Devil in Spring (The Ravenels 3)

“If only women could dress like this all the time,” Pandora enthused, twirling experimentally. Losing her balance, she fell dramatically backward onto the bed with her white-stockinged legs in the air like an upended tea table. “I feel so free without a creaky old corset.”

Her lady’s maid, a stout fair-haired girl named Ida, regarded her doubtfully. “Ladies need corsets to support their weak backs.”

“I don’t have a weak back.”

“You should pretend to. Gentlemen prefer a delicate lady.” Ida, who had pored over hundreds of ladies’ fashion periodicals, continued with authority. “Take my advice and find a reason to swoon when you’re at the beach, so Lord St. Vincent can catch you.”

“Swoon from what?”

“Say a crab frightened you.”

Still lying on the bed, Pandora began to laugh. “It’s after me!” she exclaimed theatrically, opening and closing her hands like pincers.

“Don’t snort, if you please,” Ida said sourly. “You sound like a trumpet-major.”

Raising up on her elbows, Pandora regarded her with a crooked grin. Ida had been hired at the beginning of the Season, when it had been decided the twins each needed her own lady’s maid. Both Ida and the other maid, Meg, had vied eagerly for the position of attending Cassandra, who had lovely golden hair and a far more compliant disposition than Pandora.

Cassandra had chosen Meg, however, which had forced Ida to settle for becoming Pandora’s maid. Ida had made no secret of her disappointment. To Pandora’s amusement, Ida had dispensed with most of the usual courtesies and pleasantries, and had remained surly ever since. In fact, when the two of them were in private, her remarks bordered on insulting. However, Ida was efficient and hardworking, and determined to make a success of her charge. She went to great lengths to keep Pandora’s clothing in perfect condition, and was proficient at arranging her heavy, slippery hair so that it stayed firmly in its pins.

“Your tone lacks deference, Ida,” Pandora said.

“I’ll treat you with all the deference in the world, milady, if you can manage to bring Lord St. Vincent up to scratch. Word among his servants is, the Challons will arrange for someone else to marry you, if you don’t suit Lord St. Vincent.”

Instantly annoyed, Pandora climbed off the bed and tugged the bathing costume back into place. “As if this were a game of pass-the-parcel? With me as the parcel?”

“It wasn’t Lord St. Vincent who said so,” Ida interrupted. She held up a hooded robe, which had also been brought by Seraphina’s lady’s maid. “It was his servants, and they were only speculating.”

“How do you know what his servants are saying?” Fuming, Pandora turned and thrust her arms into the robe. “We’ve only been here for an hour.”

“It’s all everyone is talking about belowstairs.” Ida fastened the robe at the waist. It matched the rest of the bathing costume and gave the ensemble the appearance of a proper dress. “There, you’re presentable.” She knelt and guided Pandora’s feet into little canvas slippers. “Mind you don’t become loud and wild during your outing. His lordship’s sisters will notice everything, and tell the duke and duchess.”

“Bother,” Pandora grumbled. “I wish I weren’t going at all now.” Scowling, she jammed a low-brimmed straw hat over her coiffure and left the room.

The group heading to the beach consisted of Lord St. Vincent, Seraphina, Ivo, Phoebe and her son Justin, Pandora, and Ajax, who bounded ahead and barked as if urging them to hurry. The boys were in high spirits, carrying an assortment of tin pails, spades, and kites.

The holloway was only wide enough to accommodate a single cart or wagon, and so deeply sunken in some places that its banks were taller than Pandora. Tussocks of gray-green Marram grass grew in places along its walls, interspersed with long-stalked flowers and spiny shrubs of sea buckthorn laden with brilliant orange berries. White-and-gray herring gulls spiraled on ocean-flung breezes, their stiffly spread wings carving through the soft sky.

Still brooding over the idea that she was on trial—that Lord St. Vincent was assessing her and would most likely decide to foist her off on someone else—Pandora spoke as little as possible. To her discomfiture, the rest of the group seemed inclined to draw away from the two of them. Phoebe made no effort to watch over them, instead walking far in front, hand-in-hand with Justin.

Obliged to keep pace with Lord St. Vincent’s more relaxed stride, Pandora saw the distance between them and their companions increase. “We should try to catch up to the others,” she said.

His lazy pace didn’t alter. “They know we’ll reach them eventually.”

Pandora frowned. “Does Lady Clare know nothing about chaperoning? She’s paying no attention to us.”

“She knows the last thing we need is close supervision, since we’re trying to become familiar with each other.”

“That’s rather a waste of time, isn’t it?” Pandora couldn’t resist asking. “In light of your plans.”

Lord St. Vincent glanced at her alertly. “What plans?”

“To pawn me off on some other man,” she said, “so you don’t have to marry me.”

Lord St. Vincent stopped in the middle of the holloway, obliging her to halt as well. “Where did you hear that?”

“It’s household gossip. And if it’s true—”

“It’s not.”

“—I don’t need you to dredge up an unwilling bridegroom from somewhere and bully him into marrying me just so you don’t have to. Cousin Devon says I won’t be made to marry anyone if I don’t wish it. And I don’t. Furthermore, I don’t want to spend my visit trying to win your approval, so I hope—”