Devil in Spring (The Ravenels #3)(60)

“Pandora—”

She strode away without listening, nearly breaking into a run.



As soon as Pandora reached her room, she went back to bed, fully dressed, and lay unmoving for hours.

She felt nothing, which should have been a relief. But somehow it was even worse than feeling awful.

Thinking about things that usually made her happy had no effect. It didn’t help to envision her future of independence and freedom, and what it would look like to see stacks of her board games displayed on store tables. There was nothing to look forward to. Nothing would ever give her pleasure again.

Maybe she needed some kind of medicine—she was so terribly cold—could she have a fever?

Kathleen and the others had probably returned from their outing by now. But Pandora couldn’t turn to anyone for comfort. Not even her own twin. Cassandra would try to offer solutions or say something loving and encouraging, and Pandora would end up having to pretend to feel better to keep from worrying her.

Her chest and throat wouldn’t stop hurting. Maybe if she let herself cry, it would make her feel better.

But the tears wouldn’t come. They stayed locked inside the frozen vault of her chest.

This had never happened before. She started to become seriously worried. How long would this go on? She felt like she was turning into a stone statue, starting from the inside out. She would end up on a marble pedestal with birds perched on her head—

Tap, tap, tap. The bedroom door opened slightly. “Milady?”

Ida’s voice.

The lady’s maid came into the dim room, holding a little round tray. “I brought you some tea.”

“Is it morning again?” Pandora asked, in a daze.

“No, it’s three in the afternoon.” Ida came to the bedside.

“I don’t want tea.”

“It’s from his lordship.”

“Lord St. Vincent?”

“He sent for me and asked me to fetch you, and when I said you were resting, he said, ‘Give her some tea, then. Pour it down her throat if necessary.’ Then he handed me a note for you.”

How annoying. How incredibly highhanded. A flicker of actual feeling seared through the numbness. Groggily Pandora struggled to sit up.

After giving her the cup of tea, Ida went to draw back the curtains. The glare of daylight made Pandora flinch.

The tea was hot, but it had no flavor. She forced herself to drink it, and rubbed her dry, burning eyes with her knuckles.

“Here, milady.” Ida gave her a small sealed envelope, and took the empty cup and saucer.

Pandora looked dully at the red wax seal on the envelope, stamped with an elaborate family crest. If Gabriel had written something nice to her, she didn’t want to read it. If he’d written something not nice, she didn’t want to read that either.

“By the holy poker,” Ida exclaimed, “just open it!”

Reluctantly Pandora complied. As she pulled a small folded note from the envelope, a tiny, fuzzy object fell out. Reflexively she yelped, thinking it was an insect. But at second glance, she realized it was a bit of fabric. Picking it up gingerly, she saw that it was one of the decorative felt leaves from her missing Berlin wool slipper. It had been carefully snipped off.

My lady,

Your slipper is being held for ransom. If you ever want to see it again, come alone to the formal drawing room. For every hour you delay, an additional embellishment will be removed.

—St. Vincent



Now Pandora was exasperated. Why was he doing this? Was he trying to draw her into another argument?

“What does it say?” Ida asked.

“I have to go downstairs for a hostage negotiation,” Pandora said shortly. “Would you help put me to rights?”

“Yes, milady.”

The lavender silk dress had been crushed and crumpled into a mass of wrinkles, which obliged Pandora to change into a fresh day gown of plain-woven yellow faille. This frock wasn’t as fine as the first one, but it was lighter and more comfortable, without so many underskirts. Fortunately her elaborate hairstyle had been so well anchored and pinned that it needed minimal repair.

“Will you take out the pearl pins?” Pandora asked. “They’re too nice for this dress.”

“But they look pretty,” Ida protested.

“I don’t want to look pretty.”

“What if his lordship proposes?”

“He won’t. I’ve already made it clear that if he did, I wouldn’t accept.”

Ida looked aghast. “You . . . but . . . why?”

It was over the line, of course, for a lady’s maid to ask such a thing, but Pandora answered nonetheless. “Because then I’d have to be someone’s wife instead of having my own board game company.”

A hairbrush dropped from Ida’s lax fingers. Her eyes were like saucers as she met Pandora’s gaze in the vanity mirror. “You’re refusing to marry the heir to the Duke of Kingston because you’d rather work?”

“I like work,” Pandora said curtly.

“Only because you don’t have to do it all the time!” A thunderous expression contorted Ida’s round face. “Of all the ninny-pated things I’ve heard you say, that is the worst thing ever. You’ve gone off your nob. To refuse a man such as that—what can you be thinking? A man almost too beautiful to live . . . a young, strapping man in the full vigor of his years, mind you . . . and on top of that, he’s rich as the Royal Mint. Only a donkey-headed halfwit would turn him away!”