by Lisa Kleypas
But first, she had to attend her brother Gabriel’s wedding.
Knots of dread tightened in Phoebe’s stomach as the carriage rolled toward the ancient estate of Eversby Priory. This was the first event she had attended since Henry’s death. Even knowing she would be among friends and relations, she was nervous. But there was another reason she was so thoroughly unsettled.
The bride’s last name was Ravenel.
Gabriel was betrothed to a lovely and unique girl, Lady Pandora Ravenel, who seemed to adore him every bit as much as he did her. It was easy to like Pandora, who was outspoken and funny and imaginative. In fact, Phoebe had found herself liking the other Ravenels she’d met when they’d come to visit her family’s seaside home. There was Pandora and her twin sister, Cassandra, and their distant cousin, Devon Ravenel, who had inherited the earldom recently. His wife, Kathleen, was friendly and charming. Had the family stopped there, all would have been well.
But Fate had turned out to have a malicious sense of humor: Pandora’s distant cousin, Devon’s younger brother, was none other than West Ravenel.
Phoebe was finally going to have to meet the man who’d made Henry’s years at school so wretched. There was no way for her to avoid it.
West lived on the estate, no doubt puttering about, pretending to be busy while sponging off his older brother’s inheritance. Recalling Henry’s descriptions of the big, lazy sloth, Phoebe envisioned West drinking and laying abed until noon, leering at the housemaids as they cleaned up after him.
It didn’t seem fair that someone as good and kind as Henry should have been given so few years, when a cretin like West Ravenel would probably live to be a hundred.
“Mama, why do you look cross?” her son Justin asked innocently from the opposite carriage seat. The elderly nanny beside him had leaned back to doze in the corner.
Phoebe cleared her expression instantly. “I’m not cross, darling.”
“Your brows were pointed down, and your lips were pinched up like a trout,” he said. “You only do that when you’re cross, or when Stephen’s diaper is smelloquent.”
Phoebe smiled, recognizing one of Pandora’s made-up words. Looking down at the baby in her lap, who had been lulled by the repetitive motion of the carriage, she murmured, “The baby is quite dry, and I’m not at all out of humor. I’m . . . well, you know I haven’t kept company with people for a long time. I feel a bit shy about jumping back into the swim of things.”
“When Grandfather taught me how to swim in cold water,” Justin volunteered, “he said not to jump in all at once. He said go in up to your waist first, so your body knows what’s coming. This will be practice for you, Mama.”
Considering her son’s point, Phoebe regarded him with fond pride. “I’ll try to go in gradually,” she said. “What a wise boy you are. You do a good job of listening to people.”
“I don’t listen to all people,” Justin told her in a matter-of-fact tone. “Only to the ones I like.”
Kneeling up on the carriage seat, the child stared at the ancient Jacobean mansion in the near distance. Once the fortified home of a dozen monks, the huge, highly ornamented structure bristled with rows of slender chimneys. It was earthbound, stocky, but it reached for the sky at the same time.
“It’s big,” Justin said in awe. “The roof is big, the trees are big, the gardens are big, the hedges are big . . . what if I get lost?” He didn’t sound worried, however, only intrigued.
“Stay where you are and shout until I find you,” Phoebe said. “But there’ll be no need for concern, darling. When I’m not with you, you’ll have Nanny . . . she won’t let you stray far.”
Justin’s skeptical gaze went to the dozing elderly nanny, and his lips curled in an impish grin as he looked back at Phoebe.
The caravan of fine carriages progressed along the drive, conveying the entourage of Challons and their servants, as well as a mountain of leather-bound bags and trunks. The estate grounds, like the surrounding farmland, were beautifully maintained, with deep, mature hedges, and old stone walls covered with climbing roses and soft, fluttery bursts of purple wisteria. Jessamine and honeysuckle perfumed the air as the carriages came to a slow halt in front of the portico.
Nanny awoke from her light snooze with a start and began to gather little odds and ends into her carpet bag. She took Stephen from Phoebe, who followed Justin as he bounded out.
“Justin . . .” Phoebe said uneasily, watching him dart through the mass of servants and family members like a hummingbird, chirping little hellos. She saw the familiar figures of Devon and Kathleen Ravenel—Lord and Lady Trenear—welcoming the arriving guests. There were her parents, and her younger sister Seraphina, and Pandora and Cassandra, and a dozen people she didn’t recognize. Everyone was laughing and talking, animated by the excitement of the wedding. A shrinking feeling came over Phoebe at the thought of meeting strangers and making conversation. Sparkling repartee wasn’t even a possibility. If only she were still dressed in protective mourning, with a veil concealing her face.
In the periphery of her vision, she saw Justin trotting up the front steps, unaccompanied. Aware of Nanny starting forward, Phoebe touched her arm lightly. “I’ll run after him,” she murmured.
“Yes, milady.”
Phoebe was actually glad Justin had wandered inside the house—it gave her an excuse to avoid the gauntlet of guests being received.
The entrance hall was busy, but it was still calmer and quieter than outside. A man directed the tumult of activity, giving curt instructions to passing servants. His hair, a shade of brown so dark it could easily have been mistaken for black, gleamed like liquid as the light moved over it. The man listened closely to an issue the housekeeper was explaining about the arrangements of bedrooms. Simultaneously he tossed a key to an approaching under-butler, who caught it with a raised hand and dashed off on some errand.
The stranger radiated a sort of contained vigor that Phoebe found striking. He didn’t have the relaxed, languid manner of a gentleman. He was well-dressed in simple, expertly tailored clothes, not livery. Perhaps he was an estate manager? But his complexion was the glowing golden-brown of someone who labored in the sun. How curious.
Justin had ventured to the side of the grand staircase to investigate the elaborate wood carving.
Phoebe went to him quickly. “Justin, you mustn’t wander off without telling me or Nanny,” she whispered.
“Look, Mama.”
Her gaze followed the direction of his small forefinger. She saw a carving of a little nest of mice, a playful and unexpected touch, especially considering the grandeur of the staircase.
Phoebe smiled. “I like that.”
“Me too.”
As Justin crouched to stare at the carving more closely, a glass marble dropped out of his pocket and hit the inlaid parquet floor. Dismayed, Phoebe and Justin watched the little glass sphere roll away rapidly.
But its momentum was brought to an abrupt halt as the dark-haired man pinned it with the tip of his shoe in an impressive display of timing. Finishing his conversation, the man bent to pick up the marble. As the housekeeper bustled away, the man turned his attention to Phoebe and Justin.
His eyes were shockingly blue in that sun-tanned face, the brief smile a dazzling flash of white. He was very handsome, his features strong and even, with faint, pale whisks of laugh lines radiating from the outer corners of his eyes. He seemed like someone who would be irreverent and amusing, but there was also something shrewd about him, something a bit flinty. As if he’d had his share of experience in the world and had few illusions left. Somehow that made him even more attractive.
He approached without haste, moving with athletic ease. It was only when he stopped next to them that Phoebe realized how very tall he was, his shoulders broad and sturdy. Her lungs contracted, forcing her to take an extra breath.
The strangest feeling came over her, something that reminded her a little of the early days of her marriage to Henry . . . that shak
y, embarrassing, inexplicable desire to press her body intimately against someone else’s. Until now, she’d never felt it for anyone but Henry, and never anything like this fire-and-ice jolt of awareness.
Feeling guilty and confused, Phoebe backed away a step, pulling Justin with her.
But Justin resisted, evidently feeling it had fallen to him to begin the introductions. “I’m Justin, Lord Clare,” he announced. “This is my Mama. Papa isn’t here with us because he died.”
Phoebe felt a brilliant pink flush, never flattering on a redhead, race from her scalp down to her toes.
The man wasn’t a bit flustered, only sank to his haunches to bring his face level with Justin’s. His voice was gentle and low, and made Phoebe feel as if she were stretching across a deep feather mattress.
“I lost my father when I wasn’t much older than you,” he said to Justin.
“Oh, I didn’t lose mine,” came Justin’s earnest reply. “I know where he is. Heaven.”
The stranger smiled, his eyes warm. “A pleasure to meet you, Justin.” The two shook hands gravely. He held the marble up to the light, viewing the tiny porcelain figure of a sheep embedded into the clear glass marble. “This is a fine piece,” he remarked, and handed it to Justin. “Do you ever play Ring Taw, Lord Clare?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Double castle?
Justin shook his head. “I don’t know that one.”
“We’ll play a game or two during your stay here, if your Mama doesn’t object.”
Phoebe was mortified by her inability to reply. Her heartbeat was stampeding out of control.
“Mama isn’t used to talking to grown-ups,” Justin said. “She likes children better.”
“I’m very childlike,” the man said promptly. “Ask anyone around here.”
Phoebe found herself smiling up at him as he stood to face her. “You’re the estate manager?” she asked.
“Most of the time.” His rueful grin weakened her knees. “But there’s no job at this estate, scullery maid included, that I haven’t tried at least once, to gain at least some small understanding of it.”
A strange, terrible suspicion flickered through Phoebe’s mind.
“How long have you been employed here?” she asked cautiously.
“Since my brother inherited it.” The blue-eyed stranger bowed before continuing. “West Ravenel . . . at your service.”
For the story of Mr. West Ravenel
and Phoebe, Lady Clare,
keep an eye out for
Devil’s Daughter
About the Author
LISA KLEYPAS graduated from Wellesley College with apolitical science degree. She is a RITA® Award-winning author of both historical romance and contemporary women’s fiction. Her novels are published in fourteen different languages and are bestsellers all over the world. She lives in Washington State with her husband, Gregory, and their two children.
www.lisakleypas.com
www.avonromance.com
www.facebook.com/avonromance
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By Lisa Kleypas
Hello Stranger
Devil in Spring
Marrying Winterborne
Cold-Hearted Rake
Scandal in Spring
Devil in Winter
It Happened One Autumn
Secrets of a Summer Night
Again the Magic
Where’s My Hero? (with Kinley McGregor and Julia Quinn)
Worth Any Price
When Strangers Marry
Lady Sophia’s Lover
Suddenly You
Where Dreams Begin
Someone to Watch Over Me
Stranger in My Arms
Because You’re Mine
Somewhere I’ll Find You
Three Weddings and a Kiss (with Kathleen E. Woodiwiss, Catherine Anderson, and Loretta Chase)
Prince of Dreams
Midnight Angel
Dreaming of You
Then Came You
Only With Your Love
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from Devil’s Daughter copyright © by Lisa Kleypas.
hello stranger. Copyright © 2018 by Lisa Kleypas. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
Digital Edition MARCH 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-237189-8
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-237191-1
Cover illustration by Alan Ayers
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HarperCollins is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America and other countries.
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