Page 109

When she went downstairs to breakfast, she was gratified to find she was the last to arrive.

To her relief, Deveraux and Fitzhugh had breakfasted earlier and were out on the estate.

Lady Nevin and Maria sat with their heads close together, a sheaf of closely-written paper before them as they discussed preparations for the upcoming ball.

Lucy was the only one to notice her entrance.

“La, how late you are, Leona. I shall tease you dreadfully for this, you know. I’ve heard how you often get up with the dawn at Rose Cottage. You’re fast becoming a slug-abed!” Her eyes merrily sparkled as she spread jam on a last bit of muffin.

Leona smiled wanly and agreed. She reached for the chocolate pot, but a footman was before her.

He grabbed it and offered to refill Lucy’s cup.

She waved him away. He moved around the table to Lady Nevin and Maria to refill their cups, and then he carried the pot out of the room.

No one else seemed to notice his gross act of insolence.

Leona bit her lower Up, wondering if she dare ask him to bring it back.

She decided she was not ready for another scene.

She went to the sideboard to get the coffee pot instead.

The footman returned while she was pouring herself a cup.

He glowered, and Leona repressed a smile.

In reprisal, he began to gather all the food from the sideboard to return to the kitchen.

Boldly Leona grabbed the muffin platter out of his hand, daring him with a blank look to fight her for it.

He sniffed haughtily and grabbed the jam pot from the table.

That last finally caught Lady Nevin’s attention.

“Jason, whatever are you about? Leona has just come down to breakfast. Leave those things. You can collect them later,” she said off-handedly before returning her attention to Maria and their lists.

With ill grace, the footman abandoned the tray he’d loaded with food and stalked out of the room.

“I’d wager he’s made an assignation with one of the maids that he’s anxious to make,” giggled Lucy.

Leona choked on a muffin crumb. “N-no doubt,” she managed.

“Leona, do you feel quite the thing? Your eyes look funny.”

“Do they? I didn’t sleep well last night. Perhaps that’s why,” she lied weakly.

“Oh dear, and here I was teasing you dreadfully about being late. I’m sorry.”

Leona shook her head and waved her apology aside. “You couldn’t know.”

“Well, you must see that you get some rest today. Though most of the people who will stay here for the ball will not arrive until tomorrow, Nigel says we are to receive some special guests late this afternoon. He won’t say who they are. He’s terribly secretive about it.”

Leona mumbled some response, but Lucy did not pay attention.

She was already thinking of other issues.

“Mrs. Hatcher has written to say that a gouty foot must keep her from my betrothal dinner and ball. But she shall be sure to come to the wedding even if it must be in a sedan chair. She is the dearest soul. But the upshot is that we shall have an empty place at the table, so Mother has decided to let Chrissy come to the dinner. Isn’t that wonderful!

I can’t wait to tell her. She shall wear the beautiful little dress we had made up for her last Christmas.

It will be perfect, but I think we will probably need to change the ribbons.

What do you say we steal her away from that dragon governess of hers and take her into the village to buy ribbons and perhaps, new stockings and gloves as well? ”

“That will be delightful,” Leona said softly.

“Good, then while you finish, I shall tell her.”

Leona watched her leave, then sighed, wondering how she was going to get through the day. She turned back toward her plate to discover Maria watching her.

“Are you taking sick again, Leona?”

“No! No! Not at all. I’m just tired.”

“Humph. So I heard you tell Lady Lucy, but I’ve been around you longer than she has, and I know something is the matter.”

“It is nothing, really.”

“Leona Clymene Leonard, you never could lie worth a ha’penny.”

“Especially not to you,” Leona countered with a smile, hoping to divert her friend.

She failed.

“Just so, now what is it?”

“ Oui, ma pauvre. What has you so pinched-looking?”

Lady Nevin came around the table to feel Leona’s brow with a cool, delicate touch.

“It may be more than thirty years since I was a physician’s wife, but there are things one does not forget or stop.

” With gentle fingers she tilted Leona’s head up and looked into her face.

“Oh, what is this? You are not sick. You have been crying. Why is this? You are unhappy?”

“Yes—No! It is nothing. Missish nonsense,” Leona assured her, summoning up her best smile.

Lady Nevin eyed her shrewdly. “Me, I do not think you have ever been missish, eh, Maria?”

“Not to my memory,” Maria affirmed grimly.

“Please, do not make much of it, I beg of you,” Leona said. “I just do not want to talk about it at present.”

The dowager countess’s lips compressed into a firm line. Then she nodded abruptly. “All right. We shall not plague you now. But this cannot last. If you would like to talk. . .”

“Yes, I know, and I appreciate your concern.” Leona gulped down the rest of her coffee, anxious to be out of the room.

Lady Nevin slowly walked back to her seat. Before she sat down, she turned again to Leona. “If you do not feel the thing, do not let my daughter and granddaughter plague you. Stay here and rest.”

“They don’t plague me. I enjoy them too much,” she assured her as she rose to leave, anxious to get away from kind, all-seeing eyes.

“Well, Maria, what do you think? Could those tears be for that scapegrace son of mine? I own I would be happy if they were.”

Maria Sprockett shook her head. “I don’t know. This is not like Leona.”

The countess smiled. “Ah—but to a woman in love, anything is possible.”

“Still. . ." Maria left her thought unfinished, a worried expression clouding her pale blue eyes.

Leona encountered Lucy as she descended the stairs. A slight pout pulled at the corners of Lucy’s lips.

“You would not countenance it, Leona. When I told Miss Benedict what we intended to do this morning, she insisted she join us. Said she didn’t trust Chrissy out of her sight. Even with me!”

Leona sighed. What Miss Benedict didn’t trust was allowing Chrissy to be with Leona Leonard. That meant the stories were already circulating out of the realm of the lower servants.

“Listen, Lucy, maybe it would be best if only Miss Benedict go with the two of you. I am feeling a bit fagged. I trust I am not coming down with anything. Perhaps it would be better if I just stayed in today and coddled my health.”

“But I was so looking forward to showing you around the village. We haven’t had a chance to go there yet.”

“I-I know, but, perhaps it’s for the best.”

“Well, all right, but only because I do not want you to be sick for my ball!”

Leona smiled. “I promise I won’t be.”

Leona saw the shopping party off, then retreated to the library for some quiet reading.

Unfortunately, it became more a useless exercise in imagining the high flights of fancy that now had her as a villainess.

What the time did achieve, however, was a quieting of her nerves.

She had not realized how edgy the situation with the servants had made her.

Maria was right. She was not acting herself.

Disgusted with herself, she returned the book of Latin she’d been trying to read and instead drew out a slim volume of poetry.

She sat down on the sofa, her legs curled up under her as she sought to lose herself in the poem.

“Dev, rather than taking the horses to the village to be shod, why don’t you have a blacksmith at Castle Marin?

With all your horses and the estate’s needs, surely you’d have enough work to keep one well occupied,” David Fitzhugh said that morning as he and Deveraux rode ahead of the groom leading three mares to the village smithy.

“True enough.” Deveraux shifted in his saddle, the leather creaking. “But what would the fellow do when Nevin returns and I take my horses elsewhere? I’d be burdening the estate with the cost of another wage, for you know Nevin’s too kind-hearted to lay the chap off.”

Fitzhugh was silent, his lips compressed into a frown.

He doubted any of them would ever see Brandon again, but Deveraux wouldn’t—couldn’t—accept that.

Not that he blamed him. If it were his brother who was ill with consumption, most likely he’d feel the same.

Still, Dev’s refusal to make any decision that might have permanent ramifications went against the trust his brother placed in him.

Not that he saw it that way, of course. Damn pity.

He was wracking himself in a manner that would torment his brother if he but knew.

“I don’t think Nevin would wish you to leave,” he said slowly. “Leastwise, not in the near term.”

Deveraux glared at him. “Damn it, David. Don’t talk like that.

He will be back!” Then suddenly, as if he could read Fitzhugh’s mind, see all the doubts there: “He must!” He did not want to be Earl.

Not at the expense of his brother. He glanced at Fitzhugh, but the man glumly shook his head.

“No!” Deveraux ground out through clenched teeth.

He kicked his horse into a gallop, passing the groom and Fitzhugh, leaving them to make their way on to the village as best they might, anger and a terrible nibbling fear driving him on.

He drew rein before the blacksmith’s and went in to tell the man three of his horses were on the way.