Marrying Winterborne

by Lisa Kleypas

  “How disappointing. I’m sure I would have made short work of them. Oh, well—in lieu of adventure, at least I’ll have a novel to read.” Picking up one of the volumes, Kathleen read the title and began to laugh. “War and Peace?”

  “It’s long and very good,” Helen explained, “and I knew you hadn’t read it yet, since we’ve been keeping it above the sixth shelf in the library. And even if Tolstoy does tend to sour one on marriage, as Lady Berwick claims, you’re already married and it’s too late.”

  Still chuckling, Kathleen placed the book back into the valise. “Nothing could sour me on marriage, after the way Devon has been with me. Steady as the polar star, and so very tender. I’ve discovered that I need him even more than I thought.”

  “He needs you also.”

  Kathleen closed the valise and gave her an affectionate glance. “I’ll miss you so much, Helen. But it will make my heart lighter to know that you and the twins will be enjoying yourselves in London. I expect Mr. Winterborne will be at Ravenel house often, and he’ll do anything short of performing backward somersaults if it would make you happy.” She paused before adding quietly, “He loves you, you know. It’s obvious.”

  Helen didn’t know how to reply. She longed to pour out her heart, and confide that no matter how much Rhys loved her, it wouldn’t be enough to overcome the terrible fact of who she was. It would devastate him when he found out.

  Forcing a smile, she averted her face, affecting shyness.

  In a moment, Kathleen’s arms went around her. “This will be a happy time for you, darling. You’ll have no trouble with Lady Berwick. She’s the most honorable woman I’ve ever known, and the wisest. You and the twins must trust and rely on her while we’re gone.”

  “I will.” Helen hugged her tightly. “Don’t worry about anything. We’ll have a relaxing and pleasant time while we wait for you to return.”

  ANYONE WHO HAD witnessed the Ravenel family’s drawn-out good-byes would have been forgiven for assuming the group was about to be separated for a period of years instead of weeks. Fortunately, Lady Berwick, who would have deplored the display of emotion, was in her room at the time. Rhys, for his part, had tactfully elected to withdraw to the library to allow the family privacy.

  Both Pandora and Cassandra tried to be light and amusing, but when it came time to say farewell, they both became tearful and hugged Kathleen simultaneously, until one could hardly see her small form sandwiched between them. For the better part of a year, Kathleen had treated the twins with a mixture of interest and affection that was undeniably maternal in nature. The twins would miss her sorely.

  “I wish we were going with you,” Pandora said unsteadily.

  Cassandra gave a little sob.

  “There, there,” came Kathleen’s voice from amid the girls’ enveloping embrace. “We’ll be together soon, dear ones. In the meantime, you’ll have a lovely time in London. And I’ll be coming back with a beautiful horse for each of you—just think of that!”

  “What if my horse isn’t a good sailor?” Cassandra asked.

  Kathleen tried to reply, but since she was still engulfed by the twins, it was difficult to make herself heard.

  Amused, Devon stepped forward and pried his wife out of the enthusiastic tangle of arms. “The horses will have padded stalls onboard the ship,” he explained. “There’ll also be wide canvas belts underneath them, like hammocks, to keep them from foundering or falling. I’ll stay belowdecks with the horses to keep them calm.”

  “So will I,” Kathleen added.

  Devon gave her a warning glance. “As we discussed earlier, my job during the return voyage will be to take care of the horses, while your job is to take care of my future son or daughter.”

  “I’m not an invalid,” Kathleen protested.

  “No,” he said, “but you’re the most important thing in the world to me, and I won’t risk your safety.”

  Crossing her arms, Kathleen tried to look indignant. “How am I supposed to argue with that?”

  Devon smiled and kissed her soundly. “You can’t.” Turning to the twins, he took them both in his arms, and kissed the tops of their heads. “Good-bye, imps. Try not to cause too much trouble for Lady Berwick, and take care of Helen.”

  “It’s time to leave,” West said from the doorway. “Are you certain you don’t need me to accompany you to the station?”

  Devon grinned at his brother. “Thank you, but the carriage will be crowded enough as it is. Moreover, I don’t want to take you away when you should be acting as host to Lady Berwick.”

  “Quite right,” West replied blandly, but as he turned, he executed a discreet hand gesture meant only for Devon’s gaze.

  “Kathleen,” Pandora said, “Cousin West did that thing with his finger again.”

  “It was a hand cramp,” West said quickly, and shot a narrow-eyed glance at Pandora.

  Kathleen grinned and went to put her arms around his neck. “West,” she said fondly, “whatever are you going to do when all of us leave you in peace?”

  Sighing, West kissed her forehead. “I’ll miss you, damn it.”

  BEFORE THE REST of the family departed the next morning, West drew Helen aside for a private conversation. They walked slowly to the conservatory, a room of glass and stone that was lushly crowded with potted palms and ferns. The glazed windows revealed a nearby stand of Weeping Beech trees, their pendulous branches draping and sagging as if exhausted by the tribulations of winter. A flock of plump orange-and-gray bramblings descended from the ash-colored sky to feed on the carpet of beech mast around the gnarled trunks.

  “It occurs to me,” West said, ducking his head to keep from colliding with a hanging basket filled with mixed plants, “that this is the first time you and the twins will have stayed in London for more than a night with no family to look after you.”

  “There’s Lady Berwick,” Helen pointed out.

  “She’s not family.”

  “Kathleen thinks well of her.”

  “Only because Lady Berwick took her in after her parents tried to set her out on a street corner with a sign saying FREE CHILD hung around her neck. Oh, I know Kathleen regards her as the fount of all wisdom and benevolence, but you and I are both aware that this isn’t going to be easy. The countess and Pandora will go at it beak-and-claw the entire time.”

  Helen smiled up at him, seeing the concern in his dark blue eyes. “It’s only for a month. We’ll learn how to get on with her. And Mr. Winterborne will be nearby.”

  West’s frown deepened. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  Perplexed, Helen asked, “What are you concerned about?”

  “That you’ll be manipulated and taken advantage of until you feel like you’ve been flattened in a washing mangle.”

  “Mr. Winterborne won’t take advantage of me.”

  West snorted. “You only say that because he already has.” Taking Helen by the shoulders, he looked into her upturned face. “Little friend, I want you to be cautious, and remember that London is not a magical land of happiness and cake-shops, and every stranger is not a hero in disguise.”

  Helen gave him a reproachful glance. “I’m not that unworldly.”

  One of his brows arched. “Are we sure about that? Because the last time you were there, you decided to gallivant off to Winterborne’s unaccompanied, and—oddly enough—returned home thoroughly deflowered.”

  Her color heightened. “He and I made a bargain.”

  “There was no need for a bargain. He would have married you anyway.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Darling, everyone knew it, except apparently you. No, don’t bother arguing, we haven’t time. Just bear in mind that if you have any trouble at all, if anything goes wrong for you or the twins, I want you to send for me. Have a footman run a note to the nearest telegraph office, and I’ll be there like a shot. Promise me you’ll do that.”

  “I promise.” Helen stood on her toes to kiss his cheek
, and told him, “I think you’re a hero in disguise.”

  “Do you?” West shook his head ruefully. “Then it’s a good thing you don’t know more about me.” He offered her his arm. “Come, it’s time to join the others in the entrance hall. Do you happen to have a pocket-mirror?”

  “I’m afraid not. Why?”

  “I’ve made you late, which means by now Lady Berwick has sprouted serpents from her head, and I can’t look at her directly.”

  TO NO ONE’S surprise, Lady Berwick insisted that Rhys occupy the seat next to hers on the journey up to London. He obliged her, of course, but every now and then he twisted to glance longingly at Helen, who sat in the row behind them with her embroidery hoop.

  As Helen worked on an appliqué flower, attaching the edges of a leaf with a delicate featherstitch, she listened unobtrusively to their conversation. Rhys treated Lady Berwick with respectful interest but didn’t seem awed by her in the least. He asked about her favorite subject, horses and their training, saying frankly that he knew little about it and was an adequate rider at best. The admission produced an enthusiastic response from the countess, who loved nothing better than to dispense information and advice.

  Helen’s attention was diverted by the twins, who were talking in the seats behind her.

  “. . . that word from Othello that we’re not supposed to know,” Pandora was saying.

  “Fustilarian?” Cassandra guessed.

  “No, silly. And that’s not from Othello, that’s from one of the Henrys. I’m referring to the thing that Othello calls Bianca when he thinks she loves another man.” At her twin’s perplexed expression, Pandora whispered the forbidden word.

  “I don’t know that one,” Cassandra said.

  “That’s because you read the abridged version. But I read the original, and I looked up the word in the dictionary. It means ‘a woman who lies with a man for money.’”

  “Why would a man pay a woman to sleep with him?” Cassandra asked, sounding puzzled. “Unless it’s very cold, and there aren’t enough blankets. But it would be simpler to buy more blankets, wouldn’t it?”

  “I’d rather sleep with dogs. They’re much warmer than people.”

  Perturbed, Helen reflected that it wasn’t right to keep the twins so sheltered. Years ago, she had taken it upon herself to tell them in advance about their monthly courses, so that when it happened, neither of them would be shocked and terrified, as she had been. Why should they be kept in ignorance of the rest of it? After all, forewarned was forearmed. She decided to explain the basic facts to the twins at the first available opportunity, rather than let them come to the wrong conclusions on their own.

  The train arrived at Waterloo Station, the sheds crowded and milling, the air thick with the usual cacophony of noise. As soon as the Ravenels and their retinue descended to the platform, they were met by four blue-uniformed employees from Winterborne’s, who collected their luggage, placed it on wheeled carts, and cleared a path with magical efficiency. Helen was privately amused by Lady Berwick’s struggle not to appear impressed as they were escorted out to a pair of private carriages—one for family, one for the servants—and a wagon for surplus luggage.

  Rhys’s carriage was a magnificent vehicle of modern design, finished in glossy black lacquer with the familiar ornate W monogrammed on the side. Standing at the door of the carriage, Rhys personally handed each occupant into the vehicle, beginning with Lady Berwick and then Helen. He paused as one of the twins tugged at his sleeve imploringly. Casting a brief glance at the seated women, he said ruefully, “I beg your indulgence for a moment.”

  The door closed, leaving Helen and Lady Berwick inside.

  The countess frowned. “What is this about?”

  Helen shook her head slightly, mystified.

  The door opened with a smooth click, swung out a few inches, and closed again. Click. It opened and closed once more.

  Helen bit back a grin as she realized that the twins were playing with the newfangled outer handle, which opened by slightly pressing the handle down, instead of turning it partway around in the ordinary manner.

  “Girls!” Lady Berwick exclaimed in annoyance, the next time the door opened. “Come inside at once.”

  Looking abashed, Pandora and Cassandra entered the carriage and sat beside Helen.

  The countess stared at them icily. “We do not play with door handles.”

  “Mr. Winterborne said we could,” Pandora mumbled.

  “I daresay he knows little about the proper deportment of young ladies.”

  As Rhys settled into the seat next to the countess, he replied in a sober manner, but the outer corners of his eyes had creased slightly. “Forgive me, my lady. When I saw their interest, I thought to show them how the mechanism worked.”

  Mollified, the countess said in a quieter tone, “One must exert restraint on active young minds. Too much thinking will excite the sparks of vice.”

  Helen pressed her elbow against Pandora’s side, warning her to stay silent.

  “My parents were of the same opinion,” Rhys said easily. “An overactive mind, my father said, would make me insolent and unsatisfied. ‘Know your place,’ he told me, ‘and keep to it.’”

  “Did you heed him?” Lady Berwick asked.

  He laughed softly. “If I had, my lady, I would be keeping shop on High Street at this moment—not sitting in a carriage with a countess.”

  Chapter 22

  TO HELEN’S DISAPPOINTMENT, THERE was little opportunity to see Rhys during their first week in London. After the days he had been absent from his office, work had accumulated and there were many matters that required his attention. When he paid a call to Ravenel House one afternoon, his interaction with Helen was limited to small talk, with the countess and the twins seated nearby. Lady Berwick’s rules about visiting were explicit and unyielding: Calls must be paid during specified hours, and the visitor should stay no longer than fifteen minutes. After a quarter of an hour had passed, the countess glanced meaningfully at the clock.

  Rhys’s gaze met Helen’s in a moment of shared impatience and yearning, and the corners of his lips twitched as he stood. “I believe I’ve stayed long enough.”

  “We’ve quite enjoyed your visit, Mr. Winterborne,” Lady Berwick said, rising to her feet also. “You are welcome to dine with us the evening after next, if your schedule can accommodate it.”

  “Friday?” Rhys frowned in regret. “I would love nothing better, my lady, but I’ve already committed to attending a private dinner with the prime minister.”

  “Mr. Disraeli?” Helen asked, her eyes widening. “Is he a friend of yours?”

  “An acquaintance. He wants my support for a labor law reform bill, to allow workers the legal right to go on strike.”

  “I didn’t realize it was illegal,” Helen said.

  Rhys smiled at her interest. “Only a handful of craft societies—carpenters, bricklayers, iron founders—are legally allowed. But many other union members do it nevertheless, and are jailed as a result.”

  “Do you want them to have the right to strike?” Helen asked. “Even though you’re a business owner?”

  “Aye, the working class should enjoy the same rights as everyone else in society.”

  “It is not for women to concern ourselves with such matters,” Lady Berwick said, waving away the matter. “I shall endeavor to find a mutually acceptable date for dinner, Mr. Winterborne.”

  “I will see him out, ma’am,” Helen said, striving to tamp down her frustration at not having even a second alone with him.

  Lady Berwick shook her head decisively. “My dear, it is improper to accompany a gentleman all the way to the door.”

  Helen sent her sisters a pleading glance.

  Instantly Pandora nudged her chair with the back of her leg, toppling it over. “Blast,” she exclaimed. “How did that happen?”

  The countess turned to face her. “Pandora, that word!”

  “What should I say when I knock
something over?”

  There was a brief silence as Lady Berwick considered the question. “You may say ‘alas.’”

  “‘Alas?’ Pandora echoed in distaste. “But that’s such a flabby word.”

  “What does it even mean?” Cassandra asked.

  While the twins kept Lady Berwick occupied, Helen slipped out into the hallway with Rhys.

  Without a word, he slid a hand to the nape of her neck and brought her mouth to his, devouring her with heat and pure male hunger. She inhaled sharply as he pulled her hard against him, his breath striking her cheek in scorching rushes.

  “Helen?” The countess’s voice came from the front parlor.

  Rhys let go of her instantly. He stared at her, his hands opening and closing as if they itched for the feel of her.

  Dazed, Helen tried to steady her wobbly knees. “You should probably leave,” she whispered. With an attempt at humor, she added lamely, “Alas.”

  Rhys gave her a sardonic glance before going to fetch his hat and gloves from a demilune table. “I can’t call again during visiting hours, cariad. For the past fifteen minutes, I’ve suffered like a starving man outside a bakery window.”

  “When will I see you next?”

  He settled the hat on his head and tugged on his gloves. “I’ll make certain she brings you to the store on Monday evening.”

  “Will we have any privacy there?” Helen asked doubtfully, following him to the door.

  Pausing to look down at her, Rhys stroked her cheek with his forefinger, and she shivered at the caress of smooth black leather. Gently he gripped her jaw and stared at her mouth. “The store is my territory,” he said. “What do you think?”

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, the parlor was filled with no less than a dozen women whom Lady Berwick had invited for a special visit. These were the matrons who supervised the most important events of the season. It was their responsibility to shape the next generation of wives and mothers, and the fates of all marriageable young women depended on their good favor.

  “Say as little as possible,” Lady Berwick told the girls severely. “Remember that silence is golden.” Glancing at Pandora, she added, “In your case, it’s platinum.”