Page 105

M arch was a fickle month, Leona mused as she stood on the stone steps before Castle Marin.

Some days were wintry, others warm with the hint of summer.

It had been warm today. Now, as the night sky darkened revealing the stars one by one, a freshening breeze reminded her that winter was not gone.

Leona shivered and wrapped her wool shawl closely about her shoulders.

Truthfully, she didn’t mind the cold. She hoped its bite would waken her sluggish mind.

She wished something would. She was confused.

She didn’t know what to think any longer, what to believe, or even what to feel.

The only thing she did know was that she felt useless.

That, perhaps more than anything else, bothered her.

She wasn’t accustomed to uselessness. It stripped her of her purpose, her strength.

She wandered within Castle Marin without purpose.

There were no problems to solve, questions to answer, estate books to handle.

Nothing. There wasn’t even the ball to help Lady Nevin with, for Maria Sprockett happily took up those duties.

And she was much too restless a person to idly sit and watch Lucy get fitted for her wedding wardrobe.

Leona was free to pursue ladylike endeavors such as sewing, art, music, or reading.

Unfortunately, reading was the only accomplishment she possessed, and now her eyes were weary from hours spent with a book in hand.

She did sew well enough for mending, but Castle Marin was equipped with a seamstress for those chores, and sewing would not be any easier on her eyes.

Horseback riding and baiting Nigel Deveraux were the only relief she had from a growing and unremitting ennui.

She rode for an hour or two every day, but the remaining waking hours fell heavily on her.

She was curious regarding the tenant farmers' farming practices, but they were too deferential to her to permit a free exchange of ideas. Then, again, whenever she asked a question within Deveraux’s hearing, he would laugh and remind her she was at Castle Marin for a relaxing visit and not to tax her mind with estate matters.

His patronizing attitude riled Leona. Lacking a proper conduit for her restless energy, she turned it toward baiting him.

To do him justice, he did not disappoint her.

He could give as well as he could take, and he had no hesitation in doing so.

Leona reveled in the verbal sparring between them.

She found herself looking forward to each confrontation and planning—during those times he was busy with his horse bartering activities—their next encounter.

Leona sighed, and descending the steps, wandered down the drive toward the paddocks.

The breeze played with her neatly-styled coronet, pulling strands of hair free to dance in the wind.

It molded her dinner gown to her body and colored her cheeks a bright pink.

She stopped next to the paddock, leaning against the top railing.

Sometimes, just sometimes, she found herself wishing to repeat the comfortable conversation she and Deveraux had that day when they sat with their backs to the dovecote, letting the heat of the old stone warm their backs.

There seemed to be an easy camaraderie between them that day.

He had understood her, perhaps for the first and only time of their acquaintance.

She looked toward the old dovecote in the distance, reveling in the memories.

But she shouldn’t have been able to see it. Not on this dark a night. Nonetheless, she did see it as a dark silhouette against a golden glow. She straightened, curious, and stared hard at the dovecote. It shouldn’t look like that. It shouldn’t—It was on fire!

Leona grabbed up her skirts and ran toward the manor house. She stumbled up the stairs, ripping a hole in her gown and scraping the skin off two knuckles as she tried to catch herself. She recovered and scrambled on, throwing open the great carved door with a resounding bang.

“Miss Leonard!” began Purboy disapprovingly as he strode out of his butler’s alcove. “What?—”

“Deveraux!” Leona gasped, ignoring the butler as she ran toward the drawing room where everyone gathered for cards. “Deveraux! The dovecote! It’s on fire!”

Deveraux and Fitzhugh immediately threw down their cards and ran past her. Lady Nevin, Maria, and Lucy babbled questions at her, but she ignored them as she turned to follow the men. Lady Nevin was quickly on her feet to follow, as were Maria and Lucy.

In the hallway, Leona ran past Jewitt who was just descending the stairs.

The woman shook her head and pursed her lips in disapproval.

She carried a wool shawl in her hands, which she thrust into her mistress’s arms as Lucy followed Leona.

Lucy slowed to flash Jewitt a thankful smile before she flung the shawl around her shoulders.

The countess and Maria followed more slowly while Purboy fetched them wraps.

From the stable came the sound of men shouting and cursing as the fire wagon was hitched. It burst out of the stable yard driven by Deveraux with Fitzhugh at his side. They were closely followed by a motley crew of men riding sturdy Devon workhorses, only a few of which were saddled.

The ladies followed as best they could on foot, stumbling over the rutted track. They watched in silence as the conflagration consumed the wood-shingled roof and gutted the inside. Tears ran down Lady Nevin’s cheeks. She swiped them away.

“It’s only an old dovecote,” she muttered angrily.

But it was more than that to the Deveraux family. It was the oldest surviving building on the estate, and it still housed pigeons. It was part of the estate's ambiance, and even though it could be rebuilt, for the stone walls would remain standing, its place in time was forever destroyed.

“Well, ladies,” Lady Nevin said crisply, “we’d best return to the house. These men will be hungry and thirsty when they are finished here. We shall need to make arrangements for their comfort.” She turned to march back to Castle Marin, Maria at her side.

Leona and Lucy followed more slowly.

“How could that old dovecote simply catch fire?” Lucy asked as they retraced their steps. “It’s a clear night. There’s been no lightning. It’s impossible!”

“I don’t see how it could,” Leona said slowly. She shivered. “I don’t mind telling you, Lucy, that I don’t like this. I wonder . . .”

“You wonder what?”

Leona shook her head. “Nothing. It’s a ridiculous idea.”

“Leona!” Lucy said, exasperated.

Leona frowned. “I just wonder,” she said hesitantly, “if it might not have been purposefully set.”

“What?!”

“See, I told you it was ridiculous. Forget it.”

Lucy was silent for a moment, thinking, as they neared the far edge of the paddock. Ahead of them, her mother and Maria were reentering the house.

Leona gazed absently at the dark shapes of the house, paddock, stable yard, and outbuildings beyond. Her steps slowed further. She laid a hand on Lucy’s arm.

“Maybe—” Lucy began, but a firm hand clasped across her lips stilled her tongue. She looked at Leona wide-eyed.

“Sshhh! Look there!” Leona whispered, pointing toward the stable.

The dark shape of a man was creeping around the building.

Lucy nodded her understanding. Leona’s hand fell away from her mouth.

“We can’t raise the household. He’d see us and escape. Run back and fetch Deveraux,” Leona ordered. “Hurry!”

“Wh-what are you going to do?”

“Keep an eye on his activities and see he doesn’t escape.

Now go!” She gave Lucy a gentle shove, then dropped down to crouch among the bushes and shadows along the paddock fence.

She crept closer to the stable, seeing in her mind the layout of the building.

From inside the stable came the rattling of bits and the pawing of hooves.

Leona slipped in the open carriage house door and cautiously made her way over to the door that connected the carriage house with the stable courtyard.

Carefully feeling her way along the wall’s dark shadows, her hand touched a rack of carriage whips.

Silently she drew one out. The sounds from inside the stable were louder, more distinct: the scuffle of boots, the sliding of a latch, the nervous neighing of a horse.

Whoever was in the stable was not supposed to be there.

Was that the reason for the dovecote fire?

A diversion? But it had only been luck that she spotted it. She shook her head. Nothing made sense.

She crept into the courtyard, staying to the deeply shadowed side.

A horse whinnied shrilly, and a man cursed before they burst into the open courtyard. The horse reared and pawed the air, fighting the man. He hung on, viciously pulling the horse’s head down. The horse was Nuit, Deveraux’s stallion!

Rage burned in Leona. She would not let this man get away with stealing Nuit! “No!” she yelled, running out of the shadows. “Let him go!”

With a muffled curse, the man turned toward her. She cracked the whip at him. It flung off his hat and caught his cheek. The man howled, dropping the reins.

“Go! Go!” she screamed at the horse. She flicked the whip again, catching the horse on his withers. Nuit reared and plunged out of the stable yard, knocking Leona backward against a post. Pain shot up her arm. She stumbled to the ground, dropping the whip.

The man swiped at the stream of blood on his face, and his eyes glittered with hatred. He stepped toward Leona. She skittered backward in the dirt, her arm useless at her side.

“Bitch,” he spat. “Didn’t believe Sally at first. She’s clever but a bit loose in the cockloft. But you’ll pay—” He stopped abruptly, turning his head to listen. The sound of horses and men shouting split the night air. The man swore, then turned and ran out of the stable yard.