More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
They were on the floor of the saddle room, on a stack of folded horse blankets and rugs. It was the warmest, driest place in the stables, located close to the stalls for easy access. An overhead skylight illuminated the rows of saddle racks affixed to the white pine walls; rain streamed over the glass and sent dappled shadows downward.
“A man’s heart is different from a woman’s.” His gaze turned quizzical. “Women love more,” she explained. Seeing his expression, she asked, “You think I’m wrong?” “I think you know little of men,” he said gently.
“This is frustraging.” At Devon’s puzzled expression, Helen explained, “Pandora likes to invent words.” “I don’t like to,” Pandora said irritably. “It’s only that sometimes an ordinary word doesn’t fit how I feel.”
“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.
“How is it that you remember the details of a plumbing system but not basic etiquette?”
“Hurrah!” Pandora exclaimed, leaping from her chair. “I’m so famished, I could eat a carriage wheel.” She was gone in a flash.
“What kind of husband do you wish for?” Kathleen asked with a teasing smile. “Handsome and tall? Dashing?” “He doesn’t have to be handsome or tall, as long as he’s kind.
“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.’ ”
Mr. Ravenel, if you are to spend a fortnight here, you will conduct yourself like a gentleman, or I will have you forcibly taken to Alton and tossed onto the first railway car that stops at the station.”
“The families who live here,” she managed to say, “are worthy of your respect. Generations of tenant farmers built this estate—and precious little reward they’ve received in return. Go into their cottages, and see the conditions in which they live, and contrast it with your own circumstances. And then perhaps you might ask yourself if you’re worthy of their respect.”
“Good God,” West muttered, “my brother was right. You do have the temperament of a baited badger.”
“Don’t you dare take one step away.” Discovering that she was still clutching the riding crop, Kathleen brandished it meaningfully. “Or I’ll thrash you.”
“Everyone on this estate is struggling to survive—and we’re all depending on your brother, who’s trying to solve problems that he had no hand in creating. But instead of doing something to help, you’ve chosen to drink yourself silly and totter around like a selfish lumping idiot—”
“It’s not a talent,” Kathleen said. “It’s a willingness to speak from your heart, rather than trying to be amusing or evasive.” “Please,” West said tersely. “I’m already nauseous.” Scowling, he took another bite of the bacon sandwich.
She let out an exasperated huff. “The girls have already named it Hamlet. Would you have us eat a family pet, Mr. Ravenel?” “I would if it turned into bacon.”
Kathleen attacked the thumb piece that dangled on the faceplate, jabbing repeatedly until the entire door rattled. “Sweetheart . . .” Now Devon was laughing almost too hard to speak. “That . . . that’s not going to help.”
Brooding over the past wouldn’t change the fact that Kathleen had belonged to Theo first. But she would belong to Devon last.
“Granted. But Kathleen isn’t suited to the role of drab little widow. She has too much spirit. It’s why she was attracted to a Ravenel in the first place.”
Lowering her hands, Kathleen gave him a dark glance. “You’re a shameless manipulator, Weston Ravenel.” He grinned. “I knew you’d say yes.”
“Helen,” he said quietly, striding forward and taking her upper arms in an urgent grasp. “Sweetheart, are you ill? What—” He paused as she shook her head violently and gasped out something, one of her hands flailing in the direction behind them. West looked up alertly. His face changed, and he began to laugh.
“Take him up to the master bedroom. Softly . . . no jostling. Treat him as if he were a newborn babe.” After counting in unison, the footmen lifted the stretcher. “A babe that weighs fourteen stone,” one of them grunted.
‘Where is the earl?’ I asked.” West paused for dramatic effect, relishing the rapt attention of his audience. “And where do you think Sutton pointed? Out to the river, where that reckless fool had just saved a trio of children, and was wading after them with a baby in one arm and a woman on the other.”
Helen extended the thermometer to West. “Under your tongue, please,” she said gravely. He complied with a long-suffering expression.
As I recall, Dr. Weeks has a sweet tooth.” “By all means,” West said around the thermometer, “let’s talk about food in front of a starving man.”
“He wouldn’t have done this before, you know. He used to have more sense than to risk his neck for someone else. Especially strangers. The numbskull.” Kathleen smiled. Swallowing back the tightness in her throat, she reached out and smoothed his hair back. “My dear friend,” she whispered, “I’m sorry to have to say this . . . but you would have done the same thing.”
“My lady . . .” Dr. Weeks contemplated her for a long moment, his eyes weary and kind. “I know many scientific facts about the human heart—not the least of which is that it’s far easier to make a heart stop beating entirely than to keep it from loving the wrong person.”
“Lie with me.” Her stomach tightened in yearning. “You know I can’t,” she whispered. Undeterred, he gripped her wrist and began to tug her toward him with pained determination. “Wait—you’ll hurt yourself—” Kathleen fumbled to set the candle on the nearby table, while he continued to exert pressure on her arm. “Don’t—your ribs—oh, why must you be so stubborn?”
He managed one more whisper before he fell asleep. “The last moment, I thought . . . I would die wanting you.”
“Are you in pain?” she asked in concern. “Yes,” he said emphatically. “Come here and make me feel better.”
Kathleen paused, perplexed. “What do you wear to sleep, if not a nightshirt?” Devon gave her a speaking glance, one corner of his mouth quirking.
“How do you feel, my lord?” “Well enough to go downstairs for a while,” Devon said. “But I’m not what anyone would call spry. And if I sneeze, I’m fairly certain I’ll start bawling like an infant.”
“For you to risk your life for anyone was heroic,” the valet said. “But the fact that a man of your rank would be willing to sacrifice everything for those of such humble means . . . Well, as far as everyone at Eversby Priory is concerned, it’s the same as if you had done it for any one of them.”
“Mrs. Church told me that Mr. Winterborne isn’t snapping and snarling anymore,” Pandora volunteered. “He’s resting on pillows and drinking orchid tea. And Helen has been chattering like a magpie for hours.”
Cassandra looked dumbfounded. “Helen, chattering for hours? That doesn’t seem possible.” “I wouldn’t have thought she had that much to say,” Pandora agreed. “Perhaps it’s just that she’s never able to slide a word in edgewise,” West remarked blandly.
She became heartily tired of the sound of her own voice, and said something to that effect near the end of the second day. “I’m not,” he said shortly. “Keep talking.”
Helen’s lips tightened against a smile as she admitted, “Perhaps a little demanding.” Kathleen laughed. “I’ve never been more impressed with your ability to manage difficult people.”
“Hard work often produces better results than talent,” he said in response to her comment.
She smiled slightly. “I’ve lived away from the world for so much of my life, Mr. Winterborne, that I sometimes wonder who I am, or if I belong anywhere.”
“If you’re going to tell me about the inconvenience of having an uncastrated male in the house,” Kathleen said, “I’m already aware of it.” West choked a little on his toast.
“But we won’t have to do that,” Pandora pointed out. “All the bills go to Lord Trenear.” Devon grinned. “I’ll remind you of this conversation when there’s no money left to buy food.”
“Be stern,” Pandora encouraged. “Use more pomade. My hair will respond only to brute force.”
“Later,” Devon said with barely restrained rage. “For now, I’m taking her home. But the next time I see you, I’ll put you in a fucking box.”

