Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5)(16)

Phoebe chuckled ruefully. “No one will ever sparkle as fearlessly as you, Merritt.”

Lady Merritt Sterling was a vibrantly attractive woman with large, dark eyes, a wealth of lustrous sable hair, and a flawless porcelain complexion. Unlike her two sisters, she had inherited the shorter, stockier frame of the Marsden side instead of the slender build of her mother. Similarly, she had her father’s square-shaped face and determined jaw instead of her mother’s delicate oval one. However, Merritt possessed a charm so compelling that she eclipsed every other woman in the vicinity, no matter how beautiful.

Merritt focused on whomever she was talking to with a wealth of sincere interest, as if she or he were the only person in the world. She asked questions and listened without ever seeming to wait for her turn to talk. She was the guest everyone invited when they needed to blend a group of disparate personalities, just as a roux would bind soup or sauce into velvety smoothness.

It was no exaggeration to say that every man who met Merritt fell at least a little in love with her. When she had entered society, countless suitors had pursued her before she’d finally consented to marry Joshua Sterling, an American-born shipping magnate who had taken up residence in London.

Drawing a little apart from their families, Phoebe and Merritt stole a few minutes to speak privately. Eagerly Phoebe told her friend about the encounter with West Ravenel, the proposed farm tour, and the presumptuous comments he’d made.

“Poor Phoebe,” Merritt soothed. “Men do love to explain things.”

“It wasn’t explaining, it was a lecture.’”

“How bothersome. But one must allow new people room for error. It’s often a clumsy business, this making of friends.”

“I don’t want to become friends with him, I want to avoid him.”

Merritt hesitated before replying. “No one could blame you, of course.”

“But you think it’s a mistake?”

“Darling, opinions are tiresome, especially mine.”

“Then you do think it’s a mistake.”

Merritt looked sympathetic. “Since your families are now aligned, you’ll cross paths with him in the future. It would be easier for all concerned, especially you, to keep things civil. Would it be so difficult for you to give Mr. Ravenel a second chance?”

Phoebe frowned and averted her gaze. “It would be,” she said. “For reasons I’d rather not explain.”

She hadn’t reminded Merritt that West Ravenel was the childhood bully Henry had hated. Somehow it didn’t seem right to smear a man’s reputation for things he’d done as a boy—it wouldn’t help anyone now.

But Merritt stunned her by asking, “Because of what happened at boarding school?”

Phoebe’s eyes widened. “You remember?”

“Yes, it was important to Henry. Even in adulthood, the memory of Mr. Ravenel was always a thorn in his side.” Merritt paused reflectively. “I think such events loom larger in our minds over time. I wonder if it was perhaps easier for Henry to focus on a human adversary instead of a disease.” She looked beyond Phoebe’s shoulder. “Don’t turn around,” she said, “but there’s a gentleman who keeps stealing glances at you from across the room. I’ve never seen him before. I wonder if he’s your Mr. Ravenel?”

“Good heavens, please don’t call him my Mr. Ravenel. What does he look like?”

“Dark haired, clean-shaven and quite sun-browned. Tall, with shoulders as broad as a plowman’s. At the moment he’s talking with a group of gentlemen, and—oh, my. He has a smile like a hot summer day.”

“That would be Mr. Ravenel,” Phoebe muttered.

“Well. I recall Henry describing him as pale and stout.” Merritt’s brows lifted slightly as she peeked over Phoebe’s shoulder once more. “Someone had a growth spurt.”

“Looks are irrelevant. It’s the inner man that counts.”

Laughter threaded through Merritt’s voice. “I suppose you’re right. But the inner Mr. Ravenel happens to be quite beautifully packaged.”

Phoebe bit back a grin. “And you, a married lady,” she whispered in mock scolding.

“Married ladies have eyes,” came Merritt’s demure reply, her face alive with mischief.





Chapter 6




As usual, the guests entered the dining room in order of precedence. Regardless of personal age or fortune, the first people in line were those whose title, or patent of nobility, was the oldest. That made Lord and Lady Westcliff the couple of highest rank, even though Phoebe’s father held a dukedom.

Accordingly, Devon, Lord Trenear, escorted Lady Westcliff, while Lord Westcliff escorted Kathleen. The rest of the guests followed in prearranged pairs. Phoebe was relieved to discover she would be accompanied by Westcliff’s oldest son, Lord Foxhall, whom she had known her entire life. He was a big, boldly handsome man in his twenties, an avid sportsman like his father. As the earl’s heir, he had been accorded a viscountcy, but he and Phoebe were far too familiar to stand on ceremony.

“Fox,” she exclaimed, a wide smile crossing her face.

“Cousin Phoebe.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek, his dark eyes snapping with lively humor. “It seems I’m your escort. Bad luck for you.”