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I t was odd how one day could be so dramatically different from another.

Leona leaned her head against the wooden window casement and stared out into the yard of the Golden Goose Inn.

Two days ago, when she drove into the yard, it had been a gray, dingy sight, welcoming her with its formality.

Last night when Deveraux brought her to the inn rather than allow her to spend the night alone at Rose Cottage, its oil-lantern-lit expanse glistening wetly in the steady rain was a haven from the horror of bloody death.

This afternoon brilliant sunshine poured into the cobblestoned yard, rendering the memory of the past two days a fantasy.

The ground was already dry, save for the shadowed corners under archways and benches and the low spots where the cobbles long ago settled.

There was an aspect of cheerfulness in the hustle and bustle of horses and carriages coming and going that was soothing.

Leona watched Abraham Tubbs whistle for his dog and set off under the archway toward the village with a fishing pole over his shoulder.

Mrs. Tubbs came out to shake a rug and stopped long enough to admonish one of her sons for something, and that young man looked sheepish, then broke into a broad grin when his mother turned her back.

These were all everyday, sane sights. Leona clung to those images, using them to banish the visions of a frightened child in a room stripped bare, of a dovecote burning, of threatening knives and guns, and of two dead bodies.

She soaked in the normalcies of a busy inn to counter the memories of Jewitt’s insanity and desire for revenge, and North’s cold-bloodedness and greed.

Or Rickie, as she must now learn to think of Howard North.

Howard Rickie, sometimes known as Harry Rickie.

An opportunist who saw in Sarah (Sally) Jewitt Northythe and her desire for revenge means a wealthy end.

And what of Mrs. Northythe and her daughter Joanna?

Last night after they contacted the magistrate and brought Rickie to the Golden Goose, Rickie began to talk.

He claimed the Northythes were badly frightened by their landlady’s rescue of Lady Christiana.

They turned tail and ran for the continent, urging Sally to do the same, but Sally was too far gone in her determination to get revenge to heed their pleas.

Their desertion suited Rickie. He hated playing the old woman’s son.

He discovered the button in the bedroom at Lion’s Gate and Sally who devised the notion of luring Leona Leonard to Castle Marin.

That, Rickie claimed, was their biggest mistake.

His face twisted into a rictus of hate when he looked at Leona.

It was supposed to have been Sarah Jewitt who discovered the dovecote fire and raised the alarm after Rickie was back from setting the fire.

That was why she happened to be in the hall with a cloak in her hands when Lucy needed one.

Leona’s precipitous alarm before Rickie made it back to the stable meant he had less time and opportunity to steal Deveraux’s prize horses.

Working on the suspicions of the servants was child’s play.

Glibly they absorbed any suggestions made to them, particularly when Alan Gerby, the head groom, proved especially gullible.

(On learning this, Deveraux decided it would be best if Gerby found employment elsewhere.) George Ludlow was a surprising problem.

He liked Leona and so decided to investigate on his own.

It was unfortunate that one night he saw Rickie and Jewitt meet, and later, after one of the village meetings, Ludlow followed Rickie up to the keep.

He swore they hadn’t intended to kill him.

It was an accident. They weren’t murderers, Rickie insisted.

They kept him trussed up in the keep, only he broke free.

He was going to escape. They couldn’t let that happen.

There was a fight, and during the fight, Ludlow was killed.

Then Sally got the idea to steal the jewels.

It was ridiculously easy. The night of the ball, instead of packing them back into the casket, she pushed them into the dressing table drawer.

As she suspected, the valet never looked in the casket.

She should have sneaked away then. But no, she had to try to find a way to pin the theft on Miss Leonard.

He laughed then, deriving satisfaction from the thought they were stolen by someone else.

When Leona contradicted him and informed him they were hidden at Rose Cottage, he tried to bound out of his chair to throttle her, but two of the Tubbs boys standing guard over his chair caught him and “accidentally” (or so they assured Sir Nathan Cruikston) knocked him unconscious.

It was a blessed relief for Leona. With the man no longer able to talk, Mrs. Tubbs led her to a bedroom and sent maids scurrying to fetch warm water for a bath.

She fussed and cosseted her like a mother hen, insisting she relax in the warm bath, insisting she eat and then insisting she sleep.

Like a puppet, Leona obeyed. Early in the morning, Mrs. Tubbs and Abraham went to Rose Cottage and fetched clothing for her and the Nevin jewels from their hiding place.

When Abraham saw what was in the scarf-wrapped bundle he brought back, his eyes nearly popped from his head.

His expression drew the first smile from Leona that day, the first sign of her conquering the numbing horror that had consumed her since she watched Sarah Jewitt Northythe plunge the knife into herself.

Through it all, Deveraux had been sweetly solicitous. She smiled softly when she remembered his tongue-tied hesitancy early that morning while they sat in the private parlor that Mr. Tubbs made available to them and ate their breakfast.

“Leona, you don’t believe what I told that Northythe woman, do you?” he asked, his voice hoarse and strained. He coughed, clearing his throat.

“About what?”

“About—you know—” he dabbed his napkin to his lips. “About, well, you not being good enough for a Deveraux. I didn’t mean it.”

She smiled at him, touched by his discomfort. “No. I know you better than that, Mr. Deveraux.”

“I was attempting to divert her anger. To direct it solely at me.”

“I know,” she repeated. “And it worked beautifully. I took advantage of the diversion you created, just as you took advantage of the diversion I created with Rickie. Isn’t that what you had intended?”

He ran his hand through his hair. “I truly had not expected you to take such precipitous action. Though why I shouldn’t have, I don’t know. You certainly were a woman of action last night!”

A small giggle escaped her. “Not at all your expectation of a gently-reared young woman.”

“Well, let’s just say I can’t see Lucy behaving in the same way,” he drawled, relaxing.

“But Chrissy would.”

He sighed. “Yes, Chrissy would. I fear my brother will have his hands full there when she is older.”

Leona agreed. Poor Deveraux. All his preconceptions regarding women were shattered, yet manfully he was holding up.

It was quite impressive when considered objectively that he allowed himself to be generaled by a woman last night.

If she ever did let herself contemplate marriage, she couldn’t do better than Nigel Deveraux. And never would.

She discovered, to her deep sorrow, that she loved him. And she believed him when he said he loved her! But it was because she loved him that she could never contemplate marriage to him.

Nigel Deveraux was a man with dreams and ambitions. She was a penniless female. There was nothing she could give him. She would only take away. She couldn’t do that to him. She must reject the suit he felt duty-bound to offer.

A band tightened around her heart. She rose hurriedly from the table and turned her back to him so that he might not see the quick sheen of tears in her eyes. She fought against those tears as determinedly as she had in her youth. She drew in a deep breath and blinked the tears away.

“Leona?” Deveraux came to stand behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “What is it, my love?”

She laughed brokenly. “That’s just it,” she said, “I can’t be.”

“What are you talking about?” He turned her around to search her face.

Leona now had her emotions under control, though admittedly that control was fragile as spider silk. “I want you to know that I do not in any way consider myself compromised.”

He grinned. “So you adamantly said yesterday.”

She looked at him uncertainly. “Then you agree there is no need for us to marry?”

“I didn’t say that.” He smiled and traced the curve of her cheek with a rough fingertip. “I think our marriage is an eminently agreeable idea.”

“Well, I don’t!” she flared, backing away from him.

He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing as he considered her. “Leona, I believe you are aware of my feelings for you.”

“Oh, please!”

“And I believe they are reciprocated. Is that not true?” Leona couldn’t answer him, her tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth. She wanted to be able to deny her feelings, but the words wouldn’t come. Her heart would not allow her to hear. She stared at him, wide-eyed and helpless.

“Don’t—” she finally managed, the single word a broken plea that caught in her throat.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t ask. Don’t love me.”

“For God’s sake, why not?” he angrily demanded.

“I have nothing to give you,” she whispered.

Silence hung heavy in the room.

“Are you saying you don’t love me?” he finally asked, his voice tight with disbelief.

She whirled away, staring up blindly at the beamed ceiling. Her chest heaved, fighting the tightness lodged there. She bit her lower lip as she fought for some semblance of control.