Nina Coombs Pykare Read Free Page B

a marriage work, my dear. David taught me that. And oh, he was so right. Love is—” She seemed to recollect herself and broke off. “So he and I made a pact. We simply both withstood our mamas.”
    Licia gazed at her cousin in awe. “You withstood your mama!” Aunt Hortense was a veritable dragon, not a scatter-brain like Mama.
    Penelope nodded. “It was frightening, I assure you. But David stood firm and so did I. And eventually they realized the inevitable.”
    “But should you not have liked being the Duchess of Ravenworth?” For some strange reason such a prospect made Licia’s heart beat faster.
    Penelope laced and unlaced her fingers. “More than any other thing, I desire to be loved. Loved in the way a man should love a woman. And David could not love me that way.” Penelope lowered her voice. “He has had many women. After all, he’s a lord. But I venture to say that he has never loved a one of them.”
    This news left Licia feeling a trifle light-headed. “And that,” she finally ventured, “is why he is still unmarried?”
    Penelope nodded. “Yes. And he will stay that way until the right woman comes along.”
    This possibility proved so intriguing to Licia’s errant thoughts that she quite forgot to inquire any further into the reasons for Penelope’s changed attitude toward love or the new rosiness to her cheeks.
    The next afternoon found the three young women setting out for Bond Street. As they left the house in Grosvenor Square, Licia could hardly believe they were unattended by Mama. “How did you ever contrive this?” she asked her cousin.
    Penelope’s color grew higher, but her voice was steady. “Actually it was Mama’s idea. She was afraid that your mama . . .that is . . .”
    “I quite understand. So we have been deputized to choose Dezzie’s gown.”
    Penelope nodded. “And gowns for ourselves.”
    “Your mama has great confidence in your ability,” Licia said.
    Penelope frowned. “In the matter of clothes, Mama has great confidence in me. In other matters . . . ” She shrugged.
    Licia wished to pursue these interesting “other matters.” But Dezzie inquired, “What’s that girl doing over there?”
    “She’s selling flowers,” Penelope said.
    Dezzie laughed. “How odd. At home we should just go out and pick some.”
    “Yes, of course, dear,” said Licia. “But we are in the city now. And flowers do not grow wild and free.”
    “Indeed,” observed Penelope. “Nothing in the city is free.”
    The carriage stopped before the modiste’s establishment. “I’ll just wait here, miss,” said the coachman.
    Penelope nodded.
    Licia allowed herself to look around. There was indeed a great deal to see. The city teemed with life. But she was conscious of a vague disappointment.
    Beside her, Dezzie asked, “We shan’t see him, shall we?”
    “Who, dear?”
    “Ravenworth, of course.”
    “You should not be afraid of the duke,” said Licia. “He will do you no harm.”
    Dezzie tossed her head. It was becoming one of her favorite and most affected gestures. “I’m not afraid of him anymore. He’s just so dreadfully dull.”
    “Dezzie, how can you . . . ” Licia paused. “That is, his grace is a very interesting conversationalist, but I can understand why you might wish for lighter topics.”
    She was not surprised to discover, however, that she herself would be pleased to continue their discussion about land reform. Or about anything else, whispered a small voice.
    But Licia gave that voice no credence. It was perfectly natural to wish for more conversation such as she had enjoyed with the duke. She missed Papa and their discussions. It was pleasant to use her intellect again. And it was pleasant to see the duke smile.
    Enough, she told herself. She was past the age of hanging out for a husband. And even if she were not, Ravenworth was beyond her reach. How fortunate Penelope was—to have him for a lifelong friend. If only she . . .
    But the same nagging