“What kind of button?”
Maria looked at the face of the button. “Oh, it’s one of the crested ones. What did it come off of? I’ll just get my sewing kit?—”
“No, Maria. There’s no need. The button came off Charlie’s old suit. The one you threw away.”
“The one I threw . . . Oh, you mean the one you wore when you rescued the little Deveraux girl? What—” A look of horrified comprehension stained Maria’s face. She glanced worriedly at Leona, then quickly opened the note and read it. She looked up at Leona again, then down to the note in her hand. “I’ll startpacking at once,” she solemnly said as she put the button and note back in the box, her slender hands trembling.
“No.”
“Leona, this is what Mr. Deveraux feared, or at least something of this nature. This is why he made you promise to go to Castle Marin. I would never have thought it. Like you, I thought the Norths gone for good. Mr. Deveraux is a clever man, a very far-sighted and clever man.”
“Maria, I am a grown woman. I do not start at shadows.”
Maria blinked. “But this note is no shadow!”
Leona dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “It is most likely a simple scare tactic. I’m safe enough here at Rose Cottage.”
“What about your promise?”
“Mr. Deveraux knew I was unwell and not in a position to think clearly.”
To anyone else, Leona’s tone brooked no argument. Maria had been with Leona too long to be intimidated, however. She stiffened, her hands again clasped before her. “I don’t know about that. You seemed to be thinking clearly enough the entire time you argued with him.” Her manner was reminiscent of the one she used in the schoolroom when her pupil proved recalcitrant
“Well, I wasn’t,” Leona said peevishly, irrationally vexed that Maria would not automatically accept her stand when she knew her foundation was shaky. “He took undue advantage of my incapacitation to wring that promise from me. Under the circumstances, I cannot see why I should be held to such a promise.”
“Nonsense. Where is your sense of honor, Leona Clymene Leonard? Where is that family honor that you are so fond of tossing in everyone’s face?”
Leona turned to look at a small framed picture that hung on the wall. It was a hand-colored engraving of the family crest,done many years ago, the heavy paper stock stained and spotted with age. “I have my honor, and my honor will not let me be taken advantage of when I am ill,” she said tightly.
“Are you certain you’re not confusing honor with pride?”
“Do not be ridiculous,” Leona snapped, thoroughly nettled at the gentle sting of truth. She sighed. “But if it will make you feel any better, I’ll take the note and button over to Sir Nathan. He has come by often enough in the last two-and-a-half months to prove his concern.” Her mouth twisted wryly, for she strongly suspected there was more on the lonely widowed magistrate’s mind than a three-month-old kidnapping, though she swore she’d neither done nor said anything to encourage him. “We can set out tomorrow afternoon if you like.”
“Today.”
“Now, Maria?—”
“Don’t!” She held up her hands and turned her head slightly away. “Don’t even start your cozening ways with me. My mind is made up. I know where my duty lies. We go to see the magistrate today, or I’ll write to Mr. Sharply and advise him of all your activities.”
“What?!”
Maria winced but stood firm. Her thin face remained implacable.
“That’s—that’s blackmail!” Leona glared at her, two high spots of color blazing on her cheeks.
“Yes, I know,” her friend calmly responded, but her hands trembled at her audacity, and Leona was confident that with a little more pressure, Maria would relent.
Leona stared, thinking, but Maria merely compressed her lips firmly and stared back. Then again, maybe she wouldn’t relent, for it appeared gentle Maria had the bit firmly between her teeth. The parlor was quiet save for the steady tick-tock ofthe clock on the mantel. Finally, Leona burst out laughing and stepped forward to hug her companion and friend.
“All right, I concede. We’ll go see Sir Nathan Cruikston today.”Better him than Deveraux,she silently rejoiced. Though why she should think that she refused to examine.
The drive to Sir Nathan Cruikston’s home was made in uncomfortable silence. Despite Leona’s efforts to ease tensions between Maria and herself, Maria—as she vowed earlier—was having none of her cozening ways. In disgust, Leona gave up and slumped back in her seat, contenting herself with staring out the carriage window at a countryside showing early signs of throwing off winter’s mantle.
It left her uncomfortably alone with her thoughts, which Leona considered acidly, was precisely what Maria intended. Though years away from the schoolroom and her governess role, there were occasions when Maria still played the governess with unerring alacrity. Allowing a student to puzzle through a problem independently, particularly a knotty philosophical one, was an old governess ploy. Ploy or not, Leona vowed it would not work. She was the one wronged and had nothing to be sorry for.
For days after he and Chrissy left, Deveraux haunted Leona’s dreams. Too often, she saw his face near hers as it had been when he carried her upstairs. The harsh planes of his face, the long swoop of black lashes veiling the clearest and the most vivid blue eyes she’d ever seen, the fall of his thick black hair against a broad brow, were all images that plagued her. She dismissed those images when she could as the product of her illness. Then, in the light of day, unbidden and when she least expected it, the memory of his arrogant sneering expression when he thought her involved in the kidnapping would come into her mind. He was hard and threatening. What kept him in her thoughts and dreams were her attempts to puzzle out his change in manner. What happened that alleviated his suspicions? Was itjust because he knew Charlie? Or was it something to do withduty?The swift change in him had been unsettling, leaving her bereft of action. Most likely, that is why she was so shaken when Chrissy held them close together and when he carried her upstairs. His actions were inconsistent and therefore left her unbalanced.
Leona was not accustomed to being out of control of a situation, to say nothing of being out of control of herself. Control gave her substance, gave her an identity, and had since she was twelve years old when her mother died, and she took charge of the Leonard household. Lack of control was not a feeling she desired to repeat, for it was far too unsettling. Therefore, to avoid these unsettling feelings, she needed to stay out of Nigel Deveraux’s realm.
