by Lisa Kleypas
I’m going to have to tell him at some point, Pandora thought. It might as well be now.
After taking a deep breath, she blurted out, “I design and construct board games. I’ve researched every possible kind of glue required for manufacturing them. Not just for the construction of the boxes, but the best kind to adhere lithographs to the boards and lids. I’ve registered a patent for the first game, and soon I intend to apply for two more.”
Gabriel absorbed the information in remarkably short order. “Have you considered selling the patents to a publisher?”
“No, I want to make the games at my own factory. I have a production schedule. The first one will be out by Christmas. My brother-in-law, Mr. Winterborne, helped me to write a business plan. The market in board games is quite new, and he thinks my company will be successful.”
“I’m sure it will be. But a young woman in your position has no need of a livelihood.”
“I do if I want to be self-supporting.”
“Surely the safety of marriage is preferable to the burdens of being a business proprietor.”
Pandora turned to face him fully. “Not if ‘safety’ means being owned. As things stand now, I have the freedom to work and keep my earnings. But if I marry you, everything I have, including my company, would immediately become yours. You would have complete authority over me. Every shilling I made would go directly to you—it wouldn’t even pass through my hands. I’d never be able to sign a contract, or hire employees, or buy property. In the eyes of the law, a husband and wife are one person, and that person is the husband. I can’t bear the thought of it. It’s why I never want to marry.”
The little speech was astounding. It was the most transgressive talk Gabriel had ever heard from a woman. In a way, it was more shocking than any of his mistress’s most salacious words and acts.
What in God’s name had Pandora’s family been thinking, encouraging such ambitions? Granted, it was hardly unheard-of for someone like a middle-class widow to run a business inherited from her late husband, or for a milliner or seamstress to have her own little shop. But it was well nigh unimaginable for a peer’s daughter.
A high-waxing wave rushed at Pandora from behind, impelling her against him. Gabriel steadied her, his hands clamping at her waist. When the water had retreated, he put a hand at the small of her back and guided her back toward the shore, where his sisters were sitting.
“A wife trades her independence in return for a husband’s protection and support,” he said, his mind bristling with questions and arguments. “That’s the marriage bargain.”
“I think it would be foolish—no, stupid—of me to agree to bargain in which I would be worse off after I agreed to it.”
“How could you be worse off? There’s precious little freedom in long work hours and endless worry over profits and expenses. As my wife, you’ll live in security and comfort. I’ll settle a fortune on you, to spend any way you wish. You’ll have your own carriage and driver, and a house full of servants to do your bidding. You’ll have a position in society that any woman would envy. Don’t lose sight of all that by focusing on technicalities.”
“If it were your legal rights at stake,” Pandora said, “you wouldn’t dismiss them as technicalities.”
“But you’re a woman.”
“And therefore inferior?”
“No,” Gabriel said swiftly. He had been raised to respect the intelligence of women, in a household where his mother’s authority was heeded no less than his father’s. “Any man who chooses to believe women’s minds are inferior is underestimating them at his own peril. However, nature imposes certain domestic roles by making the wife the bearer of children. That being said, no man has the right to run his marriage as a dictatorship.”
“But he does. According to the law, a husband can behave any way he likes.”
“Any decent man treats his wife as a partner, as is the case with my own parents.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Pandora said. “But that’s the spirit of their marriage, not the legal reality. If your father decided to treat your mother unfairly, no one could stop him.”
He felt a tiny muscle in his jaw twitch irritably. “I would stop him, damn it.”
“But why must her welfare be left to his or your mercy? Why can’t she have the right to decide how she should be treated?”
Gabriel wanted to argue with Pandora’s position, and point out the rigidity and impracticality of her argument. It was also on the tip of his tongue to ask her why millions of other women had willingly agreed to the marital union she found so offensive.
But he couldn’t. As much as he hated to admit it . . . her logic was sound.
“You’re . . . not entirely wrong,” he forced himself to say, nearly choking on the words. “Regardless of the law, however, it all comes down to a matter of trust.”
“But you’re saying I should trust a man with the lifelong power to make all my decisions the way I would wish them to be made, when I would rather make them for myself.” With a touch of honest bewilderment, Pandora asked, “Why would I do that?”
“Because marriage is more than a legal arrangement. It’s about companionship, security, desire, love. Are none of those things important to you?”
“They are,” Pandora said, her gaze falling to the ground before them. “Which is why I could never feel them for a man if I were his property.”
Well, hell.
Her objections to marriage went far deeper than Gabriel could have imagined. He’d assumed she was a nonconformist. She was a bloody insurrectionist.
They had almost reached his sisters, who were sitting together while Ivo and Justin had gone to fill their pails with more wet sand.
“What are you talking about?” Seraphina asked Gabriel.
“Something private,” he said curtly.
Phoebe leaned toward Seraphina and said sotto voce, “I think our brother may be having a moment of enlightenment.”
“Is he?” Seraphina regarded Gabriel as if he were a particularly thrilling form of wildlife trying to peck out of its shell.
Gabriel gave them both a sardonic glance before returning his attention to Pandora’s mutinous face. He touched her elbow lightly and drew her aside for a last word. “I’ll find out what the legal options are,” he muttered. “There may be some loophole that would allow a married woman to own a business without having it held in trust or controlled by her husband.”
To his annoyance, Pandora didn’t appear impressed in the least, nor did she seem to recognize the enormity of the concession. “There isn’t,” she said flatly. “But even if there were, I’d still be worse off than if I’d never married at all.”
For the next hour, the subject of Pandora’s board game business was discarded as the group worked on the sandcastle. They paused at intervals to drink thirstily from jugs of cold water and lemonade that had been sent down from the house. Pandora threw herself into the project with enthusiasm, consulting with Justin, who had decided the castle must have a moat, square corner towers, a front gatehouse with a drawbridge, and battlement walls from which the occupants could drop scalding water or molten tar onto the advancing enemy.
Gabriel, who’d been instructed to dig the moat, stole frequent glances at Pandora, who had enough energy for ten people. Her face glowed beneath her battered straw hat, which she had managed to pry away from Ajax. She was sweaty and covered with sand, a few escaped locks of hair trailing over her neck and back. She played with the unselfconscious ease of a child, this woman of radical thoughts and ambitions. She was beautiful. Complex. Frustrating. He’d never met a woman who was so wholly and resolutely herself.
What the devil was he going to do about her?
“I want to decorate the castle with shells and seaweed,” Seraphina said.
“You’ll make it look like a girl’s castle,” Justin protested.
“Your hermit crab might be a girl,” Seraphina pointed out.
Justin was clearly appalled b
y the suggestion. “He’s not! He’s not a girl!”
Seeing his little cousin’s gathering outrage, Ivo intervened quickly. “That crab is definitely male, sis.”
“How do you know?” Seraphina asked.
“Because . . . well, he . . .” Ivo paused, fumbling for an explanation.
“Because,” Pandora intervened, lowering her voice confidentially, “as we were planning the layout of the castle, the hermit crab discreetly asked me if we would include a smoking room. I was a bit shocked, as I thought he was rather young for such a vice, but it certainly leaves no doubt as to his masculinity.”
Justin stared at her raptly. “What else did he say?” he demanded. “What is his name? Does he like his castle? And the moat?”
Pandora launched into a detailed account of her conversation with the hermit crab, reporting that his name was Shelley, after the poet, whose works he admired. He was a well-traveled crustacean, having flown to distant lands while clinging to the pink leg of a herring gull who had no taste for shellfish, preferring hazelnuts and bread crumbs. One day, the herring gull, who possessed the transmigrated soul of an Elizabethan stage actor, had taken Shelley to see Hamlet at the Drury Lane theater. During the performance, they had alighted on the scenery and played the part of a castle gargoyle for the entire second act. Shelley had enjoyed the experience but had no wish to pursue a theatrical career, as the hot stage lights had nearly fricasseed him.
Gabriel stopped digging and listened, transported by the wonder and whimsy of Pandora’s imagination. Out of thin air, she created a fantasy world in which animals could talk and anything was possible. He was charmed out of all reason as he watched her, this sandy, disheveled, storytelling mermaid, who seemed already to belong to him and yet wanted nothing to do with him. His heart worked in strange rhythms, as if it were struggling to adjust to a brand new metronome.
What was happening to him?
The rules of logic by which he’d always lived had somehow been subverted so that marrying Lady Pandora Ravenel was now the only acceptable outcome. He was unprepared for this girl, this feeling, this infuriating uncertainty that he might not end up with the one person he absolutely must be with.
But how the devil could he make the prospect of marriage acceptable to her? He had no desire to bully her into it, and he doubted that was possible anyway. Nor did he want to take away her choices. He wanted to be her choice.
Bloody hell, there wasn’t enough time. If they weren’t engaged when she returned to London, the scandal would erupt full-force, and the Ravenels would have to act decisively. Pandora would most likely leave England and take up residence in a place where she could produce her games. Gabriel had no desire to find himself chasing after her across the continent, or possibly all the way to America. No, he had to persuade her to marry him now.
But what the devil could he offer that would mean more to her than her freedom?
By the time Pandora had finished the story, the castle was completed. Justin regarded the tiny crab with awe. He demanded to hear more about Shelley’s adventures with the herring gull, and Pandora laughed.
“I’ll tell you another story,” she said, “while we carry him back to the rocks where you found him. I’m sure he misses his family by now.” They clambered to their feet, and Justin carefully lifted the crab from his perch on a castle turret. As they headed toward the water, Ajax left the shade beneath the bathing-machine and trotted after them.
When they were out of earshot, Ivo announced, “I like her.”
Seraphina grinned at her younger brother. “Last week you said you were finished with girls.”
“Pandora’s a different kind of girl. Not like the ones who are afraid to touch frogs and are always talking about their hair.”
Gabriel barely listened to the exchange, his gaze fastened on Pandora’s retreating form. She went to the verge of the high water mark where the sand was glossy, and stopped to pick up an interesting shell. Glimpsing another one behind her, she retrieved that as well, and another. She would have continued if Justin hadn’t seized her hand and tugged her back on course.
Good God, she really did walk in circles. A pang of tenderness centered in Gabriel’s chest like an ache.
He wanted all her circles to lead back to him.
“We should leave soon,” Phoebe said, “if we’re to have time to wash and dress for dinner.”
Seraphina stood, grimacing at her sand-encrusted hands and arms. “I’m all sandy and sticky. I’m going to rinse off what I can in the water.”
“I’ll collect the kites and pails,” Ivo said.
Phoebe waited until their younger siblings had gone before speaking. “I overheard part of your conversation with Pandora,” she said. “Your voices carried across the sand.”
Brooding, Gabriel reached over to adjust the front brim of her hat. “What do you think, redbird?” It was a pet name that only he and their father used for her.
Frowning thoughtfully, Phoebe used the flat of her palm to smooth one of the castle walls. “I think if you wanted a peaceful marriage and orderly household, you should have proposed to any one of the well-bred simpletons who’ve been dangled in front of you for years. Ivo’s right: Pandora is a different kind of girl. Strange and marvelous. I wouldn’t dare predict—” She broke off as she saw him staring at Pandora’s distant form. “Lunkhead, you’re not even listening. You’ve already decided to marry her, and damn the consequences.”
“It wasn’t even a decision,” Gabriel said, baffled and surly. “I can’t think of one good reason to justify why I want her so bloody badly.”
Phoebe smiled, gazing toward the water. “Have I ever told you what Henry said when he proposed, even knowing how little time we would have together? ‘Marriage is far too important a matter to be decided with reason.’ He was right, of course.”
Gabriel took up a handful of warm, dry sand and let it sift through his fingers. “The Ravenels will sooner weather a scandal than force her to marry. And as you probably overheard, she objects not only to me, but the institution of marriage itself.”
“How could anyone resist you?” Phoebe asked, half-mocking, half-sincere.
He gave her a dark glance. “Apparently she has no problem. The title, the fortune, the estate, the social position . . . to her, they’re all detractions. Somehow I have to convince her to marry me despite those things.” With raw honesty, he added, “And I’m damned if I even know who I am outside of them.”
“Oh, my dear . . .” Phoebe said tenderly. “You’re the brother who taught Raphael to sail a skiff, and showed Justin how to tie his shoes. You’re the man who carried Henry down to the trout stream, when he wanted to go fishing one last time.” She swallowed audibly, and sighed. Digging her heels into the sand, she pushed them forward, creating a pair of trenches. “Shall I tell you what your problem is?”
“Is that a question?”
“Your problem,” his sister continued, “is that you’re too good at maintaining that façade of godlike perfection. You’ve always hated for anyone to see that you’re a mere mortal. But you won’t win this girl that way.” She began to dust the sand from her hands. “Show her a few of your redeeming vices, dear. She’ll like you all the better for it.”
Chapter 9
All through the next day, and the day after that, Lord St. Vincent—Gabriel—made no further attempts to kiss Pandora. He was a perfect gentleman, respectful and attentive, making certain they were chaperoned or in full view of others at all times.
Pandora was very glad about that.
Mostly glad.
More or less glad.
Fact #34 Kissing is like one of those electrical experiments in which one makes a fascinating new discovery but is fried like a mutton-chop in the process.
Still, she couldn’t help wondering why Gabriel hadn’t tried again since that first day.
Admittedly, she shouldn’t have allowed it to begin with. Lady Berwick had once told her that a gentleman might sometime
s test a lady by making an improper advance and judging her severely if she didn’t resist. Although it seemed very unsporting for Gabriel to do something like that, Pandora didn’t know enough about men to rule out the possibility.
But the most likely reason Gabriel hadn’t tried to kiss her again was that she was bad at it. She’d had no idea how to kiss, what to do with her lips or tongue. But the sensations had been so extraordinary that her excitable nature had taken over, and she’d virtually attacked him. And then he’d made that pirate remark, which she had puzzled over incessantly. Had he meant it in a disparaging way? It hadn’t sounded like a complaint, exactly, but could one reasonably take it as a compliment?
Fact #35 No list of ideal feminine qualities has ever included the phrase “you kiss like a pirate.”
Although Pandora felt mortified and defensive every time she thought about her kisstastrophe, Gabriel had been so charming for the past two days that she couldn’t help enjoying his company anyway. They had spent a great deal of time together, talking, walking, riding, playing lawn tennis, croquet, and other outdoor games, always in the company of family members.
In some ways, Gabriel reminded her of Devon, with whom he seemed to have struck up a fast friendship. Both were quick-witted and irreverent men, tending to view the world with a mixture of irony and clear-eyed pragmatism. But whereas Devon’s nature was spontaneous and occasionally volatile, Gabriel was more careful and considered, his character tempered with a maturity that was rare for a man of relatively young age.
As the duke’s firstborn son, Gabriel was the future of the Challons, the one to whom the estate, title, and family holdings would fall. He was well educated, with a complex understanding of finance and commerce, and a comprehensive knowledge of estate management. In these days of industrial and technological development, the peerage could no longer afford to depend only on the yields from their ancestral land holdings. One heard more and more often of impoverished noblemen who had been unable to adapt their old-fashioned ways of thinking, and were now being forced to abandon their estates and sell their property.