Devil in Spring Read online

  #4 On the other hand, ritual self-sacrifice in Iceland cannot be ruled out.

  #5 Lady Berwick advises marriage and says Lord St. Vincent is “bred to the bill.” Since she once made the same remark about a stud horse she and Lord Berwick bought for their stable, I have to wonder if she’s looked in his mouth.

  #6 Lord St. Vincent reportedly has a mistress.

  #7 The word “mistress” sounds like a cross between mistake and mattress.

  “We’ve crossed into Sussex,” Cassandra said. “It’s even lovelier than the guidebook led me to expect.” She had purchased The Popular Guide and Visitor’s Directory to Heron’s Point at a bookstall in the station, and had insisted on reading parts of it aloud during the first hour of their journey.

  Known as the “land of health,” Sussex was the sunniest region in England with the purest water, drawn up from deep chalk wells. According to the guidebook, the county possessed fifty miles of coastal shore. Tourists flocked to the town of Heron’s Point for its mild, sweet air, and the healing properties of its seawater and hot spring baths.

  The guidebook was dedicated to the Duke of Kingston, who had apparently built a seawall to protect erosion of the shore, as well as a hotel, a public esplanade, and a thousand-foot public pier to provide harborage for pleasure steamboats, fishing vessels, and his own private yacht.

  #8 The local guidebook doesn’t include even one unfavorable detail about Heron’s Point. It must be the most perfect town in existence.

  #9 Or the author was trying to toady up to the Challons, who own half of Sussex.

  #10 Dear God, they’re going to be insufferable.

  As Pandora looked through the train window, her attention was caught by a flock of starlings that flowed across the sky in synchronized movements, the mass dividing like a water droplet and rejoining before continuing on in a fluid, ribbon-like mass.

  The train clicked and clacked its way through a panorama of charming villages, wool-towns with timber-framed houses, picturesque churches, rich green farmland, and smoothly contoured downs carpeted with purple-blooming heath. The sky was vivid and soft, with a few fluffy clouds that appeared to have been freshly laundered and hung up to dry.

  #11 Sussex has many picturesque views.

  #12 Looking at nature is boring.

  As the train neared the station, they passed a waterworks, an alcove of shops, a post office, a row of tidy storage buildings, and a collecting depot where dairy products and market produce were kept chilled until they could be transported.

  “There’s the Challon estate,” Cassandra murmured.

  Following her gaze, Pandora saw a white mansion on a distant hill beyond the headland, overlooking the ocean. An imposing marble palace, inhabited by haughty aristocrats.

  The train reached the station and came to a halt. The air, so hot that it smelled like ironing, was filled with clanging bells, the voices of signalmen and trackmen, doors opening, and porters wheeling their carts across the platform. As the family disembarked, they were met by a middle-aged man with a pleasant countenance and an efficient manner. After introducing himself as Mr. Cuthbert, the duke’s estate manager, he supervised porters and footmen to collect the Ravenels’ luggage, including William’s handsome wicker pram.

  “Mr. Cuthbert,” Kathleen asked as the estate manager guided them beneath a vaulted canopy to the other side of the station building, “is it always so warm this time of year?”

  Cuthbert blotted a gleam of perspiration from his forehead with a folded white handkerchief. “No, my lady, this is an unseasonably high temperature, even for Heron’s Point. A southerly has come in from the continent after a period of dry weather, and it is keeping the cooling sea breezes at bay. Moreover, the promontory”—he gestured to a high cliff that jutted out into the ocean—“helps to create the town’s unique climate.”

  The Ravenels and their retinue of servants proceeded to the vehicle waiting area beside the station’s clock tower. The duke had sent a trio of glossy black carriages, their luxurious interiors upholstered in soft ivory Morocco leather and trimmed with rosewood. After climbing into the first carriage, Pandora investigated a fitted tray with a divided compartment, an umbrella that slid cleverly into a socket in the side of the door, and a rectangular leather case tucked beside a folding armrest. The case held a pair of binoculars—not the tiny ones a lady would use at the opera, but a powerful set of field glasses.

  Pandora started guiltily as Mr. Cuthbert came to the open carriage door and saw her with the binoculars. “I’m sorry—” she began.

  “I was about to bring those to your attention, my lady,” the estate manager said, seeming not at all annoyed. “The ocean is visible for most of the drive to the Challon estate. Those aluminum binoculars are the latest design, much lighter than brass. They’ll allow you to see clearly at a distance of four miles. You might observe sea birds, or even a shoal of porpoises.”

  Eagerly Pandora lifted the binoculars to her eyes. Looking at nature might be boring, but it was considerably more entertaining with the aid of technological gadgetry.

  “They can be adjusted with the turning mechanism in the center,” Mr. Cuthbert advised with a smile. “Lord St. Vincent thought you would enjoy them.”

  The lenses were briefly filled with the pink blur of his face before Pandora lowered the binoculars hastily. “He put these here for me?”

  “Indeed, my lady.”

  After the estate manager had left, Pandora frowned and handed the binoculars to Cassandra. “Why did Lord St. Vincent assume I would want these? Does he think I need to be distracted by amusements, like little William with his string of spools?”

  “It was merely a thoughtful gesture,” Cassandra said mildly.

  The old Pandora would have loved to use the binoculars during the ride to the house. The new dignified, respectable, proper Pandora, however, would entertain herself with her own thoughts. Ladylike thoughts.

  What did ladies think about? Things like starting charities and visiting the tenants, and blancmange recipes—yes, ladies were always bringing blancmange to people. What was blancmange, anyway? It had no flavor or color. At best it was only unassertive pudding. Would it still be blancmange if one put some kind of topping on it? Berries or lemon sauce—

  Realizing her thoughts had gone off course, Pandora steered them back to the conversation with Cassandra.

  “The point is,” she told her sister with great dignity, “I have no need of toys to keep me occupied.”

  Cassandra was looking through the open window with the binoculars. “I can see a butterfly across the road,” she marveled, “as clearly as if it were sitting on my finger.”

  Pandora sat up instantly. “Let me have a look.”

  Grinning, Cassandra adroitly kept the binoculars out of her grasp. “I thought you didn’t want them.”

  “I do now. Give them back!”

  “I’m not finished yet.” Maddeningly, Cassandra refused to return the binoculars for at least five minutes, until Pandora threatened to auction her to pirates.

  By the time Pandora had reclaimed the binoculars, the carriage had begun the long, gentle ascent up the hill. She managed to obtain glimpses of a seagull in flight, a fishing boat sailing around the headlands, and a hare disappearing beneath a juniper bush. Occasionally a cool breeze from the ocean blew through one of the open hinged windows, bringing momentary relief from the heat. Perspiration gathered and trickled beneath her corset, while the light wool of her traveling dress chafed her prickling skin. Bored and hot, she finally put the binoculars back into the leather case.

  “It’s like summer,” she commented, blotting her forehead on one of her long sleeves. “By the time we arrive, I’ll be as red as a boiled ham.”

  “I already am,” Cassandra said, trying to use the guidebook as a fan.

  “We’re almost there,” Kathleen said, resettling William’s hot, sleepy form on her shoulder. “As soon as we reach the mansion, we’ll be able to change into lighter d
resses.”

  She regarded Pandora with warm concern. “Try not to worry, dear. You’re going to have a lovely time.”

  “You told me the same thing just before I left for the Chaworth ball.”

  “Did I?” Kathleen smiled. “Well, I suppose I have to be wrong about something every now and then.” After a pause, she added gently, “I know you’d rather be safe and snug at home, dear. But I’m glad you agreed to come.”

  Pandora nodded, squirming uncomfortably as she pulled at the sleeves of her light woolen traveling dress, which was sticking to her skin. “People like me should avoid new experiences,” she said. “It never turns out well.”

  “Don’t say that,” Cassandra protested.

  Devon spoke then, his voice gentle. “Everyone has faults, Pandora. Don’t be hard on yourself. You and Cassandra began at a disadvantage after having been raised in seclusion for so long. But you’re both learning fast.” He smiled down at Kathleen as he added, “As I can personally attest, making mistakes is part of the learning process.”

  As the carriage proceeded past the main gate, the estate mansion came into view. Contrary to Pandora’s expectations, it wasn’t at all cold and imposing. It was a gracious, low-slung residence of two stories, inhabiting its surroundings with comfortable ease. Its classic lines were softened by an abundance of glossy green ivy that mantled the cream stucco façade, and arbors of pink roses that arched cheerfully over the courtyard entrance. Two extended wings curved around the front gardens, as if the house had decided to fill its arms with bouquets. Nearby, a slope of dark, dreaming forest rested beneath a blanket of sunlight.

  Pandora’s interest was caught by the sight of a man making his way to the house. A young child sat on his shoulders, while an older, red-haired boy kept pace at his side. A tenant farmer, perhaps, out walking with his two sons. It was odd that he would stride across the front lawn in such a bold manner.

  He wore only trousers, a thin shirt, and an open vest, with no hat or necktie anywhere in sight. He walked with the loose-jointed grace of someone who spent a great deal of time outdoors. It was obvious that he was extraordinarily fit, the simple garments draping lightly over the lean, powerful lines of his body. And he carried the child on his shoulders as if he weighed nothing.

  Cassandra leaned closer to stare through Pandora’s window. “Is that a worker?” she asked. “A farmer?”

  “I would think so. Dressed like that, he couldn’t be—” Pandora broke off as the carriage followed the wide arc of the drive, affording her a better view. The man’s hair was a distinctive color she’d seen only once before, the dark gold of antique bullion coins. Her insides began to rearrange themselves as if they’d decided to play musical chairs.

  The man reached the carriage as it stopped in front of the portico. The driver said something to him, and Pandora heard his relaxed reply, in a cool, deep baritone.

  It was Lord St. Vincent.

  Chapter 6

  After swinging the child easily from his shoulders to the ground, Lord St. Vincent opened the carriage door on Pandora’s side. The full blaze of midday gilded his perfect features and struck brilliant lights in his bronze-gold hair.

  Fact #13 she wanted to write. Lord St. Vincent walks around with his own personal halo.

  The man had too much of everything. Looks, wealth, intelligence, breeding, and virile good health.

  Fact #14 Some people are living proof of an unjust universe.

  “Welcome to Heron’s Point,” Lord St. Vincent said, his gaze encompassing the entire group. “My apologies—we went to the shore to test my younger brother’s new kite design, and it took longer than we expected. I intended to be back in time for your arrival.”

  “That’s quite all right,” Kathleen assured him cheerfully.

  “The important question is,” Devon said, “how did the kite fly?”

  The red-headed boy came to the doorway of the carriage. Ruefully he held up a bundle of slender dowels held together by scraps of red fabric and string, so Devon could see it. “Broke apart in mid-flight, sir. I’ll have to make modifications to my design.”

  “This is my brother, Lord Michael,” St. Vincent said. “We call him by his middle name, Ivo.”

  Ivo was a handsome lad of perhaps ten or eleven, with deep auburn hair, sky-blue eyes, and a winning smile. He executed an awkward bow, in the way of someone who’d just had a growth spurt and was trying to manage the new length of his arms and legs.

  “What about me?” the barefoot boy on Lord St. Vincent’s other side demanded. He was a sturdy, dark-haired, pink-cheeked child, no more than four years old. Like Ivo, he was dressed in a bathing tunic attached at the waist to a pair of short trousers.

  Lord St. Vincent’s lips twitched as he looked down at the impatient boy. “You’re my nephew,” he said gravely.

  “I know that!” the child said in exasperation. “You’re supposed to tell them.”

  Perfectly straight-faced, Lord St. Vincent said to the Ravenels, “Allow me to introduce my nephew Justin, Lord Clare.”

  A chorus of greetings came from the interior of the carriage. The door on the other side opened, and the Ravenels began to exit the vehicle as a pair of footmen attended them.

  Pandora jumped slightly as Lord St. Vincent’s inscrutable gaze connected with hers, his eyes as bright and piercing as starlight.

  Wordlessly he reached in a hand for her.

  Breathless and scattered, Pandora fumbled to find her gloves, but they seemed to have disappeared along with her valise. A footman was assisting Kathleen and Cassandra as they descended from the carriage on the other side. Turning back to Lord St. Vincent, she reluctantly took his hand and stepped down from the carriage.

  He was even taller than she remembered, bigger, his shoulders broader. When she’d seen him before, he’d been constrained in formal black-and-white evening clothes, every inch of him polished and perfect. Now he was in a rather shocking state of undress, coatless and hatless, his shirt open at the throat. His hair was in disarray, the cropped layers sweat-darkened where they tapered at his neck. A pleasant fragrance drifted to her nostrils, the sunny, foresty smell she remembered from before, now infused with a sea-breeze saltiness.

  There was a great deal of activity on the drive as servants left the other carriages and footmen unloaded the luggage. Out of the periphery of her vision, Pandora saw her family proceeding into the house. Lord St. Vincent, however, seemed in no hurry to usher her inside.

  “Forgive me,” he said quietly, looking down at her. “I had intended to be waiting here, appropriately attired, when you arrived. I don’t want you to think your visit isn’t important to me.”

  “Oh, but it’s not,” Pandora said awkwardly. “That is, I didn’t expect fanfare when I arrived. You didn’t have to be waiting here, or attired at all. I mean, attired well.” Nothing that came out of her mouth sounded right. “I expected clothing, of course.” Turning crimson, she dropped her head. “Blast,” she muttered.

  She heard his soft laugh, the sound raising gooseflesh on her sweaty arms.

  Ivo broke in, looking contrite. “It’s my fault we were late. I had to find all the pieces of my kite.”

  “Why did it break?” Pandora asked.

  “The glue didn’t hold.”

  Having learned a great deal about various glue formulations while constructing a prototype for her board game, Pandora was about to ask what kind he had used.

  However, Justin interrupted before she could say a word. “It’s my fault too. I lost my shoes and we had to look for them.”

  Charmed, Pandora sank to her haunches to bring her face level with his, heedless of her skirts draping over the dusty graveled drive. “Didn’t you find them?” she asked sympathetically, regarding his bare feet.

  Justin shook his head and heaved a sigh, a miniature adult plagued by worldly concerns. “Mama won’t be happy about this at all.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  “I set them on the
sand, and they disappeared.”

  “Perhaps an octopus stole them.” Immediately Pandora regretted the remark—it was just the sort of eccentric comment Lady Berwick would have deplored.

  But Lord St. Vincent replied with a considering frown, as if the matter were quite serious. “If it’s an octopus, he won’t stop until he has eight.”

  Pandora smiled hesitantly up at him.

  “I don’t have that many shoes,” Justin protested. “What can we do to stop him?”

  “We could invent some octopus repellent,” Pandora suggested.

  “How?” The child’s eyes sparked with interest.

  “Well,” Pandora began, “I’m sure we would need some—oof!” She was never to finish the thought, as she was startled by a creature that came bounding swiftly around the side of the carriage. A glimpse of floppy ears and jolly brown eyes filled her vision before the enthusiastic canine pounced so eagerly that she toppled backward from her squatting position. She landed on her rump, the impact knocking her hat to the ground. A swath of hair came loose and slid over her face, while a young tan-and-black retriever leapt around her as if he were on springs. She felt a huff of dog breath at her ear and the swipe of a tongue on her cheek.

  “Ajax, no,” she heard Ivo exclaim.

  Realizing what a mess she’d become, all in a matter of seconds, Pandora experienced a moment of despair, followed by resignation. Of course this would happen. Of course she would have to meet the duke and duchess after tumbling on the drive like a half-witted carnival performer. It was so dreadful that she began to giggle, while the dog nudged his head against hers.

  In the next moment, Pandora was lifted to her feet and caught firmly against a hard surface. The momentum threw her off balance, and she clung to St. Vincent dizzily. He kept her anchored securely against him with an arm around her back.

  “Down, idiot,” St. Vincent commanded. The dog subsided, panting happily.

  “He must have slipped past the front door,” Ivo said.