“George, I don’t—” Leona began, her brow furrowing.
“Of course, you’ll come live with us. Everything all right and tight. Ol’ George’ll arrange everything. Miss Sprockett, too, of course. Jest talkin’ to her a moment ago. Fine woman for a bubblehead. Been with you a long time, gettin’ on in years, and all that, eh, what? No trouble. Always room for one more. Unless—” He winked and nudged her in the ribs. “Unless, you sly puss, you got plans you ain’t tellin’ us?”
“George!” Leona tried again, her voice rising. She paused, took a deep breath while asking heaven for patience, and spoke normally. “What are you blathering on about? I’ve told you repeatedly I’ve no intention of living with you.”
“No choice, seems like.”
Leona went pale. “Has. . . has Charlie lost the entire estate?”
“What? No, no. Saved it! That ought to make you happy as a grig.”
“It does,” she said through clenched teeth, her patience rapidly sifting away. “But what has Charlie done that surprises you?”
“Why, ain’t you been listening, gal? Gone and got himself leg-shackled!”
“Married?” Leona gasped. She blinked and shook her head. “Charlie is married?”
He nodded. “Knew you’d be surprised.”
“I think I need to sit down,” Leona said weakly. She edged over to a chair by the wall. “Married . . . When? To whom? Is he selling out?” Rosalie sat down next to her, taking her hand.
George Sharply scratched the back of his neck. “Don’t know if he’s sellin’ out—at least not with Boney on the loose again. Married a month ago. Some Bruges widow, I understand. Rich, too.” He shook his head again. “That Charlie’s a sly dog, and that’s a fact.”
She drew herself upright. “I do not see how Charlie’s marital status would affect me. I do not live at Lion’s Gate and haven’t for some time. I see no reason why I can’t continue to reside at Rose Cottage.”
“Yes. Stands to reason. But the thing is, you can’t. Oh, you can for a while, but not long.”
“And why not?”
“Charlie wants to install his new mama-in-law there.”
“What? George, how do you know this? If you’re just supposing?—”
“Egad, no, girl! Got a letter from Charlie. He told me all.”
“Charlie wrote to you?” Leona gasped, nonplussed. CharliehatedSharply!
“Yes. Wanted Rosalie and me to break the news to you.”
She blinked, then her eyes narrowed, and her chin thrust forward.Thatsounded like Charlie! “I’ll bet! I’ll just bet! That low-down, self-indulgentcowardlyweasel!”
Anger roiled through her, an anger that was much hotter and more violent for the defense of him she made to Deveraux. Her anger swelled within her to the point that she wanted to explode—at anyone and for any reason. “Rosalie, I thought you said you didn’t know what Sharply wanted to say to me!”
“All I knew is that Charlie was married,” her sister tranquilly said, depriving Leona of her target. “I never imagined he’d think to throw you out of Rose Cottage! Why, it was nearly a hovel before you and Maria took it over, cleaning it and fixing it. It does sound a great deal too bad.”
“Don’t think Charlie meant to do the thing this shabbily,” George defended. “Said he was telling his wife about the estate, and she hit upon Rose Cottage for her mama without a how-de-do.”
“Yes, but Charlie could have told her I was living there!” she said desperately, denying the ground cracking away beneath her feet.
George shifted uneasily. “Thing is, she’s got a wad of the ready, y’ know.”
She nodded, understanding at last. “And money matters more than blood. Yes. So it would be with Charlie. . . .” She visibly shook herself. “Well, Charlie is the head of the family now. We shall all have to do what we can to make his wifewelcome. That—That is the least of our duties.” Her words were typically decisive, though the audible catch in her throat was not.
“And you will come to live with us?” Rosalie asked softly.
“I don’t know. . . . Don’t ask me now. My head is in a whirl.” Leona rose shakily from the chair, the ballroom a confusing blur of color and motion, her entire world giving way beneath her feet, dropping her once more into that storm-tossed ocean, that vast, endless abyss of loneliness.
George Sharply looked as if he would object, but a gentle touch on his arm by his wife stilled his too-ready tongue.
