The Prince of Ravenscar (11 page)

“Doing? I have servants to
do
things, Sophie.”

“Forgive me, such a stupid thing to say. How have you been amusing yourself?”

“It is difficult being a widow; one is never quite a part of things.” But she was smiling, and why was that?

Roxanne said, “Farleigh's mother lives in Battlesdean, only ten miles distant from York, does she not? Do you not visit her occasionally?”

“She's old and boring, and all she can talk about is how it is the Navy's fault her poor Farleigh drowned.”

“How is the Navy to blame?” Sophie asked blankly.

Leah shrugged as she picked up a slice of toast, smeared it with butter and elderberry jam, and bit in. “She claims the first mate was drunk, and a spy.”

“A spy for whom?” Roxanne asked.

“Who cares? Then she accuses me of having forgotten him much too soon.”

Roxanne said, “Why would she say that? You wore black gloves for a year.”

“I believe she would have preferred that I wear black until I was lying in my coffin. But even that is not enough—she tells me I avoided the marriage bed so now she does not have a grandchild to remind her of her perfect son.”

Sophie said, “Since your husband was at sea so much of the time, it certainly did not require much avoidance on your part, did it?”

Leah shrugged, and Roxanne realized in that instant that none of this was to the point. She also knew the reason now for the smile. She said, “You have met someone, haven't you? That's the ‘never mind.'”

Leah smiled widely at both of them. “Why, yes, I have, and he is here in London for the Season.”

“Does he know you are here, Leah?”

“Of course. Well, perhaps not specifically, as I had not yet made up my mind to come, since Father hadn't spoken to me about his concerns. I shall send him a note. He is a fine gentleman.” She added in a very deliberate voice, “You will not flirt with him, Roxanne. He is too high-minded for such nonsense.”

“Flirt with him? I don't even know him, Leah.”

“You flirted outrageously with Farleigh, made him vastly uncomfortable; he told me so.”

Roxanne could only stare at her sister. This was a new criticism. Roxanne couldn't imagine flirting with Farleigh Cosgrove, Lord Merrick, whose face was covered with black whiskers to protect him from the biting winds at sea. She supposed he married Leah to produce a child, which hadn't happened. Sophie was right, he'd scarcely ever seen his wife to get the job done. But this—“Why are you saying such a thing, Leah? I never flirted with your husband. If you would know the truth, I didn't even like him very much; he was very aloof, mayhap even grim, and his fingers were stained yellow from all that tobacco he smoked. Besides, as Sophie said, he was never home.”

“You say that now, now that he's dead. I believe you wanted him, but he chose me.”

“But I was only seventeen when you met and married him, Leah.”

Leah shrugged. “You were a very mature seventeen, nearly eighteen. Even his mother remarked I was not blessed in my sister, and I was forced to defend you even though I knew it was true.”

Roxanne would swear she smelled fire and brimstone in the morning room. She thought of the precious few lovely days she and Sophie had spent here in London. At home, she rarely saw Leah, who, nonetheless, lived only five miles from Allegra Hall
. It will be all right. Time will pass. Besides, what can she really do?
“How long are you planning to visit us, Leah?”

“What is this? You do not wish to have me visit you?”

“As I told you, Father was concerned, and he believed I would be a good influence.”

“Am I not welcome in my own house?”

No, you are not welcome.
There was no hope for it. Roxanne said, “I hope you will enjoy yourself here, Leah.”

“If you have the proper invitations from the right sort of people, then naturally I shall. I will accompany both you and Sophie. Is there a ball tonight, perhaps?”

Sophie said, “There is the Caulcott musicale. I'm told there are two tenors from Milan, twin brothers, who are excellent.”

“Then I shall attend with you.”

Sophie said, “But you do not have an invitation, Leah.”

Leah simply raised a brow and stared her down. “If your consequence isn't enough to make me accepted, then I fear I shall have to find my own friends.”

That would be good,
Roxanne thought, but kept her mouth shut.
Keep quiet, Sophie, keep quiet
. She'd hoped when Leah had married Farleigh she'd change, that she'd stop despising her own family, primarily her sisters, primarily her youngest sister, namely, herself, but it hadn't happened. Now, it appeared she was in love again. Mayhap this time she'd met a gentleman who would stay put once she married him, mayhap a gentleman who would make her see her sister wasn't out to sink her, mayhap a gentleman who would render her pleasant, give her a dozen children. But so far it didn't appear he'd made any headway.

She said, “I did not flirt with your husband, Leah. I will not flirt with your new beau, either. What is his name?”

Leah chewed another bite of toast slowly, thoughtfully. “I do not believe I will tell you yet. He mentioned to me that he likes keeping me to himself.” Her voice was coy, like a young girl's. Goodness, what was going on here? Surely this man wasn't ashamed to be associated with a Radcliffe?

Sophie gave her a sunny smile. “It really isn't important, is it? Welcome to London, Leah. I'm sure we'll have a marvelous time.”

Leah looked at the vibrant young girl at her right elbow, Bethanne's daughter—a full nine years her junior, fresh, lovely, an innocent, her smile like Bethanne's, beguiling, sweet. She said, “Bethanne wasn't as tall as you are.”

“No, she wasn't, and I'll tell you, once I reached my full height, Mama didn't like it at all.”

“Well, no, how could she like it? She would see it as a mistake, giving birth to a maypole.”

“No, you misunderstand. She said she quite envied me my glorious height. However, you're quite right. My father didn't admire my height at all. Whenever he called me a maypole, my mother said that was true, but I was the prettiest maypole in Willet-on-Glee.” Sophie smiled at Leah, and spooned down a bite of Mrs. Eldridge's delicious porridge.

Roxanne marveled. It was well done of Sophie to turn around Leah's criticism with seeming agreement. It quite left Leah without a word to say. Perhaps she could learn to do that as well.

T
he dowager Duchess of Brabante arrived at Lemington Square an hour later, to be greeted with another Radcliffe offspring. She'd heard about this one often enough from Bethanne, always in gentle measured tones, but she'd known Bethanne had considered Leah an ill-tempered fishwife. Leah, the middle sister, while very pretty, sported the beginnings of a pinched mouth. Whatever did she have to be unhappy about? She had a glorious head of hair, she was a widow, she wasn't starving in a ditch, she wasn't so old her teeth were loosening, and she didn't have to obey anyone at all. Surely that was close to heaven—she should know, since she'd been a widow since the age of twenty, Sophie's age, she thought, and wasn't that amazing? How had she felt when she'd wedded the Duke of Brabante at the age of eighteen? Had she been hopeful? She couldn't recall, but she did remember she wasn't averse to marrying him. She'd never learned what the duke had paid her father for her hand.

She was fully prepared to be pleasant to Lady Merrick, since she was Sophie's aunt and Roxanne's sister. “Come,” she said, after eating three of Mrs. Eldridge's apricot tarts, “tell us the name of this paragon you will see in London.”

“Very well, your grace. His name is Richard Langworth. He is Baron Purley's eldest son. I believe he has one sister. Her name is Victoria, and she is about Sophie's age. There was another sister who died. Richard told me he had no need to rent a house here in London, since his family decided to remain in Cornwall, so he has rooms on Jermyn Street.”

Leah did not notice Corinne drop her fourth apricot tart on the carpet, but Roxanne and Sophie did.

“He is very handsome, his address is charming, and he sought me out at the assembly rooms on Mount Street. He told me he'd wanted to meet me because he had heard of the Radcliffe sisters of York.” She modestly lowered her eyes to her soft pearl-gray morning slippers. “He told me I was reputed to be the most beautiful of the three sisters.”

Sophie said, not an ounce of guile in her voice, “It was my mama who began that, you know, the Radcliffe sisters of York—everyone worshipped my mother, and then of course you and Roxanne grew up, both of you every bit as beautiful as my mama and so fun-loving, and then everyone worshipped both of you as well.”

Yet again, Leah was left without a word to say.

Watch and learn.
Roxanne said, “I am pleased Mr. Langworth believes you the most beautiful of the three of us, Leah, since you wish his regard,” Roxanne said, and smiled, and she thought,
Why had Richard Langworth really sought her out?

Corinne shot a look at Roxanne and said, “But this man, this Richard Langworth, surely you don't know all that much about him, my dear.”

Leah said, “Yes, indeed I do, your grace. He is a man of adventure and action, a man to admire, a man who has traveled the world, seen and done so much. He is very smart, you know. He confided to me that I was his star, leading him to York. He never mentioned Roxanne's name—no wonder, since she is on the shelf now and can no longer be counted. Being a widow, however, is very different.”

Taking a page from Sophie's book, Roxanne said, “You're quite right. I'm so high on the shelf, I pray I will not totter off it. Then where would I be?”

“On the floor,” Leah said.

Corinne said, “But you are not
that
antiquated, Roxanne; you are merely well into your adulthood.”

Roxanne nearly spurted out some tea. “As is your son, ma'am?”

“Julian is a man,” Corinne said matter-of-factly. “As a man, he will never be considered to be too far along in anything. Growing into adulthood conjures up images of maturity and common sense, and I daresay few men ever manage to achieve that.

“As it is, my Julian is only thirty-two, a prime age for a man. He is experienced, he is a treat to the eyes, and he is not an idiot. In short, he is quite the perfect age for a gentleman. Ah, I was so very young when he was born, barely more than a girl, and widowed so soon thereafter. However, being a widow has many advantages, as I'm sure Lady Merrick realizes. One is completely free to do exactly as one wishes.”

Free to do exactly what you wanted. That would indeed be nice, Roxanne thought. But it wouldn't be enough for her. No, she wanted a home of her own, she wanted to love and be loved, and she wanted to share laughter with this unknown gentleman who would be there only for her. She could imagine no greater gift out of life than that. But she was twenty-seven years old. Such a gentleman had never swum into her waters, well, one had, but her father had told her he only wanted her money, and although she would have thrown herself in his arms, uncaring of his motives, the years of trusting her father implicitly had won out. In odd moments, Roxanne wondered what had happened to John Singleton. She hoped he'd found a pleasant heiress and was now the fond papa of a hopeful family.

If occasionally she was a bit lonely, she accepted it, accepted that she was probably meant to be a spinster. There had been other gentlemen; indeed, half a dozen marriage proposals had flowed in over the years, but those gentlemen had seemed somehow insubstantial, not touching her, even when she allowed several of them to kiss her. If, upon occasion, she thought of the child or children she would never shepherd into this world, she wanted to weep, but she soon got over it. Her lot was an enviable one, and she should never forget it. Thank heavens her father was a fine man, filled with laughter, with a tolerant view of his fellow man.

Sophie said to Leah, “Julian believes me a positive youngster, doubtless an empty-headed schoolroom chit. He wants me to consider him a fond uncle.”

Leah looked from Roxanne to Sophie. “Since I am a widow and thus expected to be older than twenty, your grace, then mayhap your son—the perfect age—will consider me the perfect age as well.”

“But what about Richard Langworth?” Roxanne asked, cup poised halfway to her mouth.

Leah said calmly, “I have learned a lady can never have too many gentlemen dangling after her. It keeps her sparkling, don't you know. As for my dear Richard, I have written him a small missive, telling him where I will be this evening. I hope he will be able to come.” As she walked out of the drawing room ten minutes later, she said quietly to Roxanne, “He is mine, do you hear me?”

“But Leah, you said a lady can never have too many gentlemen—”

“Do not make me smack you, Roxanne. It has been a long time, but I remember how to do it.”

“What a singular woman,” Corinne said to Roxanne, after Leah and her maid left in the Radcliffe carriage for shopping in Bond Street. “I cannot like it that she is seeing Richard Langworth. I started to tell her he was a dangerous man, but—forgive me—your sister isn't at all, well, pleasant, I guess I would say, and maybe they deserve each other.

“But this worries me. Do you think he sought her out purposefully, Roxanne? That he knew of my son's connection to your family?”

I certainly do,
she thought, but she said, “It doesn't seem very likely. I mean, he could find out that I would be coming with my niece to London for the Season. It's also possible he could have discovered that you, your grace, and Sophie's mama were best friends, even heard you hoped for a wedding between her daughter and your son. But all of that seems so convoluted to me.