Cold-Hearted Rake

  Vehicles and horses moved through the streets in a vigorous flow. Walkways swarmed with pedestrians who trod across the pale straw that had been scattered along paths and storefronts to absorb the damp. There were vendors, men of business, vagabonds, aristocrats, women in all manner of dress, chimney sweeps with their tattered brooms, shoe blacks carrying folding benches, and match girls balancing bundles of boxes on their heads.

  “I can’t decide how the air smells,” Cassandra remarked, as a bewilderment of scents slipped through a gap in the slide window beneath the driver’s box. There was smoke, soot, horses, manure, wet brick, salted brown fish, red butcher-shop meat, bakery bread, hot sausage pasties, oily plugs of tobacco, human sweat, the sweetness of wax and tallow and flowers, and the metallic tang of steam machinery. “What would you call it, Pandora?”

  “Odorwhelming,” Pandora said.

  Cassandra shook her head with a rueful grin and curled an arm around her twin’s shoulders.

  Although smoke haze had grayed the street and buildings, an abundance of color enlivened the scene. Street sellers pushed barrows filled with flowers, fruit and vegetables past shops with painted hanging signs and picturesque window displays. Small jewellike gardens and lime walks had been set among stone houses with columns and iron balustrades.

  The carriage turned onto Regent Street, where fashionably dressed men and women promenaded along rows of shops and clubs fronted with majestic terraced façades. Devon reached up to slide the ceiling window open, and called up to the driver, “Go by way of Burlington Gardens and Cork Street.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  Lowering back to the seat, Devon said, “We’re taking a slight detour. I thought you all might like to pass by Winterborne’s.”

  Pandora and Cassandra squealed.

  As they turned onto Cork, the heavy congestion of vehicles obliged the carriage to move at a snail’s pace, past an unbroken row of marble-faced edifices that extended along the entire block. A central stained-glass rotunda added another fifteen feet in height.

  The street-level façades were fronted with the largest plate-glass windows Kathleen had ever seen, with people crowding to view the exotic displays within. Columned arcades and arched windows adorned the upper floors, while a row of glass-paned square cupolas topped a triple-stacked parapet on the roof. For such a massive structure, it had a pleasingly light and airy feel.

  “Where is Mr. Winterborne’s store?” Kathleen asked.

  Devon blinked as if the question had surprised him. “This is all Winterborne’s. It appears to be several buildings, but it’s only one.”

  She stared through the window in amazement. The structure took up the entire street. It was too large to fit within any of her previous understandings of “store”… It was a kingdom in itself.

  “I want to visit it,” Cassandra said emphatically.

  “Not without me,” Pandora exclaimed.

  Devon said nothing, his gaze resting on Helen as if he were trying to divine her thoughts.

  Eventually they reached the end of Cork Street and maneuvered to South Audley Street. They approached a large and handsomely appointed house, surrounded by an imposing iron fence and stone gate. It bore such a resemblance to the Jacobean design of Eversby Priory that Kathleen knew it belonged to the Ravenels.

  The carriage stopped, and the twins nearly leaped from the carriage before a footman could assist them.

  “You never visited here?” Devon asked Kathleen as they proceeded inside.

  She shook her head. “I saw the exterior once. It wasn’t proper to call on an unmarried gentleman at his residence. Theo and I had planned to stay here after summer’s end.”

  Coordinated mayhem filled the entrance hall as servants retrieved luggage from the road wagon and escorted family members to their rooms. Kathleen liked the comforting ambiance of the house, with its solid, traditional furnishings and floors of inlaid oak and cherry, and walls filled with Old Masters paintings. The second floor contained bedrooms, a small drawing room, and an anteroom. Later she would venture up to the third floor, which Devon had told her consisted entirely of an opulent ballroom that extended the full depth of the mansion, with French doors opening to an outside balcony.

  For now, however, she wanted to go to her room and freshen up after the journey.

  As Devon accompanied her to the second floor, Kathleen became aware of strange ethereal music floating through the air. The delicate notes didn’t come from a piano. “What is that sound?” she asked.

  Devon shook his head, looking perplexed.

  They entered the drawing room, where Helen, Cassandra and Pandora had gathered around a small rectangular table. The twins’ faces glowed with excitement, while Helen’s was blank.

  “Kathleen,” Pandora exclaimed, “it’s the most beautiful, clever thing you’ve ever seen!”

  She saw a music box that was at least three feet long and a foot tall. The shining rosewood box, decorated with gold and lacquer inlay, rested upon its own matching table.

  “Let’s try another,” Cassandra urged, opening a drawer in the front of the table.

  Helen reached into the box to withdraw a brass cylinder, its surface bristling with hundreds of tiny pins. Several more cylinders lay in a gleaming row in the drawer.

  “You see?” Pandora said to Kathleen excitedly. “Each cylinder plays a different piece of music. You can choose what you want to hear.”

  Kathleen shook her head, marveling silently.

  Helen placed a new cylinder in the box and flipped a brass lever. The brisk, jaunty melody of the William Tell Overture poured out, making the twins laugh.

  “Swiss-made,” Devon remarked, staring at a plaque on the interior of the lid. “The cylinders are all opera overtures. Il Bacio, Zampa…”

  “But where did it come from?” Kathleen asked.

  “It seems to have been delivered today,” Helen said, her voice oddly subdued. “For me. From… Mr. Winterborne.”

  Silence descended on the group.

  Picking up a folded note, Helen gave it to Devon. Although her face was composed, bewilderment shone in her eyes. “He —” she began uncomfortably, “That is, Mr. Winterborne – seems to think —”

  Devon met her gaze directly. “I’ve given him leave to court you,” he said bluntly. “Only if you desire it. If you do not —”

  “What?” Kathleen burst out, fury pumping through her. Why hadn’t Devon mentioned anything about it to her? He must have known that she would object.

  As a matter of fact, she objected with every bone in her body. Winterborne wasn’t right for Helen in any regard. Anyone could see that. Marrying him would require her to fit into a life that was completely foreign to her.

  The William Tell Overture floated around the room with ghastly cheerfulness.

  “Absolutely not,” Kathleen snapped at Devon. “Tell him you’ve changed your mind.”

  “It’s up to Helen to decide what she wants,” he said calmly. “Not you.” With that obdurate set of his jaw, he looked exactly like the arrogant ass he had been the first time they’d met.

  “What has Winterborne promised you?” she demanded. “What does the estate stand to gain if he marries Helen?”

  His eyes were hard. “We’ll discuss it in private. There’s a study on the main floor.”

  As Helen moved to join them, Kathleen stopped her with a gentle touch on her arm. “Darling,” she said urgently, “please let me speak to Lord Trenear first. There are private things I must ask him. You and I will talk afterward. Please.”

  Helen contemplated her without blinking, her singular eyes pale and light-tricked. When she spoke, her voice was temperate and level. “Before anything is discussed, I want to make something clear. I trust and love you as my own sister, dearest Kathleen, and I know you feel the same about me. But I believe I view my own situation more pragmatically than you do.” Her gaze lifted to Devon’s face as she continued. “If Mr. Winterborne does intend to offer for me… it?
??s not something I could dismiss lightly.”

  Not trusting herself to reply, Kathleen swallowed back her outrage. She considered attempting a smile, but her face was too stiff. She settled for patting Helen’s arm.

  Turning on her heel, she left the drawing room, while Devon followed.

  Chapter 29

  I

  t was West’s misfortune to have gone to the study at the same time that Kathleen and Devon went there to do battle.

  “What’s happening?” West asked, glancing from one set face to the other.

  “Helen and Winterborne,” Devon said succinctly.

  Glancing at Kathleen’s accusing face, West winced and tugged at his necktie. “There’s no need for me to take part in the discussion, is there?”

  “Did you know about the courtship?” Kathleen demanded.

  “Might have,” he muttered.

  “Then yes, you will stay and explain why you didn’t talk him out of this appalling idea.”

  West looked indignant. “When have I ever been able to talk either of you out of anything?”

  Kathleen turned to glare at Devon. “If you truly intend to do this to Helen, then you’re as cold-hearted as I first thought you were.”

  “Do what? Help to secure a match that will give her wealth, status in society, and a family of her own?”

  “Status in his society, not ours. You know quite well that the peerage will say she’s lowered herself.”

  “Most of the people who will say that are the same ones who would refuse to touch her with a barge pole if she decided to take part in the season.” Devon went to the fireplace and braced his hands on the marble mantel. Firelight played over his face and dark hair. “I’m aware that this isn’t an ideal match for Helen. But Winterborne isn’t as objectionable as you’ve made him out to be. Helen may even come to love him in time.”

  “Given enough time,” she said scornfully, “Helen could convince herself to love a plague-infested rat or a toothless leper. That doesn’t mean she should marry him.”

  “I’m positive that Helen would never marry a rat,” West said.

  Devon picked up a fire iron and poked at the blaze on the grate, stirring up a storm of dancing sparks. “Until now, Helen never had a chance of making any kind of match.” He sent Kathleen a hard glance over his shoulder. “What you seem unwilling to accept is that no gentleman of stature is going to choose a future of poverty with a girl he loves over wealth with a girl he merely tolerates.”

  “There might be a few.” At his derisive glance, she said defensively, “There might be one. Why can’t we allow Helen a chance to find him?”

  West broke in. “That would mean giving up any possibility of marrying Winterborne. And then if Helen doesn’t succeed in bringing someone up to scratch during the season, she’ll have nothing.”

  “In that case, she can live with me,” Kathleen said. “I’ll find a cottage in the country, where she and I will live off the income from my jointure.”

  Turning from the fireplace, Devon gave her a narrow-eyed glance. “How do I fit into your future plans?”

  A hostile silence followed.

  “I really don’t think I should be here,” West said to the ceiling.

  “You’re able to take care of yourself,” Kathleen told Devon. “Helen can’t. She’ll have no protection against Winterborne, if he should mistreat her.”

  “Of course she will. West and I will always protect her.”

  “You should be protecting her now.”

  West stood and strode to the door. “Is this what it’s like to have a family?” he asked irritably. “Endless arguing, and talking about feelings from dawn to dusk? When the devil can I do as I please and not have to account to a half-dozen people for it?”

  “When you live alone on an island with a single palm tree and a coconut,” Kathleen snapped. “And even then, I’m sure you would find the coconut far too demanding.”

  West regarded them both sourly. “I’ve had enough of this. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find a tavern where I can pay an underdressed woman to sit in my lap and look very pleased with me while I drink heavily.”

  As he left, he closed the study door with unnecessary force.

  Folding her arms across her chest, Kathleen glowered at Devon. “Helen will never admit what she wants. She’s spent her entire life trying not to be a bother to anyone. She’d marry the devil himself if she thought it would help the family – and she’s well aware that Eversby Priory would stand to benefit.”

  “She’s not a child. She’s a woman of one-and-twenty. Perhaps you didn’t notice just now that she behaved with far more composure than you or I.” On a callous note, he added gently, “And although it might surprise you, a lifetime of living under your thumb may not appeal to her.”

  Kathleen stared at him, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to find words. When she was finally able to speak, her voice was thick with loathing.

  “I can’t believe I ever let you touch me.”

  Unable to bear being in the same room with him for another minute, she fled the study and rushed upstairs.

  For more than an hour afterward, Kathleen and Helen talked intently in the small anteroom adjacent to the drawing room. To Kathleen’s dismay, Helen seemed not only willing to be courted by Rhys Winterborne, but she was actually resolved to it.

  “He doesn’t want you for the right reasons,” Kathleen said in concern. “He wants a wife who will advance his ambitions. And no doubt he thinks of you as an aristocratic broodmare.”

  Helen smiled slightly. “Isn’t that also how men of our class judge the value of a potential wife?”

  An impatient sigh burst from her lips. “Helen, you must admit that you and he are worlds apart!”

  “Yes, he and I are quite different,” Helen admitted. “That’s why I intend to proceed with caution. But I have reasons of my own for agreeing to the courtship. And while I don’t wish to explain all of them… I will tell you that I felt a moment of connection with him when he stayed at Eversby Priory.”

  “While you were nursing him through the fever? Because if so, that was pity, not connection.”

  “No, it happened after that.” She continued before Kathleen could offer more objections. “I know very little about him. But I would like to learn more.” Taking Kathleen’s hands, she pressed them firmly. “Please, for the time being, don’t object to the courtship. For my sake.”

  Kathleen nodded reluctantly. “Very well.”

  “And about Lord Trenear,” Helen dared to say, “you mustn’t blame him for trying to —”

  “Helen,” she interrupted quietly, “forgive me, but I can indeed blame him – for reasons you know nothing about.”

  The next morning, Devon escorted the Ravenels to the British Museum. Kathleen would have preferred West to accompany them, but he was staying at his private terrace apartment, which he had maintained even after moving to Eversby Priory.

  Still outraged by Devon’s deception, and his hurtful remarks of the previous night, Kathleen avoided speaking to him any more than strictly necessary. This morning they both wielded polite words and razor-thin smiles like weapons.

  Faced with the museum’s enormous quantity of art exhibitions, the Ravenel sisters elected to visit the Egyptian gallery first. Clutching pamphlets and guidebooks, they spent most of the morning examining every object in the exhibit… statues, sarcophagi, obelisks, tablets, embalmed animals, ornaments, weapons, tools, and jewelry. They lingered for a long time at the Rosetta stone, marveling at the hieroglyphs incised on its polished front surface.

  While Devon browsed over a nearby exhibit of weaponry, Helen wandered to Kathleen, who was looking at a glass case of ancient coins. “There are so many galleries in this museum,” she remarked, “that we could visit every day for a month, and still not see everything.”

  “Certainly not at this rate,” Kathleen said, watching as Pandora and Cassandra opened their sketch tablets and began to copy some o
f the hieroglyphs.

  Following her gaze, Helen said, “They’re enjoying this immensely. So am I. It seems we’ve all been starved for more culture and stimulation than Eversby can offer.”

  “London has an abundance of both,” Kathleen said. Trying to sound light, she added, “I suppose Mr. Winterborne has that on his side: You would never be bored.”

  “No, indeed.” Helen paused before asking cautiously, “Regarding Mr. Winterborne, may we invite him to dinner? I would like to thank him in person for the music box.”

  Kathleen frowned. “Yes. Lord Trenear will invite him if you wish. However… you are aware of how inappropriate that music box is. It was a lovely and generous gift, but we should give it back.”