Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels #1)(9)

“I despise them,” Kathleen said, wrinkling her nose. “Stingy, demanding flowers that take forever to bloom. And some of them smell like old boots or rancid meat.”

“Those aren’t my favorite,” Helen admitted. “But I hope to love them someday. Sometimes one must love something before it becomes lovable.”

“I disagree,” Kathleen said. “No matter how much you bring yourself to love that bulgy white one in the corner —”

“Dressleria,” Helen supplied helpfully.

“Yes. Even if you come to love it madly, it’s still going to smell like old boots.”

Helen smiled and continued to lead Devon along the row, explaining how the glasshouse temperature was maintained by means of an adjacent boiler room and a rainwater tank.

Noticing the speculative way Devon glanced down at Helen caused the hairs on the back of Kathleen’s neck to lift unpleasantly. He and his brother, West, seemed exactly like the amoral rakes in one of the old silver-fork novels. Charming on the outside, conniving and cruel on the inside. The sooner Kathleen could manage to remove the Ravenel sisters from the estate, the better.

She had already decided to use the annuity from her jointure to take all three girls away from Eversby Priory. It was not a large sum, but it would be enough to support them if it were supplemented with earnings from gentle occupations such as needlework. She would find a small cottage where they could all live together, or perhaps a set of rooms for lease in a private house.

No matter what difficulties they might face, anything would be better than leaving three helpless girls to Devon Ravenel’s mercy.

Chapter 3

Later in the evening, Devon and West had dinner in the dilapidated splendor of the dining room. The meal was of far better quality than they had expected, consisting of cold cucumber soup, roast pheasant dressed with oranges, and puddings rolled in sweetened bread crumbs.

“I made the house steward unlock the cellar so I could browse over the wine collection,” West remarked. “It’s gloriously well provisioned. Among the spoils, there are at least ten varieties of imported champagne, twenty cabernets, at least that many of bordeaux, and a large quantity of French brandy.”

“Perhaps if I drink enough of it,” Devon said, “I won’t notice the house falling down around our ears.”

“There are no obvious signs of weakness in the foundation. No walls out of plumb, for example, nor any visible cracks in the exterior stone that I’ve seen so far.”

Devon glanced at him with mild surprise. “For a man who’s seldom more than half sober, you’ve noticed a great deal.”

“Have I?” West looked perturbed. “Forgive me – I seem to have become accidentally lucid.” He reached for his wineglass. “Eversby Priory is one of the finest sporting estates in England. Perhaps we should shoot grouse tomorrow.”

“Splendid,” Devon said. “I would enjoy beginning the day with killing something.”

“Afterward we’ll meet with the estate agent and solicitor, and find out what’s to be done with this place.” West glanced at him expectantly. “You haven’t yet told me what happened this afternoon while you were out walking with Lady Trenear.”

Devon shrugged irritably. “Nothing happened.”

After introducing him to Helen, Kathleen had been abrupt and cool for the rest of the tour through the glasshouses. When they parted company, she had worn the relieved air of someone who had concluded an unpleasant duty.

“Did she wear the veil the entire time?” West asked.

“No.”

“What does she look like?”

Devon shot him a derisive glance. “Why does that matter?”

“I’m curious. Theo had his pick of women – he wouldn’t have wed an ugly one.”

Devon turned his attention to his wineglass, swirling the vintage until it glittered like black rubies. There seemed no way to accurately describe Kathleen. He could say that her hair was red and that her eyes were golden-brown and tip-tilted like a cat’s. He could describe her fair skin and the rosy undertone that rose to the surface like a winter sunrise. The way she moved, her supple athletic grace constrained by laces and stays and layers. But none of that explained the fascination she held for him… the sense that somehow she had the power to unlock some altogether new feeling inside him, if only she cared to try.

“If one were to measure strictly by appearance,” Devon said, “she’s pleasing enough to bed, I suppose. But she has the temperament of a baited badger. I’m going to boot her from the estate as soon as possible.”

“What of Theo’s sisters? What will become of them?”

“Lady Helen is suited for employment as a governess, perhaps. Except that no married woman in possession of her wits would ever hire a girl that pretty.”

“She’s pretty?”

Devon gave him a forbidding glance. “Stay away from her, West. Far away. Don’t seek her out, don’t speak to her, don’t even look at her. The same goes for the twins.”

“Why not?”

“They’re innocent girls.”

West gave him a caustic glance. “Are they such fragile flowers that they couldn’t tolerate a few minutes of my company?”

“‘Fragile’ is not the word I would use. The twins have spent years scampering about the estate like a pair of foxes. They’re unworldly and more than a little wild. God knows what’s to be done with them.”