The house seemed abnormally quiet as Pandora reached Devon’s study. Slants of afternoon light bored through multipaned windows set in deep oak wainscoted recesses.
Devon stood as she entered the room. “I have news.” He gestured for her to take the chair beside the desk. “Since it involves Lord St. Vincent, I thought I should tell you before the others.”
Her heartbeats stumbled and collided at the sound of the name. Lowering herself to the chair, Pandora balled her hands in her lap. “What is it? Has he withdrawn his offer?”
“Just the opposite.” Devon sat and faced her. “St. Vincent has extended an invitation for all of us to visit his family’s estate in Sussex. We’ll stay for a week. It will allow both families to—”
“No,” Pandora said, popping up instantly, her nerves clamoring with alarm. “I can’t do that.”
Devon regarded her with a perplexed frown. “It’s an opportunity to become more familiar with them.”
That was exactly what Pandora feared. The Duke and Duchess of Kingston, and their brood of superior offspring, would be sure to look down their elegant noses at her. Only the thinnest veneer of politeness would cover their contempt. Every question they asked her would be a test, and every mistake she made would be noted and stored away for future reference.
Pandora paced around the perimeter of the room in agitation, her skirts whisking the air and sending dust motes swirling upward in tiny glinting constellations. Each time she passed the heavy pedestal desk, stacks of papers fluttered their edges in protest. “By the time they’re done with me, I’ll be gutted, drawn, and dressed like a trout ready for sautéing.”
“Why would they mistreat you after having invited you as their guest?” Devon asked.
“They could be trying to intimidate me into refusing Lord St. Vincent’s proposal, so he won’t have to withdraw it and look ungentlemanly.”
“They only want to become acquainted,” Devon said in an extra-patient manner that made her want to explode like an overboiled pudding. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
Pandora stopped in her tracks, her heart thrashing in her chest like a wild caged bird. “Does Kathleen know about this?”
“Not yet. But she’ll agree that the visit is necessary. The fact is, none of us can go anywhere in London without being badgered with questions about you and St. Vincent. Kathleen and I agreed last night that the family would have to leave town until this situation is resolved.”
“I’ll go back to Eversby Priory, then. Not Sussex. You’ll have to throw me bodily into the carriage, and even then—”
“Pandora. Come here. No, don’t be stubborn, I want to talk to you.” Devon pointed firmly to the chair. “Now.”
It was the first time Devon had ever exerted his authority over her as the head of the family. Pandora wasn’t certain how she felt about it. Although she had an innate dislike of authority, Devon had always been fair. He’d never given her reason not to trust him. Slowly she complied, sinking into the chair and gripping the wooden arms with pressure-whitened fingertips. The hated ringing had begun in her left ear. She cupped her palm over it lightly and tapped her forefinger on the back of her skull a few times, which sometimes caused the irritating noise to subside. To her relief, it worked.
Leaning forward in his chair, Devon contemplated Pandora with eyes the same shade of blue-black as her own. “I think I understand what you’re afraid of,” he said slowly. “At least in part. But I don’t think you understand my perspective. In the absence of a father or older brother to protect you, all you have is me. Regardless of what you or anyone else may assume, I’m not going to push you into marrying St. Vincent. In fact, even if you wanted the match, I might not consent to it.”
Bewildered, Pandora said, “Lady Berwick told me there’s no choice. If I don’t marry, the only other option is to hurl myself into the nearest live volcano. Wherever that is.”
“Iceland. And the only way you’ll marry St. Vincent is if you can convince me that you’d prefer him to the volcano.”
“But my reputation . . .”
“Worse things can happen to a woman than a ruined reputation.”
Staring at Devon in wonder, Pandora felt herself begin to relax, her frayed nerves ceasing their frantic shrilling. He was on her side, she realized. Any other man in his position would have forced her into marriage without a second thought.
“You’re part of my family,” Devon continued evenly. “And I’m damned if I’ll hand you over to a stranger without being assured of your well-being. I’ll do everything in my power to keep you from making the kind of mistake Kathleen did when she married your brother.”
Pandora was silent with surprise. The sensitive subject of Theo was rarely brought up in the Ravenel household.
“Kathleen knew nothing about Theo before their wedding,” Devon said. “It was only afterward that she discovered what he was really like. Your brother couldn’t hold his liquor, and when he was drunk, he became violent. At times he had to be carried away from his club, or some other public place, by force. It was no secret among his friends, or in the circles he frequented.”
“How mortifying,” Pandora muttered, her face turning hot.
“Yes. But Theo was careful to conceal his brutish side while he was courting Kathleen. If Lord and Lady Berwick were aware of the rumors about him—and I can’t believe they didn’t hear some of them—they never discussed it with Kathleen.” Devon looked grim. “They bloody well should have.”
“Why didn’t they?”
“Many people believe marriage will change a man’s temperament. Which is absolute rot, of course. One can’t love a leopard into changing his spots.” Devon paused. “Had Theo lived, he would have made Kathleen’s life hell. I won’t have you at the mercy of an abusive husband.”
“But if I don’t marry, the scandal will cause problems for everyone. Especially Cassandra.”
“Pandora, sweetheart, do you think any of us could ever be happy if you were mistreated? West or I would end up killing the bastard.”
Overwhelmed with gratitude, Pandora felt her eyes sting. How strange it was that her parents and brother were gone, and yet she’d never felt so much like part of a family.
“I don’t think Lord St. Vincent would be violent with me,” she said. “He seems the kind who would be cold and distant. Which would be a misery in its own way, but I would manage.”
“Before we make a decision, we’ll try to learn as much as possible about what kind of man Lord St. Vincent is.”
“In a week?” she asked doubtfully.
“It’s not long enough to delve into complexities,” Devon admitted. “But one can discover a great deal about a man by observing him with his family. I’m also going to find out what I can from people who know him. Winterborne is acquainted with him, as a matter of fact. They both sit on the board of a company that manufactures hydraulic equipment.”
Pandora couldn’t quite imagine the two of them talking together—the son of a Welsh grocer and the son of a duke. “Does Mr. Winterborne like him?” she dared to ask.
“It would seem so. He says St. Vincent is intelligent and practical, and doesn’t put on airs. That’s high praise, coming from Winterborne.”
“Will Mr. Winterborne and Helen come with us to Heron’s Point?” Pandora asked hopefully. She would feel better if her entire family were there with her.
“Not so soon after the baby’s birth,” Devon said gently. “Helen needs to fully regain her health before traveling. Furthermore, I’m going to insist that Lady Berwick not accompany us to Heron’s Point. I don’t want you to be burdened by strict chaperonage. I want you to have an opportunity—or two—to meet with St. Vincent alone.”
Pandora’s jaw dropped. She would never have expected Devon, who was overprotective to a fault, to say such a thing.
Devon looked slightly uncomfortable as he continued. “I know how a proper courtship is supposed to be conducted. However, Kathleen was never allowed a single mom
ent alone with Theo until they married, and the results were disastrous. I’m damned if I know how else a woman is to evaluate a potential husband other than to have at least a few private conversations with him.”
“Well, this is odd,” Pandora said after a moment. “No one’s ever given me permission to do something improper.”
Devon smiled. “Shall we go to Heron’s Point for a week, and consider it a fact-finding expedition?”
“I suppose. But what if Lord St. Vincent turns out to be terrible?”
“Then you won’t marry him.”
“What will happen to the rest of the family?”
“That’s for me to worry about,” Devon said firmly. “For the time being, all you need to do is become acquainted with St. Vincent. And if you decide you don’t wish to marry him, for any reason, you won’t have to.”
They both stood. Impulsively Pandora stepped forward and dove her face against Devon’s chest and hugged him, undoubtedly surprising him as much as herself. She rarely sought out physical contact with anyone. “Thank you,” she said in a muffled voice. “It means a great deal that my feelings matter to you.”
“Of course they do, sweetheart.” Devon gave her a comforting squeeze before drawing back to look down at her. “Do you know the motto on the Ravenel coat of arms?”
“Loyalté nous lie.”
“Do you know what it means?”
“‘Never make us angry?’” Pandora guessed, and was rewarded by his deep laugh. “Actually, I do know,” she said. “It means ‘loyalty binds us.’”
“That’s right,” Devon said. “Whatever happens, we Ravenels will remain loyal to each other. We’ll never sacrifice one for the sake of the rest.”
Chapter 5
Sitting on the floor of the upstairs parlor of Ravenel House, Pandora brushed the pair of black cocker spaniels who had been with the family for ten years. Josephine sat obediently while Pandora drew the soft bristles over her floppy ears. Napoleon lounged nearby with his chin resting on the floor between his paws.
“Are you ready?” Cassandra asked, coming to the threshold. “We can’t be late for the train. Oh, don’t do that, you’ll be covered in dog hair! You have to look presentable for the duke and duchess. And Lord St. Vincent, of course.”
“Why bother?” Pandora rose to her feet. “I already know what they’re going to think of me.” But she stood still as Cassandra moved industriously around her, walloping at her skirts and sending black hairs floating into the air.
“They’re going to like you—” Thwack. “—if only—” Thwack. Thwack. “—you’ll be nice to them.”
Pandora’s traveling dress was made of leaf-green batiste wool with a waistcoat jacket, and a flaring white lace Medici collar that stood up at the back of the neck and tapered down to a point at the top of her basque. It was a smart and stylish ensemble, accessorized with a little feathered emerald velvet hat that matched her sash. Cassandra wore similar garments of pale blue, with a sapphire hat.
“I’ll be as nice as nice can be,” Pandora said. “But don’t you remember what happened at Eversby Priory, when a goose built her nest in the swans’ territory? She thought she was enough like them that they wouldn’t mind her. Only her neck was too short, and her legs were too long, and she didn’t have the right sort of feathers, so the swans kept attacking and chasing the poor thing until finally she was driven off.”
“You’re not a goose.”
Pandora’s mouth twisted. “I’m an awfully deficient swan, then.”
Cassandra sighed and drew her close. “You mustn’t marry Lord St. Vincent for my sake,” she said for the hundredth time.
Slowly Pandora laid her head on her twin’s shoulder. “I could never live with myself if you had to suffer the consequences of a mistake I made.”
“I won’t suffer.”
“If I become a pariah, no gentleman of rank would ever offer for you.”
“I would be happy regardless,” Cassandra said stoutly.
“No, you wouldn’t. You want to marry someday, and have a home and children of your own.” Pandora sighed. “I wish you could be Lord St. Vincent’s wife. You would be perfect for each other.”
“Lord St. Vincent didn’t give me a second glance. All he did was stare at you.”
“In sheer horror.”
“I think the horror was all on your side,” Cassandra said. “He was merely trying to take in the situation.” Her light fingers came to smooth Pandora’s hair. “They say he’s the catch of a century. Last year, Lady Berwick encouraged him to take an interest in Dolly, but he would have none of it.”
Cassandra’s hand came just a little close to her ear. Flinching reflexively, Pandora drew back. Certain parts of her ear, inside and out, were painfully sensitive. “How do you know that? Dolly never mentioned it to me.”
“It was just some ballroom gossip. And Dolly doesn’t talk about it because it was a great disappointment.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I didn’t think you’d be interested since we’d never even seen Lord St. Vincent, and you said you didn’t want to hear anything about eligible bachelors—”
“I do now! Tell me everything you know about him.”
After glancing at the empty doorway, Cassandra lowered her voice. “There’s a rumor that he keeps a mistress.”
Pandora gave her a wide-eyed stare. “Someone told you that in a ballroom? During a formal dance?”
“Not openly, it was whispered. What do you think people gossip about during dances?”
“Things like weather.”
“It’s not gossip when it’s about weather, it’s only gossip when it’s something you know you shouldn’t be listening to.”
Pandora was indignant at the thought that she’d missed so much interesting information during those hideously dull occasions. “Who is his mistress?”
“No one mentioned her name.”
Folding her arms across her chest, Pandora commented sourly, “I’ll bet he has the pox.”
Cassandra looked bewildered. “What?”
“Heaps of it,” Pandora added grimly. “He’s a rake, after all. Just like the song.”
Cassandra groaned and shook her head, knowing exactly which song Pandora was referring to. They had once overheard one of the stablemen singing a few lines of a ballad called “The Unfortunate Rake,” for the amusement of his companions. The bawdy lyrics had told the story of a rake’s demise of an unnamed illness after having slept with a woman of ill repute.
Later Pandora and Cassandra had badgered West to explain the mysterious malady, until he had reluctantly told them about the pox. Not smallpox or chicken pox, but a particular strain that infected promiscuous men and women. Eventually it drove one mad and made one’s nose fall off. Some called it French pox, some called it English pox. West had told them never to repeat any of it, or Kathleen would have his head.
“I’m sure Lord St. Vincent doesn’t have the pox,” Cassandra said. “From what I saw the other night, he has a perfectly handsome nose.”
“He’ll catch the pox someday,” Pandora persisted darkly, “if he hasn’t already. And then he’ll give it to me.”
“You’re being dramatic. And not all rakes have the pox.”
“I’m going to ask him if he does.”
“Pandora, you wouldn’t! The poor man would be horrified.”
“So would I, if I ended up losing my nose.”
As the Ravenels rode in the private first-class compartment on the London, Brighton, and South Coast line, Pandora’s nerves became more strained with each passing mile. If only the train were headed in another direction, anywhere other than toward Heron’s Point.
She couldn’t decide whether she was more worried about how she would behave with the Challons, or how they would behave toward her. There was no doubt that Lord St. Vincent resented her for the situation she’d put him in, even though it had been an accident on her part.
God, she was so tired
of causing trouble and then having to feel guilty about it. From now on, she would behave like a respectable, proper lady. People would marvel at her restraint and dignity. They might even become a bit concerned—“Is Pandora quite well? She’s always so subdued.” Lady Berwick would glow with pride, and advise other girls to emulate Pandora’s remarkable reserve. She would become known for it.
Sitting by the window, Pandora watched the passing scenery and occasionally glanced at Kathleen, who sat in an opposite seat with little William on her lap. Although they had brought a nursery maid to help with the infant, Kathleen preferred to keep him with her as much as possible. The dark-haired baby played intently with a string of spools, investigating the various sizes and textures, and fitting them against his mouth to gnaw industriously. Entertained by his son’s antics, Devon lounged beside them with his arm resting along the back of the bench.
While Cassandra occupied herself with knitting a pair of Berlin wool slippers, Pandora reached into her valise and unearthed her journal, a weighty Coptic-bound volume with a leather cover. Its linen pages were stuffed with clippings, sketches, pressed flowers, tickets, postcards, and all manner of things that had caught her fancy. She had filled at least half of it with ideas and sketches for board games. A silver mechanical pencil dangled from an attached cord that wrapped around the book to keep it closed.
After unwinding the cord, Pandora opened the book to a blank page near the back. She twisted the lower half of the pencil barrel until a nozzle with the lead emerged, and began to write.
JOURNEY TO HERON’S POINT
OR
The Impending Matrimonial Doom of Lady Pandora Ravenel
Facts and Observations
#1 If people think you’re dishonored, it’s no different from actually having been dishonored, except you still don’t know anything.
#2 When you’ve been ruined, there are only two options: death or marriage.
#3 Since I am gravely healthy, the first option isn’t likely.