Heartless (20 page)

She felt threatened. For the first time in her life, Leandra Harcourt-Derringer felt threatened. And she was mad as hornets at the man she’d married. She didn’t know why his mistress was in the house and she didn’t know why she felt so threatened by the woman. Surely, her husband could not prefer that uncouth woman to herself?

But he could. He very well could. With a mistress, he knew exactly where he stood. She existed for his pleasure and nothing more. With a wife he met stranded at an inn and married a few hours later, he was on shaky ground. Even though she’d agreed to be his wife in truth, she couldn’t know if that would satisfy him. And after meeting a woman of his own choosing, she was sure he would be displeased with his bride. Leandra didn’t know what to do. All she knew was that she didn’t want to care about any of it.

Her family was no help, of course. Derringer’s family even less so. When Leandra told Martin of Nicolette’s presence in the castle, he had gotten such a strange look on his face that Leandra had begun to fear for his health. Then he was once again the cool, reserved Martin with nary a suggestion to help rid the Crescent of the harpy’s presence. Leandra was at
point non plus
.

As if her day could possibly get any worse, the Earl of Harwood arrived. He gave her that look that she had always mistrusted, the one that made her shiver because it was almost predatory, almost…lecherous. She invited him into the drawing room and offered him tea, both of which he accepted with the charm for which he was known. She hated it. She hated him. And she hated that she felt that way about another human being.

His wife seemed pleased to see him, making Leandra smile. Everyone knew that the couple hated each other and a few were well aware that Lady Harwood had threatened her husband’s life if he ever came near her bed again.

Leandra sought comfort with her sister Michaella. She reveled in their pointless conversation and endless reminisces about their father. Michaella was her anchor during turbulent times.

And Christmas was approaching. Leandra knew that these people would try to extend their stay until the holidays. She had no idea if this would please her husband or not. All she could do was await his return so she could lay the problem at his feet.

Then she would murder him.

Leandra offered a tight smile in reply to one of Harwood’s offhand compliments. Then she concentrated all of her energy on not killing Lady St. Clair. That woman still criticized her as though Leandra had no right to make any of the changes she had made to the castle. Indeed, she acted as though Leandra had no right to be the duchess.

And she was probably right, Leandra sighed.

“Is there something wrong, Merri?” Michaella asked, her fingers curling over Leandra’s arm.

Leandra forced her stiff lips into something resembling a smile. “No, dearest, I was thinking is all.”

“About how much you’d like to see the backs of us,” Michaella joked, releasing her grip on her arm.

That made Leandra laugh. “Some of you, perhaps, but never you, my dearest sister.”

Michaella embraced her warmly. How interesting, Leandra mused, that she could be surrounded by people, family no less, and yet feel so alone. Thank God for sweet Michaella!

Relief shot through Leandra when the clock on the mantle struck the hour of five. It was time to dress for dinner and though she longed to tell Mrs. Stark that she would dine in her room, she knew she could not. It would be most impolite of her to do so.

The guests reluctantly withdrew from the drawing room to ascend to their individual chambers. Leandra parted company with Michaella on the third floor after giving her a hug and assuring her that she would always be welcome at the Crescent.

Another day of endless family bickering and another day of endless annoyance. Leandra was sure she’d lose her mind soon if she hadn’t already. Perhaps she could already lay claim to the title of lunatic, believing all this time that she was perfectly sane. Or she truly was sane, living in an insane situation. It was a conundrum on which she tried not to dwell.

She managed to escape for an hour or so in the afternoon to sit in her little morning room and read or sew or just stare out at the bare garden beyond the window and think. She tried not to think but it was inevitably what she did. And her thoughts always led to her absent husband.

At least they had managed to get Nicolette to leave. She had been a particular thorn in Leandra’s side. After the servants had pleaded with the woman for the better part of an hour, the duke’s mistress had finally been ejected by two of the footmen. Leandra cringed to remember that scene and hated to know what her husband would think when he returned, but it could not be helped now.

The wind outside blew and Leandra watched a bit of dead grass breeze by the window. She stared at it for a moment and then switched her attention to the new statue that had been erected in the center of the garden. It was Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love.

She was surrounded by beauty, Leandra mused, a touch of dismal self-pity swirling through her mind. Her sisters and her husband’s cousins all boasted the trait, a trait Leandra had never envied until that moment.

Leandra shook her head fiercely.
Stop it! It doesn’t matter. You will never be beautiful and you have lived nearly twenty-one years without it, why do you need it now?

Giving her head a little nod of agreement, Leandra ceased staring out the window and tried to concentrate on her book. Normally, Miss Austen could hold her attention through anything. But
Persuasion
was not going to do it today, she realized after she’d read the same sentence four times without the least idea of what she’d read.

Giving up on Miss Austen’s work, Leandra reached for another book.
Ivanhoe
. Perhaps this story would capture her interest and stop her thinking such unworthy thoughts. Why did Walter Scott not just step forward and claim the work as his own? Everyone knew it was he who wrote the novel.

A knock sounded on the door. Leandra called for the person to enter, thinking it was Michaella, who sometimes sought her out in her sanctuary to chat and, most likely, to avoid the family as well.

It was not Michaella, however. Stark opened the door with something approaching a smile on his lined countenance.

“What is it?” she asked.

With a bow, Stark announced, “The Earl and Countess of Greville have arrived, your grace.”

Her delicately arched eyebrows rose. “You did not put them in the drawing room?” she asked the butler, a slight tremor of fear coloring her tone.

“I did not, your grace. Would you like me to show them in here?”

“Yes, Stark, please do.”

Leandra rose to her feet and waited for her invited guests to put in their appearance. It would be the first time, other than Michaella, that she would allow anyone in her sanctuary. And this was on blind faith.

She had no idea what these people were like. She only knew her husband called them friends. And when he mentioned Lady Greville, admiration was clear in his voice.

The lady entered first, not dressed in the latest fashion but fashionably dressed nonetheless. Blond curls were swept up into a becoming style, giving her the look of a sprite, beautiful, ethereal, and as small in stature as Leandra. She carried a little boy with dark hair and blue eyes, while nudging a little girl ahead of her into the room. The little girl was the very image of her mother with glorious blond curls and great big blue eyes. Except her mother’s eyes were the most extraordinary shade of turquoise.

Lord Greville, quite simply, was huge. He wasn’t as tall as Derringer, Leandra could tell that right away, but his arms and legs were as big as tree trunks. Her eyes widened as he turned ever so slightly to fit through the door.

“Who is she?” whispered the little girl. She glanced at her father and reached up. The earl swung her up into his arms.

He smiled at Leandra and extended his free hand. “I am Greville. My wife, Aurora. You, I assume, are Hart’s new, unannounced, bride?”

Leandra shook her head slightly to break herself from the stupor their appearance had caused and approached her guests, accepting the hand he held out. “I am sorry Hart did not inform you of our marriage. It was... unexpected,” she admitted, not entirely sure why she did so. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Please call me Leandra. I know Hart would prefer it, as would I.”

Greville smiled a boyishly charming smile and nodded. “Then I am Levi. This mischievous little cherub is Rhiannon.” The child in his arms giggled and bestowed a smacking kiss on his cheek.

Aurora smiled at them and introduced their small son.

A pang of longing struck Leandra near her heart. “You have such beautiful children.”

The look shared between the married couple caused an embarrassed tremor to course through Leandra’s slight frame. It was apparent they’d heard the catch in her voice and wondered at it.

“Spend more than a few minutes with them and you just might change your mind,” the earl replied dryly.

“I am sure these two are wonderful for hours at a time,” Leandra said with some feeling. She was able to tell just by looking at them that they were not like the spoiled miscreants she called niece or nephew.

Aurora grinned, her maternal pride very apparent. “You must call me Rory. I have a feeling we are to be very good friends.”

Leandra studied the young woman. Her eyes narrowed. She wanted to question her about calling the duke
Lord Heartless
, but Aurora asked if there was somewhere that they could put the children.

“Oh, yes, forgive me.” She walked to the door, pulled it open, and smiled at Jem, the first footman. He was an oddity with his missing arm, but had proven vastly efficient in his duties. “Jem, can you escort the children to the nursery, please? Tell Martha and Meg to keep an eye on the others to be sure no one is mistreated. And have Mrs. Stark bring the tea tray.”

“Others?” inquired Aurora as she relinquished her hold of the children to the footman and a young maid who arrived to lend him aid with the baby.

Leandra turned and favored her with a bright smile. “Yes. My family is here with my nieces and nephews and Hart’s aunt and cousin arrived with his three little cousins. We have quite a full house at the moment.”

Aurora’s remarkable eyes widened. “Is Hart here?”

“He is not. He is in France at the moment.”

Greville’s eyes almost popped from his head at this, but he said nothing.

“Please sit,” Leandra offered with a gesture toward the sofa. “I have ordered a tea tray but if you would rather rest before dinner, that can be arranged.”

“Tea sounds lovely,” Lady Greville smiled.

The duchess sat in a chair opposite the little sofa where the Grevilles perched. She eyed Aurora Greville for a moment, her hands twisting in her lap. Aurora threw a confused look at her husband, who shrugged and returned his dark brown eyes to their hostess.

Leandra opened her mouth, then closed it again. She sighed and then blurted, “I don’t quite know how else to ask you this, Lady Greville, but I have to know. And I have found that it is usually easiest, if not always best, to come right out and say it, though that’s hardly polite.” Leandra took a deep breath. “Why did you call my husband
Lord Heartless
?”