to calm her ravaged nerves.

The damage was done, she told herself. The duke had heard the whole of the infamous tale. And actually, mortifying as the experience had been for her, the duke had behaved far better than most gentlemen.

She stole a glance at him. After the conclusion of Mama’s tale he had allowed himself a more relaxed posture. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, and staring into space, he was absently making and remaking a steeple with his fingers.

He was obviously suffering from ennui. And no wonder, this London gossip was dreadfully dull. And so she did as she would have done at home: she moved to relieve his boredom.

“Tell me, your grace. What species of land improvement do you hold with?”

His head came erect and his black eyes surveyed her intently. “Part of it has to do with the rotating of crops. I want to—But the details will no doubt bore you.”

“Oh, no.” Licia shook her head. He was going to know that at least one member of this family had some understanding. “Not at all,” she replied. “Papa was much interested in land reform. He spoke to me about it often.”

The duke’s expression betrayed disbelief, so she continued. “It’s quite true. Since Papa had no sons, he used often to speak to me of his beliefs and desires. And land reform was one of them.”

The duke’s eyes seemed to grow lighter. “I see. Then you will be interested in knowing that .
.
.
”

It was some time later when the dowager duchess rose to go. Her son got to his feet and bowed to Licia. “Thank you for a most stimulating conversation, Miss Dudley.”

“You’re welcome, I’m sure, your grace. I, too, enjoyed it.” Conscious of Mama’s eyes on her, she added, “The duke was telling us about his plans for land reform. Dezzie was most interested. Weren’t you, dear?”

Dezzie’s dutiful “Oh yes” would not have fooled anyone else. But Mama only saw what she wished to see—and she wished to see the duke and Dezzie getting along famously.

“Thank you, your grace. Dezzie’s such an intelligent girl.”

His grace bowed in acknowledgment, though, since Dezzie had not uttered even one word during the entire conversation, he could hardly have formed much of an opinion of her intelligence.

“If you would accompany me to the door,” said his grace in a tone meant only for Licia’s ears.

She got to her feet with alacrity. And while Aunt Hortense and the duchess made their good-byes, the duke said softly to Licia, “I assure you, the tale of your—ah, of the bed will go no further. Mama and I know how to keep our tongues between our teeth.”

Licia smiled. “You’re most kind, your grace. But that’s Mama’s favorite story. I don’t know if even your words of wisdom will deter her.”

“They should,” he replied slowly. “Not only does such a story work against Miss Desiree’s prospects, it does nothing to help yours.”

For a long moment she stood, suffused in rosy warmth. This man actually thought she had prospects! But then common sense returned. “I am past the age of worrying about such things. But I thank you for your concern. And I shall do what I can to contain Mama. For Dezzie’s sake, of course.”

“Of course,” he replied. And bowing again, he followed his mama to the brougham.

Mama and Aunt Hortense immediately went to discussing the visit. And Dezzie complained, though in a whisper so Mama could not hear, “Licia, what a Banbury tale! Me! Interested in land reform.”

But Licia heard little of anything around her. She was lost in remembering a pair of dark eyes and a quizzical smile. And of course it had been most enlightening to talk to a man whose ideas were so progressive.

Chapter Two

“Mama is quite wrong,” said Dezzie with a prodigious sigh. “How can she ever think the duke would make a good husband? Why, his own mama has declared he doesn’t believe in marriage!”

The young women had gathered in Penelope’s room before dinner. Licia sighed. With Mama elsewhere, deciding what to wear, Dezzie felt free to speak her mind. And that was usually far from enlightening.

Dezzie was getting more difficult to reason with. Alas, she seemed to be growing more and more like Mama.

“His grace is not a bad sort,” Penelope observed from her place on the chaise longue. “He makes sense when he talks.” She cast Licia an amused look that said Dezzie often did not. “Yes, his grace knows what he’s about.”

Dezzie tossed her golden head, to the imminent danger of her artfully arranged curls. “Oh, he knows, all right. But he knows all the wrong things!”

Penelope gave her cousin a comforting smile. “I shouldn’t worry, Dezzie, dear. I don’t think even your mama can prevail upon Ravenworth to do what he doesn’t wish to do.”

Dezzie seemed much relieved by this and went off to admire the various bottles and jars that inhabited her cousin’s vanity table.

“Does his grace have such a reputation, then?” Licia inquired, shifting a little uncomfortably in her lyre-back chair.

Penelope shrugged. “Every fashionable mama in London has set her daughter’s cap for him. And every last one has failed.”

Licia swallowed a smile. Strange that such news should make her feel like smiling. But of course she was thinking of Dezzie, who would be dreadfully unhappy with such a man.

“They say he’ll never marry,” Penelope continued. “In fact, I’ve heard that even the worst wagerers at White’s refuse to put money on it.”

“And what do you think?”

Penelope smoothed the skirt of her lavender gown. “I think he may change his mind. People do, you know. People who were once firmly against matrimony decide that it is just the thing for them.”

Since Penelope had been one of those very people, vowing that she would never marry, Licia hastened to ask, “And what makes them change their minds so emphatically?”

Penelope smiled again. “Love, of course. When you fall in love, everything changes.”

Penelope’s usually pale cheeks took on a pinkish hue, and her plain face seemed to glow. Licia reached out to touch her cousin’s hand. “Do you mean that—”

“What’s in this bottle?” Dezzie asked, thrusting a delicate cut-glass vial before Penelope’s eyes.

“It’s a new scent Mama purchased for me. I don’t care for it.”

Dezzie sighed dramatically. “I cannot understand these young women who don’t value the accoutrements of social life.”

Her tone was so like Mama’s that Licia exchanged an amused glance with her cousin. But when Penelope raised an eyebrow and looked about to give way to laughter, Licia warned her with a slight shake of her head. Dezzie did not mimic Mama on purpose. The poor child did it quite without knowing it. And, if called to account, she would vehemently deny it.

“So,” said Dezzie, absently fingering the bottle, “what sort of gentlemen are about in London?”

“All sorts,” said Penelope.

Dezzie frowned. “Just so they aren’t like Ravenworth. He’s so infernally sober.”

Recalling the duke’s exact tone as he repeated the word
muddy,
Licia had hard work not to break into laughter. But she restrained herself. Dezzie, like Mama, had no appreciation of the more subtle forms of humor. And now was not the time to explain things. Besides, Dezzie had already taken a dislike to the duke. Bringing her to think more kindly of him would serve no good purpose.

Dezzie picked up Penelope’s bonnet and set it on her curls. Standing there before the cheval glass, she turned this way and that, admiring her reflection. Then she put the bonnet back on a chair. “I shall know the gentleman for me. When I see him, I shall know him.”

Penelope smiled. “I’ve no doubt of that, my dear. In the end, love is all.”

“Love,” repeated Dezzie with a look of artificial rapture that almost broke Licia’s tenuous restraint on laughter.

“I think,” she told her sister, “that your hair is becoming a bit untidy. Perhaps you’d better go ask Martha to have a look at it.”

Dezzie’s hands flew to her curls. “Oh, yes. Right away. I’ll see you at dinner.” And out she scurried.

Licia heaved a sigh of relief and turned to her cousin. “Now, my dear, what is all this stuff and nonsense about love?”

Penelope smiled. There was something strange and misty about her eyes. “It’s true. Ravenworth taught me that.”

“Ravenworth?” Why had her stomach taken this unaccountable desire to turn somersaults? It felt like a troupe of acrobats had taken up residence there.

“You see,” Penelope continued, “our mamas meant us for each other.” She sighed. “Yes, I know it seems strange now. After all, I am no beauty.”

“Perhaps not, but—”

Penelope’s smile was golden. “Don’t, Cousin. I know I am plain. It no longer signifies. But you wanted to hear about Ravenworth .
.
.
”

Licia was nodding before she quite realized it. “That is,” she amended, “I wish to hear more on this subject of love.”

“Of course.” Penelope’s tone was suspiciously like that of the duke during his conversation with Mama, but her face gave no hint of amusement. “Well,” she went on, “our mamas meant us for each other. And the dear duchess treated me like a daughter. But David and I saw early on that it wouldn’t suit. We do care for each other, of course.”

Licia experienced another riot in the vicinity of her stomach. The acrobats were executing all their routines at once.

“But,” Penelope went on, “it is as brother and sister. We grew up together and we are very affectionate.”

“Then I don’t see—”

Penelope laced her fingers together. “It takes more than affection to make a marriage work, my dear. David taught me that. And oh, he was so right. Love is—” She seemed to recollect herself and broke off. “So he and I made a pact. We simply both withstood our mamas.”

Licia gazed at her cousin in awe. “You withstood
your
mama!” Aunt Hortense was a veritable dragon, not a scatter-brain like Mama.

Penelope nodded. “It was frightening, I assure you. But David stood firm and so did I. And eventually they realized the inevitable.”

“But should you not have liked being the Duchess of Ravenworth?” For some strange reason such a prospect made Licia’s heart beat faster.

Penelope laced and unlaced her fingers. “More than any other thing, I desire to be loved. Loved in the way a man should love a woman. And David could not love me that way.” Penelope lowered her voice. “He has had many women. After all, he’s a lord. But I venture to say that he has never loved a one of them.”

This news left Licia feeling a trifle light-headed. “And that,” she finally ventured, “is why he is still unmarried?”

Penelope nodded. “Yes. And he will stay that way until the right woman comes along.”

This possibility proved so intriguing to Licia’s errant thoughts that she quite forgot to inquire any further into the reasons for Penelope’s changed attitude toward love or the new rosiness to her cheeks.

The next afternoon found the three young women setting out for Bond Street. As they left the house in Grosvenor Square, Licia could hardly believe they were unattended by Mama. “How did you ever contrive this?” she asked her cousin.

Penelope’s color grew higher, but her voice was steady. “Actually it was Mama’s idea. She was afraid that your mama .
.
.that is
.
. .”

“I quite understand. So we have been deputized to choose Dezzie’s gown.”

Penelope nodded. “And gowns for ourselves.”

“Your mama has great confidence in your ability,” Licia said.

Penelope frowned. “In the matter of clothes, Mama has great confidence in me. In other matters .
.
.
” She shrugged.

Licia wished to pursue these interesting “other matters.” But Dezzie inquired, “What’s that girl doing over there?”

“She’s selling flowers,” Penelope said.

Dezzie laughed. “How odd. At home we should just go out and pick some.”

“Yes, of course, dear,” said Licia. “But we are in the city now. And flowers do not grow wild and free.”

“Indeed,” observed Penelope. “Nothing in the city is free.”

The carriage stopped before the modiste’s establishment. “I’ll just wait here, miss,” said the coachman.

Penelope nodded.

Licia allowed herself to look around. There was indeed a great deal to see. The city teemed with life. But she was conscious of a vague disappointment.

Beside her, Dezzie asked, “We shan’t see
him,
shall we?”

“Who, dear?”

“Ravenworth, of course.”

“You should not be afraid of the duke,” said Licia. “He will do you no harm.”

Dezzie tossed her head. It was becoming one of her favorite and most affected gestures. “I’m not afraid of him anymore. He’s just so dreadfully dull.”

“Dezzie, how can you .
.
.
” Licia paused. “That is, his grace is a very interesting conversationalist, but I can understand why you might wish for lighter topics.”

She was not surprised to discover, however, that she herself would be pleased to continue their discussion about land reform. Or
about anything else,
whispered a small voice.

But Licia gave that voice no credence. It was perfectly natural to wish for more conversation such as she had enjoyed with the duke. She missed Papa and their discussions. It was pleasant to use her intellect again. And it was pleasant to see the duke smile.