Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels #1)(49)

The table fell silent, everyone staring at him in collective surprise.

“Who?” Kathleen asked suspiciously. For his sake, she hoped it wasn’t one of those railway men plotting to destroy tenant farms.

“Mr. Winterborne himself.”

Amid the girls’ gasping and squealing, Kathleen scowled at Devon. Damn him, he knew it wasn’t right to invite a stranger to a house of mourning. “The owner of a department store?” she asked. “No doubt accompanied by a crowd of fashionable friends and hangers-on? My lord, surely you haven’t forgotten that we’re all in mourning!”

“How could I?” he parried with a pointed glance that incensed her. “Winterborne will come alone, as a matter of fact. I doubt it will burden my household unduly to set one extra place at the table on Christmas Eve.”

“A gentleman of Mr. Winterborne’s influence must already have a thousand invitations for the holiday. Why must he come here?”

Devon’s eyes glinted with enjoyment at her barely contained fury. “Winterborne is a private man. I suppose the idea of a quiet holiday in the country appeals to him. For his sake, I would like to have a proper Christmas feast. And perhaps a few carols could be sung.”

The girls chimed in at once.

“Oh, do say yes, Kathleen!”

“That would be splendicious!”

Even Helen murmured something to the effect that she couldn’t see how it would do any harm.

“Why stop there?” Kathleen asked sarcastically, giving Devon a look of open animosity. “Why not have musicians and dancing, and a great tall tree lit with candles?”

“What excellent suggestions,” came Devon’s silky reply. “Yes, let’s have all of that.”

Infuriated to the point of speechlessness, Kathleen glared at him while Helen discreetly pried the butter knife from her clenched fingers.

Chapter 14

December swept over Hampshire, bringing chilling breezes and whitening the trees and hedgerows with frost. In the household’s general enthusiasm for the approaching holiday, Kathleen soon gave up any hope of curtailing the celebrations. She found herself surrendering by degrees. First she consented to let the servants plan their own party on Christmas Eve, and then she agreed to allow a large fir tree in the entrance hall.

And then West asked if the festivities could be expanded even more.

He found Kathleen in the study, laboring over correspondence. “May I interrupt you for a few moments?”

“Of course.” She gestured to a chair near her writing desk, and set the pen in its holder. Noticing the deliberately bland expression on his face, she asked, “What scheme are you hatching?”

He blinked in surprise. “How do you know there’s a scheme?”

“Whenever you try to look innocent, it’s obvious you’re up to something.”

West grinned. “The girls wouldn’t dare approach you about it, but I told them I would, since it’s been established that I can outrun you when necessary.” He paused. “It seems that Lord and Lady Trenear used to invite all the tenant families and some local tradesmen to a party on Christmas Eve —”

“Absolutely not.”

“Yes, that was my first reaction. However…” He gave her a patient, cajoling glance. “Encouraging a spirit of community would benefit everyone on the estate.” He paused. “It’s not that different from the charitable visits you pay to those families individually.”

Kathleen buried her face in her hands with a groan. A grand party. Music. Presents, sweets, holiday cheer. She knew exactly what Lady Berwick would have said: It was indecent to host such revelry in a house of mourning. It was wrong to steal a day or two of joy out of a year that had been set aside for sorrow. Worst of all, she secretly wanted to do it.

She spoke through her fingers. “It’s not proper,” she said weakly. “We haven’t done anything the way we should: The black was taken from the windows far too early, and no one’s wearing veils anymore, and —”

“No one gives a damn,” West said. “Do you think any of the tenants would blame you for setting aside your mourning just for one night? To the contrary, they would appreciate it as a gesture of kindness and goodwill. I know next to nothing about Christmas, of course, but even so… it strikes me as being in keeping with the spirit of the holiday.” At her long hesitation, he went in for the kill. “I’ll pay for it out of my own income. After all…” A touch of self-pity shaded his voice. “… how else am I to learn about Christmas?”

Lowering her hands, Kathleen gave him a dark glance. “You’re a shameless manipulator, Weston Ravenel.”

He grinned. “I knew you’d say yes.”

“It’s a very tall tree,” Helen commented a week later, as they stood in the entrance hall.

“We’ve never had one this large before,” Mrs. Church admitted with a perturbed frown.

Together they watched as West, a pair of footmen, and the butler struggled to heft the trunk of an enormous fir into a metal tub filled with stones. The air was filled with masculine grunts and profanity. Shiny green needles sprinkled across the floor, pencil-thin cones scattering as the tree was hoisted upward. Their underbutler stood halfway up the curving grand staircases, holding the end of a cord that had been tied to an upper section of the trunk. On the other side of the hall, Pandora and Cassandra stood at the second-floor balcony, gripping another attached cord. Once the trunk was positioned perfectly, the cords would be tied to the balustrade spindles to keep the tree from tilting to one side or the other.