by Lisa Kleypas
“No, I want company.”
“I’ll stay, then. Rest your poor head.”
Helen obeyed, subsiding. In a moment, there was a quiet sniffle. “I’m so disappointed,” she whispered. “About kissing.”
“Darling, no,” Kathleen said, her heart breaking a little. “You haven’t really been kissed. It’s different with the right man.”
“I don’t see how it could be. I thought… I thought it would be like listening to beautiful music, or… or watching the sunrise on a clear morning. And instead…”
“Yes?”
Helen hesitated, and made a revolted little sound. “He wanted me to part my lips. During.”
“Oh.”
“Is it because he’s Welsh?”
A mixture of sympathy and amusement swept through Kathleen. She replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “I don’t believe that manner of kissing is limited to the Welsh, dear. Perhaps the idea isn’t appealing at first. But if you try it a time or two, you might find it pleasant.”
“How could I? How could anyone?”
“There are many kinds of kisses,” Kathleen said. “Had Mr. Winterborne introduced you to it gradually, you may have been more disposed to like it.”
“I don’t think I like kisses at all.”
Kathleen dampened a fresh white cloth, folded it, and laid it across Helen’s forehead. “You will. With the right man, kissing is wonderful. Like falling into a long, sweet dream. You’ll see.”
“I don’t think so,” Helen whispered, her fingers plucking at the counterpane and twitching with agitation.
Staying by the bedside, Kathleen watched as Helen relaxed and drowsed.
She knew that the cause of Helen’s problems would have to be addressed before her condition would truly improve. Having suffered from nervous distress in the weeks after Theo’s death, Kathleen could recognize the signs in someone else. It made her heart ache to see Helen’s cheerful nature crumbling beneath the weight of anxiety.
If it went on for too long, Kathleen was afraid that Helen might descend into a deep melancholy.
She had to do something. Driven by intense worry, she left Helen’s bedside and went to ring for Clara.
As soon as the maid reached her room, Kathleen told her briskly, “I need a pair of walking boots, a veil, and my hooded cloak. I must go on an errand, and I need you to accompany me.”
Clara looked disconcerted. “I can run the errand, milady, if you tell me what you need.”
“Thank you, but I’m the only one who can do it.”
“Shall I tell the butler to have the coach readied?”
Kathleen shook her head. “It would be much easier and simpler to walk. It’s a short distance, less than a half mile. We’ll be on our way back before they’ve even finished harnessing the team.”
“A half mile?” Clara, who wasn’t fond of walking, looked aghast. “Through London at night?”
“It’s still light outside. We’ll be walking through gardens and along a promenade. Now hurry.” Before I lose my nerve, she thought.
The errand would have to be carried out before anyone had time to object or delay them. With luck, they would return home before dinner.
Once she was warmly dressed and ready to leave, Kathleen went to the upstairs parlor where Cassandra was reading and Pandora was cutting pictures out of periodicals and gluing them into a scrapbook.
“Where are you going?” Cassandra asked in surprise.
“Out for an errand. Clara and I will return soon.”
“Yes, but —”
“In the meantime,” Kathleen said, “I would appreciate it if one of you would make certain that Helen’s dinner tray is brought up to her. Sit with her and see that she eats something. But don’t ask questions. It’s better to stay quiet unless she wants you to talk.”
“But what about you?” Pandora asked, frowning. “What is this errand, and when will you come back?”
“It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“Whenever someone says that,” Pandora said, “it always means the opposite. Along with ‘It’s only a scratch’ or ‘Worse things happen at sea.’”
“Or,” Clara added glumly, ‘I’m only going out for a pint.’”
After a brisk walk, during which Kathleen and Clara merged with the mainstream of pedestrian traffic and were carried along in its momentum, they soon arrived at Cork Street.
“Winterborne’s!” Clara exclaimed, her face brightening. “I didn’t know it was a shopping errand, milady.”
“Unfortunately it’s not.” Kathleen walked to the end of the serried façades, stopping at a grand house that somehow managed to blend tastefully with the department store. “Clara, will you go to the door and say that Lady Trenear wishes to see Mr. Winterborne?”
The girl obeyed reluctantly, taking no pleasure in performing a task that was usually handled by a footman.
As Kathleen waited on the lowest step, Clara twisted the mechanical doorbell and rapped the ornate bronze knocker until the door opened. An unsmiling butler glanced at the pair of visitors, exchanged a few words with Clara, and closed the door again.
Turning toward Kathleen, Clara said with a long-suffering expression, “He’s going to see if Mr. Winterborne is at home.”
Kathleen nodded and folded her arms at her chest, shivering as a chilling breeze whipped the folds of her cloak. Ignoring the curious glances of a few passersby, she waited with determined patience.
A short, broadly built man with white hair walked past the steps, pausing to glance at the maid. He stared at her with undue attention.
“Clara?” he asked in bemusement.
Her eyes widened with relief and gladness. “Mr. Quincy!”
The valet turned to Kathleen, recognizing her even with the veil shrouding her face. “Lady Trenear,” he said reverently. “How does it happen that you are standing out here?”
“It’s good to see you, Quincy,” Kathleen said, smiling. “I’ve come to speak to Mr. Winterborne about a private matter. The butler said he would see if he was at home.”
“If Mr. Winterborne is not at home, he is most definitely at the store. I will locate him for you.” Clicking his tongue, Quincy escorted her up the stairs, with Clara following. “Keeping Lady Trenear waiting outside on the street,” he muttered in disbelief. “I’ll give that butler an earful he won’t soon forget.”
After opening the door with a key that hung on a gold fob, the valet showed them inside. The house was smart and modern, smelling of new paint and plaster, and wood finished with walnut oil.
Solicitously Quincy led Kathleen to an airy, high-ceilinged reading room and invited her to wait there while he took Clara to the servants’ hall. “Shall I have someone bring tea for you,” he asked, “while I go in search of Mr. Winterborne?”
She pulled back her veil, glad to remove the black haze from her vision. “That’s very kind, but there’s no need.”
Quincy hesitated, clearly longing to know the reason for her unorthodox visit. He settled for asking, “Everyone at Ravenel House is in good health, I hope?”
“Yes, they’re all well. Lady Helen is afflicted by a migraine, but I’m sure she’ll recover soon.”
He nodded, his snowy brows knitting together over his spectacles. “I’ll find Mr. Winterborne,” he said distractedly, and left with Clara in tow.
As she waited, Kathleen wandered around the reading room. More smells of newness, coupled with a slight staleness in the air. The house felt unfinished. Unoccupied. A paltry number of paintings and knickknacks seemed to have been scattered there as afterthoughts. The furniture looked as though it had never been used. Most of the reading room shelves were empty save for a handful of eclectic titles that Kathleen would have been willing to bet had been pulled carelessly from bookstore shelves and deposited there for display.
Judging by the reading room alone, Kathleen knew that it was not a house that Helen could be happy in, or a man she could ever be happy with.
&
nbsp; A quarter hour passed while she considered what to say to Winterborne. Unfortunately there was no diplomatic way to tell a man that, among other things, he had made his fiancée ill.
Winterborne entered the room, his larger-than-life presence seeming to take up every surplus inch of space. “Lady Trenear. What an unexpected pleasure.” He executed a shallow bow, his expression conveying that her visit was providing anything but pleasure to him.
She knew she had put them both in a difficult position. It was wildly unorthodox for her to call on an unmarried man with no one else present, and she was sorry for it. However, she’d had no choice.
“Please forgive me for inconveniencing you, Mr. Winterborne. I don’t intend to stay long.”
“Does anyone know you’re here?” he asked curtly.
“No.”
“Speak your piece, then, and make it fast.”
“Very well. I —”
“But if it has anything to do with Lady Helen,” he interrupted, “then leave now. She can come to me herself if there’s something that needs to be discussed.”
“I’m afraid Helen can’t go anywhere at the moment. She’s been in bed all day, ill with a nervous condition.”
His eyes changed, some unfathomable emotion spangling the dark depths. “A nervous condition,” he repeated, his voice iced with scorn. “That seems a common complaint among aristocratic ladies. Someday I’d like to know what makes you all so nervous.”
Kathleen would have expected a show of sympathy or a few words of concern for the woman he was betrothed to. “I’m afraid you are the cause of Helen’s distress,” she said bluntly. “Your visit yesterday put her in a state.”
Winterborne was silent, his eyes black and piercing.
“She told me only a little about what happened,” Kathleen continued. “But it’s clear that there is much you don’t understand about Helen. My late husband’s parents kept all three of their daughters very secluded. More than was good for them. As a result, all three are quite young for their age. Helen is one-and-twenty, but she hasn’t had the same experiences, or seasoning, as other girls her age. She knows nothing of the world outside Eversby Priory. Everything is new to her. Everything. The only men she has ever associated with have been a handful of close relations, the servants, and the occasional visitor to the estate. Most of what she knows about men has been from books and fairy tales.”
“No one can be that sheltered,” Winterborne said flatly.
“Not in your world. But at an estate like Eversby Priory, it’s entirely possible.” Kathleen paused. “In my opinion, it’s too soon for Helen to marry anyone, but when she does… she will need a husband with a placid temperament. One who will allow her to develop at her own pace.”
“And you assume I wouldn’t,” he said rather than asked.
“I think you will command and govern a wife just as you do everything else. I don’t believe you would ever harm her physically, but you’ll whittle her to fit your life, and make her exceedingly unhappy. This environment – London, the crowds, the department store – is so ill suited to her nature that she would wither like a transplanted orchid. I’m afraid I can’t support the idea of marriage for you and Helen.” Pausing, she took a long breath before saying, “I believe it’s in her best interest for the engagement to be broken.”
A heavy silence descended.
“Is that what she wants?”
“She said earlier today that she has no wish to see you again.”
Throughout Kathleen’s speech, Winterborne had looked away as if he were only half listening. At that last remark, however, she found herself the target of a bladelike gaze.
Perhaps, she thought uneasily, it would be best to leave soon.
Winterborne approached her as she stood by the bookshelves. “Tell her she’s free, then,” he sneered. He leaned his cane against a shelf and set a broad hand on a section of fluted casing. “If a few kisses are enough to make her bedridden, I doubt she’d live through her first night as my wife.”
Kathleen returned his gaze without flinching, knowing that he was trying to unnerve her. “I’ll see that the ring is returned to you as soon as possible.”
“She can keep it as compensation for wasted time.”
Her nerves crawled as he set his free hand on the other side of the bookcase, trapping her without touching her. His shoulders blocked the rest of the room from her view.
Winterborne’s insolent gaze raked over her. “Perhaps I’ll take you instead,” he astonished her by saying. “You’re a blue blood. One supposes you’re a lady. And for all your lack of size, you appear far more durable than Lady Helen.”
She stared at him coldly. “There’s nothing to be gained by mocking me.”
“You don’t believe I’m serious?”
“I don’t give a monkey’s toss whether you’re serious or not,” she shot back. “I have no interest in anything you could offer.”
Winterborne grinned, his amusement seeming genuine but not the least bit friendly.
As Kathleen began to sidle away, he moved to block her with swift efficiency.
She froze, fear beginning to hum through her.
“Never assume you know what someone’s going to offer. You should at least hear mine before you turn it down.” Winterborne leaned down until his face was close to hers. That small movement conveyed at least a half-dozen distinct threats, any one of which would have been enough to cow her.
“It includes marriage,” he said, “which is more than you’ll ever have from Trenear.” Contempt gleamed in his eyes as he saw her surprise. “No, he didn’t tell me that you and he were carrying on. But it was obvious in Hampshire. He’ll tire of you soon, if he hasn’t already. Trenear wants novelty, he does. But what I want is to go places where I’m not welcome – and for that, I’ll need to marry a highborn lady. It doesn’t matter to me that you’re not a virgin.”
“How fortunate,” Kathleen couldn’t resist saying acidly, “since virgins don’t appear to be your forte.” As soon as the comment left her lips, she regretted it.
That unsettling cold grin again. “Aye, a virgin sacrifice Lady Helen was, for the sake of Eversby Priory and the rest of the Ravenels.” Brazenly he used his forefinger to trace the seam at the shoulder of her dress. “Wouldn’t you do the same for them? For her?”
She didn’t flinch at his touch, although her flesh prickled. “I don’t need to. Lord Trenear will take care of them.”
“Who will take care of Trenear? He’ll have to scheme and labor a lifetime to keep his estate from falling to ruins. But with the smallest fraction of my fortune” – he snapped his fingers in front of her face – “all his debt will vanish. The house will be restored, and the land will be made fat and green. A happy ending for everyone.”
“Except for the woman who marries you,” Kathleen said disdainfully.
Winterborne’s smile was edged with a sneer. “There are women who like it the way I give it. In the past I’ve even pleased a fine lady or two, who were tired of lily-white gentlemen with soft hands.” He stepped forward, crowding her against the bookshelves. Suggestiveness colored his low tone. “I could be your bit o’ rough.”
Kathleen didn’t know what he intended, or how far he might go in the effort to intimidate her.
She would never find out. Before she could reply, a murderous voice came from the threshold.
“Back away, or I’ll rip every limb from your body.”
Chapter 33
W
interborne took his hands from the bookshelf casings and mockingly kept them in the air as if he were being held at gunpoint. With a gasp of relief, Kathleen skirted around him and hurried toward Devon. But she stopped in her tracks when she saw his face.
From the looks of it, Devon’s grip on sanity was not at all certain. His eyes gleamed with violence, and the muscles of his jaw were twitching. The infamous Ravenel temper had begun to burn every civilized layer into bright-edged ash, like the pages of a book cast i
nto a fire.
“My lord,” Kathleen began breathlessly, “I thought you’d gone to Hampshire.”
“I did.” His wrathful gaze flickered to her. “I just returned to Ravenel House. The twins said they thought you might be here.”
“I found it necessary to talk to Mr. Winterborne about Helen —”
“You should have left it to me,” Devon said through gritted teeth. “The mere fact of being alone with Winterborne could create a scandal that would haunt you for the rest of your life.”