Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels 1)

No, she didn’t want to see Devon. Not in the least. She was far too busy to spare a thought for him, or to ponder what the dark, clear blue shade of his eyes reminded her of… Bristol glass, perhaps… and she had already forgotten the feel of his hard arms around her and the rasp of his whisper in her ear… I have you… and that shiver-inducing scrape of his shaven bristle against her skin.

She had to wonder at Devon’s reasons for sending his brother to deal with the tenants. Kathleen had seen little of West during their previous visit, but what she had learned had not been promising. West was a drunkard, and would probably be more of a hindrance than a help. However, it was not her place to object. And since West was the next in line for the earldom, he might as well become familiar with the estate.

The twins and Helen were delighted by the prospect of West’s visit and had made a list of planned outings and activities. “I doubt he will have much time, if any, for amusements,” Kathleen warned them as they all sat in the family parlor with needlework. “Mr. Ravenel is here on a business matter, and the tenants need his attention far more than we do.”

“But Kathleen,” Cassandra said in concern, “we mustn’t let him work himself into exhaustion.”

Kathleen burst out laughing. “Darling, I doubt he’s ever worked a day in his life. Let’s not distract him on his first attempt.”

“Gentlemen aren’t supposed to work, are they?” Cassandra asked.

“Not really,” Kathleen admitted. “Men of nobility usually concern themselves with the management of their lands, or sometimes they dabble in politics.” Kathleen paused. “However, I think even a common workingman could be called a gentleman, if he is honorable and kind.”

“I agree,” Helen said.

“I wouldn’t mind working,” Pandora announced. “I could be a telegraph girl, or own a bookshop.”

“You could make hats,” Cassandra suggested sweetly, arranging her features in a horrid cross-eyed grimace, “and go mad.”

Pandora grinned. “People will watch me running in circles and flapping my arms, and they’ll say, ‘Oh, dear, Pandora’s a chicken today.’”

“And then I’ll remind them that you behaved that way before you ever started making hats,” Helen said serenely, her eyes twinkling.

Chuckling, Pandora plied her needle to mend a loose seam. “I shouldn’t like to work if it ever prevented me from doing exactly what I wished.”

“When you’re the lady of a great household,” Kathleen said in amusement, “you’ll have responsibilities that will occupy most of your time.”

“Then I won’t be the lady of a great household. I’ll live with Cassandra after she marries. Unless her husband forbids it, of course.”

“You silly,” Cassandra told her twin. “I would never marry a man who would keep us apart.”

Finishing the seam of a detachable white cuff, Pandora began to set it aside, and huffed as her skirt was tugged. “Fiddlesticks. Who has the scissors? I’ve sewed the mending to my dress again.”

West arrived in the afternoon, accompanied by an unwieldy assortment of luggage, including a massive steamer trunk that two footmen struggled to carry upstairs. Somewhat to Kathleen’s dismay, all three Ravenel sisters greeted him as if he were a returning war hero. Reaching into a leather Gladstone bag, West began to hand out cunning parcels wrapped in delicate layers of paper and tied with matching ribbon as narrow as twine.

Noticing the little tags, each stamped with an ornate letter W, Helen asked, “What does this mean?”

West smiled indulgently. “That shows that it’s from Winterborne’s department store, where I shopped yesterday afternoon – I couldn’t visit my little cousins empty-handed, could I?”

To Kathleen’s dismay, any semblance of ladylike decorum fled. The twins erupted in screams of delight and began to dance around him right there in the entrance hall. Even Helen was pink-cheeked and breathless.

“That will do, girls,” Kathleen finally said, struggling to keep her expression neutral. “There’s no need to hop about like demented rabbits.”

Pandora had already begun to rip one of the parcels open.

“Save the paper!” Helen cried. She brought one of the parcels to Kathleen, lifting one of the layers of paper. “Just see, Kathleen, how thin and fine it is.”

“Gloves!” Pandora shouted, having unwrapped a parcel. “Oh, look, they’re so stylish, I want to die.” She held them against her chest. The wrist-length kid gloves had been tinted a soft pink.

“Colored gloves are all the rage this year,” West said. “Or so the girl at the department store counter said. There’s a pair for each of you.” He grinned at Kathleen’s obvious disapproval, his gray eyes glinting with mischief. “Cousins,” he said, as if that could explain away such unseemly gifts.

Kathleen narrowed her eyes. “My dears,” she said calmly, “why don’t you open your parcels in the receiving room?”

Chattering and squealing, the sisters hurried into the receiving room and piled the gifts on a satinwood table. They opened each parcel with scrupulous care, unfolding the gift tissue and smoothing each piece before placing it on an accumulating stack that resembled the froth of freshly poured milk.

There were more gloves, dyed in delicate shades of violet and aqua… tins of sweets… pleated paper fans with gold and silver embossing… novels and a book of poetry, and bottles of flower water to be used for the complexion or the bath, or sprinkled on the bed pillows. Although none of it was appropriate, except perhaps the books, Kathleen couldn’t find it in her heart to object. The girls had long been deprived of small luxuries.

She knew that Theo would never have thought of bringing gifts home for his sisters. And despite the family’s relative proximity to London, the girls had never been to Winterborne’s. Neither had Kathleen, since Lady Berwick had disliked the notion of rubbing elbows in a large store crowded with people from all walks of life. She had insisted instead on frequenting tiny, exclusive shops, where merchandise was kept discreetly out of sight rather than spread willy-nilly over the counters.

Stealing glances at West, Kathleen was disconcerted by the flashes of resemblance he bore to his older brother, the same dark hair and assertive bone structure. But Devon’s striking good looks were marred in his brother, whose features were ruddy and soft with dissipation. West was nothing if not well-groomed – in fact, he dressed too lavishly for Kathleen’s taste, wearing an embroidered silk waistcoat and jaunty patterned necktie, and gold cuff links set with what were either garnets or rubies. Even now at midday, he smelled strongly of liquor.