Marrying Winterborne (The Ravenels 2)

In a minute or two, the butler, Sims, brought Lady Berwick to the receiving room.

Eleanor, Lady Berwick, was a woman built on a majestic scale, tall, broad-shouldered, and bosomy, with a way of moving that reminded Helen of the prow of a great sailing ship gliding through calm waters. The effect was enhanced by the complex draperies that formed the skirts of her dark blue dress, rippling in her wake as she proceeded into the room. With her narrow face, paper-thin lips, and large, heavy-lidded eyes, the countess was not a beautiful woman. However, she possessed an air of stunning assurance, a shrewd confidence that she knew the answers to any questions worth asking.

Helen saw the automatic pleasure on Lady Berwick’s face as her gaze fell upon Kathleen, who had rushed forward. Clearly Kathleen’s fondness for her was returned. However, as Kathleen threw her arms around her, Lady Berwick looked nonplussed by the demonstration of affection. “My dear,” she exclaimed with a touch of reproof.

Kathleen didn’t let go. “I was going be dignified.” Her voice was muffled against the older woman’s shoulder. “But as you walked in just now, I felt as if I were five years old again.”

Lady Berwick’s gaze turned distant, one of her long pale hands settling on Kathleen’s back. “Yes,” she eventually said. “It isn’t easy to lose one’s father. And you’ve had to do it twice, haven’t you?” Her voice was like unsweetened tea, crisp with tannins. After a few fond pats, she said, “Let us don our armor of control.”

Kathleen pulled back and cast a bemused glance at the empty doorway. “Where has Cousin West gone?”

“Mr. Ravenel was eager to escape my presence,” Lady Berwick said dryly. “He did not seem to enjoy our conversation in the carriage.” After a meaningful pause, she commented without a smile, “A merry fellow, isn’t he?”

Helen was fairly certain the statement was not intended as a compliment.

“Cousin West may seem a trifle irreverent,” Kathleen began, “but I can assure you—”

“There is no need to explain his character, which is indeed a trifle: nothing but sugar and air.”

“You don’t know him,” one of the twins said beneath her breath.

Hearing the quietly rebellious murmur, Lady Berwick turned sharply to gaze at the three Ravenel sisters.

Kathleen hastened to introduce them, while they each curtsied in turn. “Lady Berwick, my sisters-in-law—Lady Helen, Lady Cassandra, and Lady Pandora.”

The countess’s dispassionate gaze fell on Cassandra first, and she motioned for the girl to approach. “The posture is merely adequate,” she observed, “but that can be corrected. What are your accomplishments, child?”

Having been prepared for the question in advance, Cassandra replied hesitantly. “My lady, I am able to sew, draw, and watercolor. I play no instruments, but I am well-read.”

“Have you studied languages?”

“A little French.”

“Have you any hobbies?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Excellent. Men are afraid of girls with hobbies.” Glancing at Kathleen, Lady Berwick remarked in an aside, “She’s a beauty. With a bit more polish, she’ll be the belle of the season.”

“I have a hobby,” Pandora volunteered, speaking out of turn.

Lady Berwick turned to her with raised brows. “Indeed,” she said frostily. “What is it, my bold miss?”

“I’m making a board game. If it turns out well, I will sell it in stores, and earn money.”

Seeming astonished, Lady Berwick sent Kathleen a questioning glance. “Board game?”

“The kind meant for parlor amusements,” Kathleen explained.

Lady Berwick turned back to Pandora with narrowed eyes. Unfortunately Pandora forgot to keep her gaze lowered, and stared back at her audaciously.

“An excess of vitality,” Lady Berwick said. “The eyes are a pleasing shade of blue, but the gaze is that of a wild stag.”

Helen risked a quick glance at Kathleen, who looked defensive on Pandora’s behalf.

“Ma’am,” Kathleen began, “Pandora is merely—”

But Lady Berwick gestured for her to be silent. “Does it not concern you,” she asked Pandora, “that this hobby, along with the distasteful desire to earn money, will alienate prospective suitors?”

“No, ma’am.”

“It should. Don’t you wish to marry?” At Pandora’s lack of response, she pressed impatiently, “Well?”

Pandora glanced at Kathleen for guidance. “Should I say the conventional thing or the honest thing?”

Lady Berwick replied before Kathleen was able. “Answer honestly, child.”

“In that case,” Pandora said, “No, I don’t wish to marry, ever. I like men quite well—at least the ones I’ve been acquainted with—but I shouldn’t like to have to obey a husband and serve his needs. It wouldn’t make me at all happy to have a dozen children, and stay at home knitting while he goes out romping with his friends. I would rather be independent.”

The room was silent. Lady Berwick’s expression did not change, nor did she blink even once as she stared at Pandora. It seemed as if a wordless battle were being waged between the authoritative older woman and the rebellious girl.

Finally Lady Berwick said, “You must have read Tolstoy.”

Pandora blinked, clearly caught off guard by the unexpected statement. “I have,” she admitted, looking mystified. “How did you know?”