Marrying Winterborne (The Ravenels #2) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,41
to explain why to a nineteen-year-old girl.
A faint blush rose in Helen’s cheeks as she reflected that Devon and Kathleen must have shared a bed, in the way of a husband and wife. It was a bit shocking.
But not nearly as shocking as it would have been if Helen hadn’t done the same thing with Rhys Winterborne only yesterday.
“But why—” Pandora persisted.
“Oh dear,” Helen interceded, “the dogs are sniffing around the tea table. Come, let’s all sit while I pour. Kathleen, how is Cousin West?”
Kathleen settled into a wingback chair, sending Helen a grateful glance.
The subject of West instantly diverted the twins, as Helen had known it would. Devon’s brother, a handsome young rake who pretended to be far more cynical than he actually was, had become the twins’ favorite person in the world. He treated both of them with casual affection and benevolent interest, acting as the older brother they’d never really had. Theo had always lived away at boarding school, and then London.
Talk soon turned to the subject of Eversby Priory. Devon described the massive hematite ore deposit that had been discovered, and how they were developing plans to quarry and sell it.
“Are we rich now?” Pandora asked.
“It’s not polite to ask,” Kathleen said, lifting her teacup. But just before she took a sip, she winked over the rim and murmured, “But yes.”
The twins chortled.
“As rich as Mr. Winterborne?” Cassandra inquired.
“Silly,” Pandora said, “no one’s as rich as Mr. Winterborne.” Noticing the scowl dawning on Devon’s face, she said apologetically, “Oh. We’re not supposed to mention him.”
Devon steered the conversation back to Eversby Priory, and the girls listened avidly as he described proposed plans for a station in the village. They all agreed that it would be marvelously convenient to have access to the railway so close to home, rather than go to the station at Alton.
Teatime was a lavish affair, an indulgence the Ravenels had always maintained no matter what else might have to be sacrificed. A flowered porcelain tea service had been brought out on a heavy silver tray, along with three-tiered stands filled with crisp golden scones, mincemeat puffs, slices of sweet Damson cheese on toast, and tiny sandwiches filled with butter and cress, or egg salad. Every few minutes, a servant came to refresh the hot water or replenish the pitchers of milk and cream.
As the family laughed and chatted, Helen did her best to participate, but her gaze strayed frequently to the mantel clock. Half past five: only ninety minutes until acceptable calling hours would end. She broke off a portion of scone and carefully pressed a morsel of comb honey onto it, waiting until the comb was warm and melting before popping it into her mouth. It was delicious, but in her anxiety, she could hardly swallow. Sipping her tea, she nodded and smiled, only half-listening to the conversation.
“This was lovely,” Kathleen finally pronounced, setting her napkin beside the plate. “I’ll believe I’ll rest now—it has been a tiring day. I will see you all at dinner.”
Devon stood automatically and went to help her from the chair.
“But it’s not yet seven,” Helen said, trying to conceal her dismay. “Someone may call. It is a visiting day, after all.”
Kathleen gave her a quizzical smile. “I doubt anyone will call. Devon has been away, and we’ve extended no invitations.” She paused, focusing more closely on Helen’s face. “Unless . . . we’re expecting someone?”
The mantel clock was absurdly loud in the absence of conversation.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Yes,” Helen said impulsively, “I’m expecting company.”
Simultaneously, Kathleen and Devon asked, “Who?”
“My lord.” The first footman had come to the doorway. “Mr. Winterborne is here on a personal matter.”
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Helen’s nerves were rioting, her blood coursing as Devon glanced at her sharply. His expression drove Helen’s heartbeat up into her throat.
He returned his attention to the footman. “Did you show him in?”
“Yes, my lord. He’s waiting in the library.”
“Please don’t turn Mr. Winterborne away,” Helen said with forced composure.
“There’s no chance of that,” Devon replied. The words were hardly reassuring; on the contrary, they were uttered with soft menace.
Kathleen touched her husband’s arm lightly and murmured to him.
Devon looked down at her, and some of the violence left his eyes. But still, an unsettling suggestion of ferocity practically radiated from him. “Stay up here,” he muttered, and strode from the room.
Chapter 10
KATHLEEN LOOKED REMARKABLY COLLECTED AS she sat in her upholstered chair. “Helen, will you have another cup of tea?”
“Yes.” Helen sent a quick, beseeching glance to Pandora