Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,10
departed, however, her smile vanished. “Is she going to hurt him?” she asked the duke. “He can’t have a black eye for the wedding.”
Kingston smiled. “I wouldn’t worry. Despite years of provocation from all three brothers, Phoebe has yet to resort to physical violence.”
“Why did Gabriel volunteer her for the farm tour in the first place?” Pandora asked. “Even for him, that was a bit high-handed.”
“It pertains to an ongoing quarrel,” the duke said dryly. “After Henry’s death, Phoebe was content to leave all the decisions to Edward Larson. Lately, however, Gabriel has been urging her to take a stronger hand in the management of the Clare lands—just as Mr. Ravenel advised a minute ago.”
“But she doesn’t want to?” Pandora asked sympathetically. “Because farming is so boring?”
West gave her a sardonic look. “How do you know if it’s boring? You’ve never done it.”
“I can tell by the books you read.” Turning to Kingston, Pandora explained, “They’re all about things like scientific butter making, or pig keeping, or smut. Now, who could possibly find smut interesting?”
“Not that kind of smut,” West said hastily, as he saw the duke’s brows lift.
“You’re referring to the multicellular fungi that afflicts grain crops, of course,” Kingston said blandly.
“There are all different kinds of smut,” Pandora said, warming to the subject. “Smut balls, loose smut, stinking smut—”
“Pandora,” West interrupted in an undertone, “for the love of mercy, stop saying that word in public.”
“Is it unladylike?” She heaved a sigh. “It must be. All the interesting words are.”
With a rueful smile, West returned his attention to the duke. “We were talking about Lady Clare’s lack of interest in estate farming.”
“I don’t believe the problem stems from a lack of interest,” Kingston said. “The issue is one of loyalty, not only to her husband, but also to Edward Larson, who offered support and solace at a difficult time. He gradually assumed responsibility for the estate as Henry’s illness worsened, and now . . . my daughter is reluctant to question his decisions.” After a reflective pause, he continued with a slight frown, “It was an oversight on my part not to anticipate she would need such skills.”
“Skills can be learned,” West said pragmatically. “I myself was prepared for a meaningless life of indolence and gluttony—which I was thoroughly enjoying, by the way—before my brother put me to work.”
Kingston’s eyes glinted with amusement. “I was told you were a bit of a hellion.”
West slid him a wary glance. “I suppose that came from my brother?”
“No,” the duke said idly. “Other sources.”
Damn. West recalled what Devon had said about the gaming club, Jenner’s, started by the duchess’s father and eventually landing in Kingston’s possession. Of all the clubs in London, Jenner’s had the deepest bank and the most select membership, which included royalty, nobility, members of Parliament, and men of fortune. An endless flow of gossip and information was passed upward from the croupiers, tellers, waiters, and night porters. Kingston had access to the private information of England’s most powerful individuals—their credit, their financial assets, their scandals, and even their health issues.
My God, the things he must know, West thought glumly. “Whatever unflattering rumors you’ve heard about me are probably true,” he said. “Except for the really vile and disgraceful ones: those are definitely true.”
The duke seemed amused. “Every man has his past indiscretions, Ravenel. It gives us all something interesting to discuss over port.” He offered Pandora his arm. “Come, both of you. I want to introduce you to some of my acquaintances.”
“Thank you, sir,” West said with a negative shake of his head, “but I’m—”
“You’re delighted by my invitation,” Kingston informed him gently, “as well as grateful for the honor of my interest. Come along, Ravenel, don’t be a hairpin.”
Reluctantly West closed his mouth and fell into step behind them.
Chapter 4
Fuming, Phoebe hauled her brother by the arm along a small hallway until she found an unoccupied room. It was sparsely furnished with no specific purpose, the kind of room one often found in very large, old houses. After dragging Gabriel inside, she closed the door and whirled to face him.
“What do you mean by volunteering me for a farm tour, you lunkhead?”
“I was helping you,” Gabriel said reasonably. “You need to learn about estate farming.”
Of all her siblings, Gabriel was the one to whom Phoebe had always felt closest. In his company, she could make petty or sarcastic remarks, or confess her foolish mistakes, knowing he would never judge her harshly. They knew each other’s faults and