Marrying Winterborne (The Ravenels 2)

Devon steered the conversation back to Eversby Priory, and the girls listened avidly as he described proposed plans for a station in the village. They all agreed that it would be marvelously convenient to have access to the railway so close to home, rather than go to the station at Alton.

Teatime was a lavish affair, an indulgence the Ravenels had always maintained no matter what else might have to be sacrificed. A flowered porcelain tea service had been brought out on a heavy silver tray, along with three-tiered stands filled with crisp golden scones, mincemeat puffs, slices of sweet Damson cheese on toast, and tiny sandwiches filled with butter and cress, or egg salad. Every few minutes, a servant came to refresh the hot water or replenish the pitchers of milk and cream.

As the family laughed and chatted, Helen did her best to participate, but her gaze strayed frequently to the mantel clock. Half past five: only ninety minutes until acceptable calling hours would end. She broke off a portion of scone and carefully pressed a morsel of comb honey onto it, waiting until the comb was warm and melting before popping it into her mouth. It was delicious, but in her anxiety, she could hardly swallow. Sipping her tea, she nodded and smiled, only half-listening to the conversation.

“This was lovely,” Kathleen finally pronounced, setting her napkin beside the plate. “I’ll believe I’ll rest now—it has been a tiring day. I will see you all at dinner.”

Devon stood automatically and went to help her from the chair.

“But it’s not yet seven,” Helen said, trying to conceal her dismay. “Someone may call. It is a visiting day, after all.”

Kathleen gave her a quizzical smile. “I doubt anyone will call. Devon has been away, and we’ve extended no invitations.” She paused, focusing more closely on Helen’s face. “Unless . . . we’re expecting someone?”

The mantel clock was absurdly loud in the absence of conversation.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Yes,” Helen said impulsively, “I’m expecting company.”

Simultaneously, Kathleen and Devon asked, “Who?”

“My lord.” The first footman had come to the doorway. “Mr. Winterborne is here on a personal matter.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Helen’s nerves were rioting, her blood coursing as Devon glanced at her sharply. His expression drove Helen’s heartbeat up into her throat.

He returned his attention to the footman. “Did you show him in?”

“Yes, my lord. He’s waiting in the library.”

“Please don’t turn Mr. Winterborne away,” Helen said with forced composure.

“There’s no chance of that,” Devon replied. The words were hardly reassuring; on the contrary, they were uttered with soft menace.

Kathleen touched her husband’s arm lightly and murmured to him.

Devon looked down at her, and some of the violence left his eyes. But still, an unsettling suggestion of ferocity practically radiated from him. “Stay up here,” he muttered, and strode from the room.

Chapter 10

KATHLEEN LOOKED REMARKABLY COLLECTED AS she sat in her upholstered chair. “Helen, will you have another cup of tea?”

“Yes.” Helen sent a quick, beseeching glance to Pandora and Cassandra. “Perhaps you should take the dogs out to the garden?”

The twins hurried to comply, snapping for the spaniels, who bounded after them as they departed.

As soon as they were alone, Kathleen asked urgently, “Helen, why on earth is Mr. Winterborne here, and how did you know he was coming?”

Slowly Helen reached to the high neck of her dress and hooked her forefinger around a thin silk ribbon tied around her neck. The comforting weight of the moonstone ring dangled beneath her bodice, hidden in the space between her breasts. She pulled it out, tugged the ring free of its tether, and slid it onto her finger.

“I went to him,” she said simply, laying her hand lightly over Kathleen’s to display the moonstone. “Yesterday.”

Kathleen stared down at the ring in bewilderment. “You went to see Mr. Winterborne alone?”

“Yes.”

“Did he arrange it? Did he send someone for you? How—”

“He knew nothing about it. It was my idea.”

“And he gave this ring to you?”

“I asked for it.” Helen smiled wryly. “Demanded, rather.” Withdrawing her hand, she sat back in her chair. “As you know, I never liked the diamond.”

“But why—” Kathleen fell silent, staring at her in confusion.

“I want to marry Mr. Winterborne,” Helen said gently. “I know that you and Cousin Devon have my best interests at heart, and I trust your judgment. But since the engagement was broken, I haven’t had a moment’s peace. I realized that I had formed an attachment to him, and—”

“Helen, there are things you don’t know—”

“I do. Yesterday Mr. Winterborne told me that he behaved in a coarse and insulting manner to you. He regrets it very much, and he’s come here to apologize. It was a mistake born of impulse—you must believe that he didn’t mean it.”

Kathleen rubbed her eyes wearily. “I knew the moment he said it that he didn’t mean it. The problem is that Devon walked into the room and overheard enough to send him into a rage. He still hasn’t had sufficient time to view the situation in its proper perspective.”

“But you do?” Helen asked anxiously.

“I can certainly understand and forgive a few rash words. My objection to Mr. Winterborne has nothing to do with what happened that day, it’s the same as always: You and he have nothing in common. Soon you’ll be out in society, and you’ll meet a score of very nice gentlemen, cultured and educated and—”