Cold-Hearted Rake Read online

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The oldest Ravenel daughter, Helen, was one-and-twenty. The twins, Cassandra and Pandora, were nineteen. Neither Theo nor his father had made arrangements for the girls in their wills. It was no easy task for a blue-blooded young woman with no dowry to attract an appropriate suitor. And the new earl had no legal obligation to provide for them at all.

  “Have any of the girls been out in society?” he asked.

  Kathleen shook her head. “They’ve been in more or less constant mourning for four years. Their mother was the first to pass, and then the earl. This was their year to come out, but now…” Her voice faded.

  Devon paused beside a flower bed, obliging her to stop beside him. “Three unmarried gentlewomen with no income and no dowries,” he said, “unfit for employment, and too elevated to marry commoners. And after spending years secluded in the country, they’re probably as dull as porridge.”

  “They are not dull. As a matter of fact —”

  She was interrupted by a high-pitched scream.

  “Help! I’m being attacked by vicious beasts! Have pity, you savage mongrels!” The voice was young and female, pierced with convincing alarm.

  Reacting instantly, Devon ran full-bore along the path and around the open gate of a walled garden. A girl in a black dress rolled on a patch of lawn bordered by flowers while a pair of black spaniels jumped on her repeatedly. Devon’s steps slowed as her screams broke into wild fits of giggling.

  Reaching his side, Kathleen said breathlessly, “The twins – they’re only playing.”

  “Bloody hell,” Devon muttered, coming to a halt. Dust swirled around his feet.

  “Back, scurvy dogs,” Cassandra cried in a piratical brogue, feinting and parrying with a branch as if it were a sword. “Or I’ll carve up yer worthless hides and feed ye to the sharks!” She broke the branch in two by snapping it deftly over her knee. “Fetch, ye swabbers,” she told the dogs, flinging the pieces to the far side of the lawn.

  The spaniels raced after the sticks with joyful barks.

  Lifting herself to her elbows, the girl on the ground – Pandora – shaded her eyes with a bare hand as she saw the visitors. “Ahoy, landlubbers,” she called out cheerfully. Neither of the girls wore bonnets or gloves. The cuff of one of Pandora’s sleeves was missing, and a torn ruffle hung limply from the front of Cassandra’s skirt.

  “Girls, where are your veils?” Kathleen asked in a chiding tone.

  Pandora pushed a swath of hair away from her eyes. “I made mine into a fishing net, and we used Cassandra’s to wash berries.”

  The twins were so dazzling in their long-limbed grace, with the sunlight dancing over their disheveled hair, that it seemed entirely reasonable to have named them for Greek goddesses. There was something lawless and cheerfully feral in their rosy-cheeked disarray.

  Cassandra and Pandora had been kept away from the world for far too long. Privately Kathleen thought it a pity that Lord and Lady Trenear’s affection had centered almost exclusively on Theo, the only son, whose birth had secured the future for the family and the earldom. In their hopes of having a second heir, they had viewed the arrivals of three unwanted daughters as nothing less than unmitigated disasters. It had been easy for the disappointed parents to overlook Helen, who was quiet and obedient. The ungovernable twins had been left to their own devices.

  Kathleen went to Pandora and helped her from the ground. Industriously she whacked at the scattering of leaves and grass on the girl’s skirts. “Dear, I did remind you this morning that we would have visitors today.” She brushed ineffectually at a scattering of dog hair. “I was rather hoping you might find some quiet occupation. Reading, for example —”

  “We’ve read every single book in the library,” Pandora said. “Three times.”

  Cassandra came to them with the yapping spaniels at her heels. “Are you the earl?” she asked Devon.

  He bent to pet the dogs, and straightened to face her with a sober expression. “Yes. I’m sorry. There are no words to express how much I wish your brother were still alive.”

  “Poor Theo,” Pandora said. “He was always doing reckless things, and nothing ever came of it. We all thought him invincible.”

  Cassandra’s tone turned pensive as she added, “Theo thought so too.”

  “My lord,” Kathleen interceded, “I would like to introduce Lady Cassandra and Lady Pandora.”

  Devon studied the twins, who resembled a pair of unkempt woodland fairies. Cassandra was possibly the more beautiful of the two, with golden hair, large blue eyes, and a Cupid’s-bow mouth. Pandora, by contrast, was more slender and spare in form, with dark brown hair and a more angular face.

  As the black spaniels danced and circled them, Pandora said to Devon, “I’ve never seen you before.”

  “You have, actually,” he said. “At a family gathering in Norfolk. You were too young to remember.”

  “Were you acquainted with Theo?” Cassandra asked.

  “A little.”

  “Did you like him?” she surprised him by asking.

  “I’m afraid not,” he said. “We brawled on more than one occasion.”

  “That’s what boys do,” Pandora said.

  “Only bullies and lackwits,” Cassandra told her. Realizing she had inadvertently insulted Devon, she sent him an ingenuous glance. “Except for you, my lord.”

  A relaxed grin crossed his mouth. “In my case, I’m afraid the description is not inaccurate.”

  “The Ravenel temper,” Pandora said with a sage nod, and whispered theatrically, “we have it too.”

  “Our older sister Helen is the only one who doesn’t,” Cassandra added.

  “Nothing provokes her,” Pandora said. “We’ve tried ever so often, but it never works.”

  “My lord,” Kathleen said to Devon, “shall we proceed to the glasshouses?”

  “Of course.”

  “May we go with you?” Cassandra asked.

  Kathleen shook her head. “No, dear, I think it best if the two of you went inside to tidy up and change your dresses.”

  “It will be lovely to have someone new to dine with,” Pandora exclaimed. “Especially someone who has just come from town. I want to hear everything about London.”

  Devon cast a questioning glance at Kathleen.

  She answered the twins directly. “I have already explained to Lord Trenear that as we are in strict mourning, we shall dine separately.”

  The statement was met with a flurry of protests. “But Kathleen, it’s been so dull without any visitors —”

  “We’ll behave perfectly, I promise —”

  “They’re our cousins!”

  “What harm would it do?”

  Kathleen felt a twinge of regret, knowing that the girls were eager for any kind of diversion. However, this was the man who intended to cast them out of the only home they had ever known. And his brother, Weston, from all appearances, was already half in his cups. A pair of rakes was unsuitable company for innocent girls, particularly when the girls themselves could not be trusted to conduct themselves with restraint. No good could come of it.

  “I’m afraid not,” she said firmly. “We will allow the earl and his brother to dine in peace.”

  “But Kathleen,” Cassandra pleaded, “we’ve had no amusement for so long.”

  “Of course you haven’t,” Kathleen said, steeling herself against a stab of guilt. “People aren’t supposed to have amusements when they’re in mourning.”

  The twins fell silent, glowering at her.

  Devon broke the tension by asking Cassandra lightly, “Permission to go ashore, Captain?”

  “Aye,” came the sullen reply, “you and the wench can leave by way of the plank.”

  Kathleen frowned. “Kindly do not refer to me as a wench, Cassandra.”

  “It’s better than ‘bilge rat,’” Pandora said in a surly tone. “Which is the term I would have used.”

  After giving her a chiding glance, Kath
leen returned to the graveled walk, with Devon by her side. “Well?” she asked after a moment. “Aren’t you going to criticize as well?”

  “I can’t think of anything to add to ‘bilge rat.’”

  Kathleen couldn’t hold back a rueful grin. “I will admit, it doesn’t seem fair to require a pair of high-spirited young women to endure another year of seclusion, when they’ve already gone through four. I’m not certain how to manage them. No one is.”

  “They’ve never had a governess?”

  “From what I understand, they’ve had several, none of whom lasted for more than a few months.”

  “Is it so difficult to find an adequate one?”

  “I suspect the governesses were all perfectly capable. The problem is teaching deportment to girls who have no motivation to learn it.”

  “What about Lady Helen? Is she in need of similar instruction?”

  “No, she’s had the benefit of tutors and separate lessons. And her nature is far gentler.”

  They approached a row of four compartmented glasshouses that glittered in the late afternoon light. “If the girls wish to romp outdoors instead of sitting in a cheerless house,” Devon said, “I don’t see what harm it would do. In fact, what reason is there to hang black cloth over the windows? Why not take it down and let in the sun?”

  Kathleen shook her head. “It would be scandalous to remove the mourning cloth so soon.”

  “Even here?”

  “Hampshire is hardly at the extremity of civilization, my lord.”

  “Still, who would object?”

  “I would. I couldn’t dishonor Theo’s memory that way.”

  “For God’s sake, he won’t know. It helps no one, including my late cousin, for an entire household to live in gloom. I can’t conceive that he would have wanted it.”

  “You didn’t know him well enough to judge what he would have wanted,” Kathleen retorted. “And in any case, the rules can’t be set aside.”

  “What if the rules don’t serve? What if they do more harm than good?”

  “Just because you don’t understand or agree with something doesn’t mean that it lacks merit.”

  “Agreed. But you can’t deny that some traditions were invented by idiots.”

  “I don’t wish to discuss it,” Kathleen said, quickening her step.

  “Dueling, for example,” Devon continued, easily keeping pace with her. “Human sacrifice. Taking multiple wives – I’m sure you’re sorry we’ve lost that tradition.”

  “I suppose you’d have ten wives if you could.”

  “I’d be sufficiently miserable with one. The other nine would be redundant.”

  She shot him an incredulous glance. “My lord, I am a widow. Have you no understanding of appropriate conversation for a woman in my situation?”

  Apparently not, judging by his expression.

  “What does one discuss with widows?” he asked.

  “No subject that could be considered sad, shocking, or inappropriately humorous.”

  “That leaves me with nothing to say, then.”

  “Thank God,” she said fervently, and he grinned.

  Sinking his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he swept an intent gaze over their surroundings. “How many acres do the gardens cover?”

  “Approximately twenty.”

  “And the glasshouses? What do they contain?”

  “An orangery, a vinery, rooms for peaches, palms, ferns, and flowers… and this one is for orchids.” She opened the door of the first glasshouse, and Devon followed her inside.

  They were suffused with the perfume of vanilla and citrus. Theo’s mother, Jane, had indulged her passion for the exotic blooms by cultivating rare orchids from all over the world. A year-round midsummer temperature was maintained in the orchid house by means of an adjacent boiler room.

  As soon as they entered, Kathleen caught sight of Helen’s slender figure between the parallel rows. Ever since her mother, the countess, had passed away, Helen had taken it upon herself to care for the two hundred potted bromeliads. It was so difficult to discern what each troublesome plant required that only a select few of the gardening staff were allowed to help.

  Seeing the visitors, Helen reached for the veil that draped down her back and began to pull it over her face.

  “Don’t bother,” Kathleen told her dryly. “Lord Trenear has taken a position against mourning veils.”

  Sensitive to the preferences of others, Helen left off the veil at once. She set aside a small kettle filled with water and came to the visitors. Although she didn’t possess the robust sunstruck prettiness of her younger sisters, Helen was compelling in her own way, like the cool glow of moonlight. Her skin was very fair, her hair the lightest shade of blond.

  Kathleen found it interesting that although Lord and Lady Trenear had named all four of their children after figures of Greek mythology, Helen was the only one who had been given the name of a mortal.

  “Forgive me for interrupting your task,” Devon said to Helen after they were introduced.

  A hesitant smile emerged. “Not at all, my lord. I’m merely observing the orchids to make certain there is nothing they lack.”

  “How can you tell what they lack?” Devon asked.

  “I see the color of their leaves, or the condition of the petals. I look for signs of aphids or thrips, and I try to remember which varieties prefer moist soil and which ones like to be drier.”

  “Will you show them to me?” Devon asked.

  Helen nodded and led him along the rows, pointing out particular specimens. “This was all my mother’s collection. One of her favorites was Peristeria elata.” She showed him a plant with marble-white blossom. “The central part of the flower resembles a tiny dove, you see? And this one is Dendrobium aemulum. It’s called a feather orchid because of the petals.” With a flash of shy mischief, Helen glanced back at Kathleen and remarked, “My sister-in-law isn’t fond of orchids.”

  “I despise them,” Kathleen said, wrinkling her nose. “Stingy, demanding flowers that take forever to bloom. And some of them smell like old boots or rancid meat.”

  “Those aren’t my favorite,” Helen admitted. “But I hope to love them someday. Sometimes one must love something before it becomes lovable.”

  “I disagree,” Kathleen said. “No matter how much you bring yourself to love that bulgy white one in the corner —”

  “Dressleria,” Helen supplied helpfully.

  “Yes. Even if you come to love it madly, it’s still going to smell like old boots.”

  Helen smiled and continued to lead Devon along the row, explaining how the glasshouse temperature was maintained by means of an adjacent boiler room and a rainwater tank.

  Noticing the speculative way Devon glanced down at Helen caused the hairs on the back of Kathleen’s neck to lift unpleasantly. He and his brother, West, seemed exactly like the amoral rakes in one of the old silver-fork novels. Charming on the outside, conniving and cruel on the inside. The sooner Kathleen could manage to remove the Ravenel sisters from the estate, the better.

  She had already decided to use the annuity from her jointure to take all three girls away from Eversby Priory. It was not a large sum, but it would be enough to support them if it were supplemented with earnings from gentle occupations such as needlework. She would find a small cottage where they could all live together, or perhaps a set of rooms for lease in a private house.

  No matter what difficulties they might face, anything would be better than leaving three helpless girls to Devon Ravenel’s mercy.

  Chapter 3

  L

  ater in the evening, Devon and West had dinner in the dilapidated splendor of the dining room. The meal was of far better quality than they had expected, consisting of cold cucumber soup, roast pheasant dressed with oranges, and puddings rolled in sweetened bread crumbs.

  “I made the house steward unlock the cellar so I could browse over the wine collection,” West remarked. “It’s glorio
usly well provisioned. Among the spoils, there are at least ten varieties of imported champagne, twenty cabernets, at least that many of bordeaux, and a large quantity of French brandy.”

  “Perhaps if I drink enough of it,” Devon said, “I won’t notice the house falling down around our ears.”

  “There are no obvious signs of weakness in the foundation. No walls out of plumb, for example, nor any visible cracks in the exterior stone that I’ve seen so far.”

  Devon glanced at him with mild surprise. “For a man who’s seldom more than half sober, you’ve noticed a great deal.”