Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels 1)

Vehicles and horses moved through the streets in a vigorous flow. Walkways swarmed with pedestrians who trod across the pale straw that had been scattered along paths and storefronts to absorb the damp. There were vendors, men of business, vagabonds, aristocrats, women in all manner of dress, chimney sweeps with their tattered brooms, shoe blacks carrying folding benches, and match girls balancing bundles of boxes on their heads.

“I can’t decide how the air smells,” Cassandra remarked, as a bewilderment of scents slipped through a gap in the slide window beneath the driver’s box. There was smoke, soot, horses, manure, wet brick, salted brown fish, red butcher-shop meat, bakery bread, hot sausage pasties, oily plugs of tobacco, human sweat, the sweetness of wax and tallow and flowers, and the metallic tang of steam machinery. “What would you call it, Pandora?”

“Odorwhelming,” Pandora said.

Cassandra shook her head with a rueful grin and curled an arm around her twin’s shoulders.

Although smoke haze had grayed the street and buildings, an abundance of color enlivened the scene. Street sellers pushed barrows filled with flowers, fruit and vegetables past shops with painted hanging signs and picturesque window displays. Small jewellike gardens and lime walks had been set among stone houses with columns and iron balustrades.

The carriage turned onto Regent Street, where fashionably dressed men and women promenaded along rows of shops and clubs fronted with majestic terraced façades. Devon reached up to slide the ceiling window open, and called up to the driver, “Go by way of Burlington Gardens and Cork Street.”

“Yes, milord.”

Lowering back to the seat, Devon said, “We’re taking a slight detour. I thought you all might like to pass by Winterborne’s.”

Pandora and Cassandra squealed.

As they turned onto Cork, the heavy congestion of vehicles obliged the carriage to move at a snail’s pace, past an unbroken row of marble-faced edifices that extended along the entire block. A central stained-glass rotunda added another fifteen feet in height.

The street-level façades were fronted with the largest plate-glass windows Kathleen had ever seen, with people crowding to view the exotic displays within. Columned arcades and arched windows adorned the upper floors, while a row of glass-paned square cupolas topped a triple-stacked parapet on the roof. For such a massive structure, it had a pleasingly light and airy feel.

“Where is Mr. Winterborne’s store?” Kathleen asked.

Devon blinked as if the question had surprised him. “This is all Winterborne’s. It appears to be several buildings, but it’s only one.”

She stared through the window in amazement. The structure took up the entire street. It was too large to fit within any of her previous understandings of “store”… It was a kingdom in itself.

“I want to visit it,” Cassandra said emphatically.

“Not without me,” Pandora exclaimed.

Devon said nothing, his gaze resting on Helen as if he were trying to divine her thoughts.

Eventually they reached the end of Cork Street and maneuvered to South Audley Street. They approached a large and handsomely appointed house, surrounded by an imposing iron fence and stone gate. It bore such a resemblance to the Jacobean design of Eversby Priory that Kathleen knew it belonged to the Ravenels.

The carriage stopped, and the twins nearly leaped from the carriage before a footman could assist them.

“You never visited here?” Devon asked Kathleen as they proceeded inside.

She shook her head. “I saw the exterior once. It wasn’t proper to call on an unmarried gentleman at his residence. Theo and I had planned to stay here after summer’s end.”

Coordinated mayhem filled the entrance hall as servants retrieved luggage from the road wagon and escorted family members to their rooms. Kathleen liked the comforting ambiance of the house, with its solid, traditional furnishings and floors of inlaid oak and cherry, and walls filled with Old Masters paintings. The second floor contained bedrooms, a small drawing room, and an anteroom. Later she would venture up to the third floor, which Devon had told her consisted entirely of an opulent ballroom that extended the full depth of the mansion, with French doors opening to an outside balcony.

For now, however, she wanted to go to her room and freshen up after the journey.

As Devon accompanied her to the second floor, Kathleen became aware of strange ethereal music floating through the air. The delicate notes didn’t come from a piano. “What is that sound?” she asked.

Devon shook his head, looking perplexed.

They entered the drawing room, where Helen, Cassandra and Pandora had gathered around a small rectangular table. The twins’ faces glowed with excitement, while Helen’s was blank.

“Kathleen,” Pandora exclaimed, “it’s the most beautiful, clever thing you’ve ever seen!”

She saw a music box that was at least three feet long and a foot tall. The shining rosewood box, decorated with gold and lacquer inlay, rested upon its own matching table.

“Let’s try another,” Cassandra urged, opening a drawer in the front of the table.

Helen reached into the box to withdraw a brass cylinder, its surface bristling with hundreds of tiny pins. Several more cylinders lay in a gleaming row in the drawer.

“You see?” Pandora said to Kathleen excitedly. “Each cylinder plays a different piece of music. You can choose what you want to hear.”

Kathleen shook her head, marveling silently.

Helen placed a new cylinder in the box and flipped a brass lever. The brisk, jaunty melody of the William Tell Overture poured out, making the twins laugh.

“Swiss-made,” Devon remarked, staring at a plaque on the interior of the lid. “The cylinders are all opera overtures. Il Bacio, Zampa…”

“But where did it come from?” Kathleen asked.

“It seems to have been delivered today,” Helen said, her voice oddly subdued. “For me. From… Mr. Winterborne.”

Silence descended on the group.

Picking up a folded note, Helen gave it to Devon. Although her face was composed, bewilderment shone in her eyes. “He —” she began uncomfortably, “That is, Mr. Winterborne – seems to think —”

Devon met her gaze directly. “I’ve given him leave to court you,” he said bluntly. “Only if you desire it. If you do not —”