Prince of Ravenscar (Sherbrooke Brides 11)

Both Richard and Devlin came into the drawing room, each garbed in evening black, each looking extraordinarily fine indeed. It was obvious, though, that there had been words between them. What? Julian wondered.

Sophie said, “Devlin, where is Roxanne?”

He cocked his head to one side. “I hear her tinkling voice now; she’s trilling laughter at Pouffer, I believe. She quite enjoys the old man. Do you know he tells her stories about Cornish pixies?” He bowed to Corinne. “Your grace. May I say you are looking lovely this evening? The dark blue is very charming. It is a pleasure to behold you.”

“I thank you, dear boy,” Corinne said. “Leah was telling us you made her come here, Richard. I will admit to surprise, since you believe my son to have murdered your sister. Tell me, where were you this afternoon, when the Dower House was set afire?”

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Richard said easily, “You have known me all my life. Surely you do not believe I would take a torch to the Dower House. Why, Julian and I used to play inside, hiding in the various ro

oms, shouting taunts and challenges to each other.”

“I wouldn’t have believed you would turn on him, either,” Corinne said.

Julian said, “My mother is right. Given how inseparable we were as boys, how could you possibly believe I killed Lily?”

There was hot silence. Then Sophie sat herself down on the piano stool again and began to play a French ballad, her French accent quite perfect, Julian thought, her voice not very robust but sweet and true.

Richard said, “A man must believe what he sees with his own eyes. I should like a brandy, if you decide to treat me as a guest.” He paused for a moment, then said, “As my father treated you very well, indeed, yet you picked up and came to Ravenscar.”

Sophie said, raising her fingers from the piano keys, “I would like to commend Baron Horsly’s sense of humor. I cannot believe he named his home after his horse, much less his wife. Do you think he really called his wife Raven, Julian?”

“Perhaps.”

“I hope she was charmed and not appalled. Could I please have a glass of champagne, Julian?”

Julian nodded, and rang for Pouffer. After the old man shuffled out, Julian turned to Corinne. “Would you care for something to drink, Mother?”

“Sherry for me, dearest,” Corinne said. “All of it is nasty, but I find sherry the least noxious. After all, Mrs. Coltrak prepares dishes with sherry, so how bad can it be? One must adapt, your father told me. But perhaps champagne would be nicer.” She looked over at Leah, standing close to Richard Langworth, her white hand on his forearm, nearly on her tiptoes, looking up at him, at his mouth, if Corinne wasn’t mistaken. What did he feel for this foul-tempered witch? she wondered.

Julian looked at the assembled company. It appeared that Ravenscar was now to be the new battleground. The kettle would boil merrily here in his home, not at Hardcross Manor, where it more rightfully belonged.

Julian said, “Roxanne? Devlin? What would you like to drink?”

Once there was champagne and filled brandy snifters, each raised a glass, but there were no toasts. There was only tense silence, each eyeing the others, both gentlemen and ladies.

Oh, joy, Roxanne thought, as she sipped her brandy. It was excellent. “Julian, I don’t suppose this is smuggled French brandy?”

He stiffened, she saw it, only a second, no more, and then he was all easy and smiling again, but she was certain. What had bothered him? Smuggling? What was this? She saw Richard was nearly en pointe, and said quickly, smiling, “I always think my brandy must be smuggled, since it tastes so good. Now, Sophie, as you can all see, is a lover of champagne.”

Pouffer didn’t announce dinner for another fifteen minutes, which allowed the party to keep drinking.

Dinner passed off well, with Mrs. Coltrak hovering as Pouffer himself brought in her specialty, squab pie, as well as mutton. There was also pilchard and leek pie, stewed watercress served with boiled chicken, and black cake for dessert. Corinne said, after a bite, “I do adore the currants and the raisins and the almonds.” She didn’t want to remove with the ladies from the dining room, a dark-paneled room with a score of paintings showing dead animals strung up in a kitchen. It had forward-facing windows covered with golden draperies, and for all its heaviness, was nonetheless elegant and warm. She didn’t wish to leave the men alone. Only the heavenly father knew what would happen.

Pouffer asked Devlin as he poured port, “My lord, I understand your father is a leader in the House of Lords.”

The old man was quite the diplomat, Julian thought, and sat back to listen to Devlin talk about his father, Julian’s half-brother.

When silence fell again, Julian said, “I fear you and I will not be able to speak civilly to each other, Richard. Therefore, I suggest we join the ladies.” He added after a brief moment, “Richard, I daresay you know what you’re doing with Roxanne’s sister. She obviously does not wish to be here. Perhaps you wish to return to Hardcross Manor with her in tow?”

“Oh, no,” Richard said easily, stretched out in his chair, his hands clasped over his lean belly. “I fancy it amusing to see Leah’s sister and her niece try not to slap her.”

Devlin set down his port, leaned back in his chair, and swung his leg over the armchair. “Have you ever seen her unpleasant before?”

Richard was thoughtful, then shook his head. “I must make it a point to tell her to admire Ravenscar, not despise it, for I myself have always admired this vast pile of stone. Surely she would wish to be of one mind with me. Also, I will remind her she is to admire the water closets.”

Devlin said, “You can never count on ladies to do the expected thing. Do you know my mother?”