Hello Stranger (The Ravenels #4)(105)

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.