Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels #1)(66)

Annoyed, Devon gave him a narrow-eyed glance. “There’s no need to carry on as if Helen’s going to be dragged to the altar in chains. She’ll have a choice in the matter.”

“The right words can bind someone more effectively than chains. You’ll manipulate her into doing what you want regardless of how she feels.”

“Enjoy the view from your moral pedestal,” Devon said. “Unfortunately I have to keep my feet on the ground.”

West stood and went to the window, scowling at the view. “There’s a flaw in your plan. Winterborne may decide that Helen isn’t to his taste.”

“Oh, he’ll take her,” Devon assured him. “Marrying a daughter of the peerage is the only way for him to climb in society. Consider it, West: Winterborne is one of the richest men in London and half the nobility is in debt to him – and yet the same aristocrats who beg him to extend their credit refuse to welcome him into their drawing rooms. If he marries an earl’s daughter, however, doors that have always been closed to him would instantly open.” Devon paused reflectively. “Helen would do well for him.”

“She may not want him.”

“Would she rather become a penniless spinster?”

“Perhaps,” West replied testily. “How should I know?”

“My question was rhetorical. Of course Helen will agree to the match. Aristocratic marriages are always arranged for the benefit of the family.”

“Yes, but the brides are usually paired with their social equals. What you’re proposing is to lower Helen by selling her to any common lout with deep pockets for your own benefit.”

“Not any common lout,” Devon said. “One of our friends.”

West let out a reluctant laugh and turned back to face him. “Being a friend of ours doesn’t exactly recommend him. I’d rather let him have Pandora or Cassandra – at least they have enough spirit to stand up to him.”

Helen was glad and relieved that the Christmas Eve party and servants’ ball would be held as planned. It had been discussed among the family, with all of them sensitive to the plight of poor Mr. Winterborne in his invalid condition. However, both Devon and West had said flatly that Winterborne would be the last person to want a holiday to be canceled for his sake, when it would mean so much to the servants and tenants who had worked so hard all year. Going on with the celebration as planned would be good for the morale of the entire household, and in Helen’s opinion, it was important to honor the spirit of the holiday. No harm was ever done by encouraging love and goodwill.

The household bustled with renewed excitement as everyone wrapped gifts and made preparations, while rich smells of pastries and joint roasts drifted from the kitchen. Hampers of oranges and apples were set out in the entrance hall, along with baskets containing spinning tops, carved wooden animals, skipping ropes, and cup-and-ball toys.

“I feel sorry for Mr. Winterborne,” Pandora remarked. She and Cassandra were busy wrapping sugared almonds in little twists of paper, while Helen arranged flowers in a large vase. “He’ll be alone in a dark room,” she continued, “while the rest of us are enjoying decorations that he sent to us, and can’t even see!”

“I feel sorry for him too,” Cassandra said. “But his room is far enough from the noise that it shouldn’t bother him. And since the medicine from Dr. Weeks makes him sleep most of the time, he probably won’t even know what’s happening.”

“He’s not sleeping now,” Pandora said. “According to Mrs. Church, he refused to take his afternoon dose. He knocked a cup out of her hand and said something beastly and didn’t even apologize!”

Helen paused in the middle of arranging a large vase of red roses, evergreen branches, white lilies, and chrysanthemums. “He’s in a great deal of pain,” she said, “and probably frightened, as any man in his situation would be. Don’t judge him unfairly, dear.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Pandora said. “It would be awfully dull to lie there with no diversions. Not even being able to read! Kathleen said she was going to visit him, and try to coax him to take some broth or tea. I hope she had more luck than Mrs. Church.”

Frowning, Helen trimmed another rose stem and slid it into the arrangement. “I’ll go upstairs,” she said, “and ask if there’s something I can do to help. Cassandra, would you finish these flowers for me?”

“If Mr. Winterborne would like,” Pandora offered, “Cassie and I could read The Pickwick Papers to him. We’ll do all the characters’ voices and make it very amusing.”

“I could bring Josephine to visit him after I finish the flowers,” Cassandra suggested. “She’s much calmer than Napoleon, and it always makes me feel better to have a dog with me when I’m ill.”

“Perhaps he’d like to meet Hamlet,” Pandora exclaimed.

Helen smiled into her younger sisters’ earnest faces. “You are both very kind. No doubt Mr. Winterborne will be grateful for the entertainment after he’s had a bit more rest.”

She left the dining room and crossed through the entrance hall, enjoying the sight of the glittering tree. Beneath the ornamented branches, a housemaid hummed a carol as she swept up fallen needles. She went upstairs and found Kathleen and Mrs. Church standing outside Winterborne’s room. Both of them looked concerned and exasperated as they conferred in hushed tones.