Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels 1)

“No, he wouldn’t have considered it for a second.” Devon laughed shortly. “It’s safe to say that doing the opposite of what my father would have done is always the right choice.”

Kathleen regarded him with sympathy. “Did he drink?” she dared to ask.

“He did everything. And if he liked it, he did it to excess. A Ravenel through and through.”

She nodded, thinking of Theo. “It has occurred to me,” she ventured, “that the family temperament isn’t well suited to stewardship.”

Amusement glinted in his eyes. “Speaking as a man who has the family temperament in full measure, I agree. I wish I could claim to have a mother from steady, pragmatic stock, to balance out the Ravenel wildness. Unfortunately she was worse.”

“Worse?” Kathleen asked, her eyes widening. “She had a temper?”

“No, but she was unstable. Flighty. It’s no exaggeration to say there were days at a time when she forgot she even had children.”

“My parents were very attentive and involved,” Kathleen volunteered after a moment. “As long as you were a horse.”

Devon smiled. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his legs, dropping his head for a moment. The posture was far too casual to affect in the presence of a lady, but it revealed how very tired he was. And overwhelmed. For the first time, Kathleen felt a stirring of genuine sympathy for him. It wasn’t fair that a man should have to contend with so many dire problems all at once, without warning or preparation.

“There’s another matter I need to discuss,” he said eventually, sitting up again. “I can’t, in good conscience, turn Theo’s sisters out of the only home they’ve ever known.” One of his brows arched as he saw her expression. “Yes, I have a conscience. It’s been abused and neglected for years, but even so, it occasionally manages to be a nuisance.”

“If you’re considering allowing the girls to remain here —”

“I am. But the scenario presents obvious difficulties. They’ll require a chaperone. Not to mention rigorous instruction, if they’re eventually to come out in society.”

“Society?” Kathleen echoed in bemusement. “All three?”

“Why not? They’re of an age, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but… the expense…”

“That’s for me to worry about.” He paused. “You would manage the most difficult part of the whole business by taking the twins in hand. Civilizing them to whatever extent you can manage.”

“Me?” Her eyes widened. “You… you propose that I remain at Eversby Priory with them?”

Devon nodded. “Obviously you’re scarcely older than Helen and the twins, but I believe you could manage them quite well. Certainly better than a stranger could.” He paused. “They deserve the same opportunities that other young ladies of their rank enjoy. I’d like to make that possible, but I can’t do it without you staying here to bring them along.” He smiled slightly. “Of course, you would be free to train Asad as well. I suspect he’ll learn table manners before Pandora does.”

Kathleen’s heart was fluttering madly. To stay here with Helen and the twins… and Asad… it was more than she could have dared to dream. “I suppose you would live here as well?” she asked warily.

“I’ll visit infrequently,” Devon said. “But most of the work in setting the estate’s financial affairs to rights will have to be done in London. In my absence, the entire household will be under your supervision. Would that be inducement enough for you to stay?”

Kathleen began to nod before he’d even finished the sentence. “Yes, my lord,” she said, almost breathless with relief. “I’ll stay. And I’ll help you any way I can.”

Chapter 7

A month after Devon and West had left Hampshire, a parcel addressed to Kathleen was delivered to Eversby Priory.

With the Ravenel sisters gathered around her in the upstairs parlor, she opened the parcel and folded back layers of rustling paper. They all exclaimed in admiration as a cashmere shawl was revealed. Such shawls were all the rage in London, hand-loomed in Persia and finished with a border of embroidered flowers and silk fringe. The wefts of wool had been dyed in graduating colors so that it produced the exquisite effect of a sunset, glowing red melting into orange and gold.

“It’s called ombré,” Cassandra said reverently. “I’ve seen ribbons dyed that way. How fashionable!”

“It will look beautiful with your hair,” Helen commented.

“But who sent it?” Pandora asked. “And why?”

Picking up the note that had been enclosed in the parcel, Kathleen read the boldly scrawled words:

As promised.

Trenear

Devon had deliberately chosen a shawl with the most vibrant colors imaginable. A garment that a widow could never, ever wear.

“I can’t accept this,” she said with a scowl. “It’s from Lord Trenear, and it is entirely too personal. Perhaps if it were a handkerchief or a tin of sweets —”

“But he’s a relation,” Helen surprised her by pointing out. “And a shawl isn’t all that personal, is it? One doesn’t wear it next to the skin, after all.”

“Think of it as a very large handkerchief,” Cassandra suggested.

“Even if I did keep it,” Kathleen said, “I would have to dye it black.”

The girls looked as aghast as if she had suggested murdering someone. They all spoke at once.

“You mustn’t —”

“Oh, but why?”

“To ruin such lovely colors —”

“How could I wear this as it is?” Kathleen demanded. “I’d be as flamboyant as a parrot. Can you imagine the gossip?”

“You can wear it at home,” Pandora interrupted. “No one will see.”

“Do try it on,” Cassandra urged. Despite Kathleen’s refusal, the girls insisted on draping it over her shoulders, just to see how it looked.

“How beautiful,” Helen said, beaming.

It was the most luxurious fabric she had ever felt, the fleece soft and cushiony. Kathleen ran her hand across the rich hues, and sighed. “I suppose I can’t ruin it with aniline dye,” she muttered. “But I’m going to tell him that I did.”