Cold-Hearted Rake
Page 24
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“If you’re considering allowing the girls to remain here —”
“I am. But the scenario presents obvious difficulties. They’ll require a chaperone. Not to mention rigorous instruction, if they’re eventually to come out in society.”
“Society?” Kathleen echoed in bemusement. “All three?”
“Why not? They’re of an age, aren’t they?”
“Yes, but… the expense…”
“That’s for me to worry about.” He paused. “You would manage the most difficult part of the whole business by taking the twins in hand. Civilizing them to whatever extent you can manage.”
“Me?” Her eyes widened. “You… you propose that I remain at Eversby Priory with them?”
Devon nodded. “Obviously you’re scarcely older than Helen and the twins, but I believe you could manage them quite well. Certainly better than a stranger could.” He paused. “They deserve the same opportunities that other young ladies of their rank enjoy. I’d like to make that possible, but I can’t do it without you staying here to bring them along.” He smiled slightly. “Of course, you would be free to train Asad as well. I suspect he’ll learn table manners before Pandora does.”
Kathleen’s heart was fluttering madly. To stay here with Helen and the twins… and Asad… it was more than she could have dared to dream. “I suppose you would live here as well?” she asked warily.
“I’ll visit infrequently,” Devon said. “But most of the work in setting the estate’s financial affairs to rights will have to be done in London. In my absence, the entire household will be under your supervision. Would that be inducement enough for you to stay?”
Kathleen began to nod before he’d even finished the sentence. “Yes, my lord,” she said, almost breathless with relief. “I’ll stay. And I’ll help you any way I can.”
Chapter 7
A month after Devon and West had left Hampshire, a parcel addressed to Kathleen was delivered to Eversby Priory.
With the Ravenel sisters gathered around her in the upstairs parlor, she opened the parcel and folded back layers of rustling paper. They all exclaimed in admiration as a cashmere shawl was revealed. Such shawls were all the rage in London, hand-loomed in Persia and finished with a border of embroidered flowers and silk fringe. The wefts of wool had been dyed in graduating colors so that it produced the exquisite effect of a sunset, glowing red melting into orange and gold.
“It’s called ombré,” Cassandra said reverently. “I’ve seen ribbons dyed that way. How fashionable!”
“It will look beautiful with your hair,” Helen commented.
“But who sent it?” Pandora asked. “And why?”
Picking up the note that had been enclosed in the parcel, Kathleen read the boldly scrawled words:
As promised.
Trenear
Devon had deliberately chosen a shawl with the most vibrant colors imaginable. A garment that a widow could never, ever wear.
“I can’t accept this,” she said with a scowl. “It’s from Lord Trenear, and it is entirely too personal. Perhaps if it were a handkerchief or a tin of sweets —”
“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.
“Even if I did keep it,” Kathleen said, “I would have to dye it black.”
The girls looked as aghast as if she had suggested murdering someone. They all spoke at once.
“You mustn’t —”
“Oh, but why?”
“To ruin such lovely colors —”
“How could I wear this as it is?” Kathleen demanded. “I’d be as flamboyant as a parrot. Can you imagine the gossip?”
“You can wear it at home,” Pandora interrupted. “No one will see.”
“Do try it on,” Cassandra urged. Despite Kathleen’s refusal, the girls insisted on draping it over her shoulders, just to see how it looked.
“How beautiful,” Helen said, beaming.
It was the most luxurious fabric she had ever felt, the fleece soft and cushiony. Kathleen ran her hand across the rich hues, and sighed. “I suppose I can’t ruin it with aniline dye,” she muttered. “But I’m going to tell him that I did.”
“You’re going to lie?” Cassandra asked, her eyes wide. “That’s not setting a very good example for us.”
“He must be discouraged from sending unsuitable gifts,” Kathleen said.
“It’s not his fault if he doesn’t know any better,” Pandora pointed out.
“He knows the rules,” Kathleen said darkly. “And he enjoys breaking them.”
My Lord,
It was very kind of you to send the lovely gift, which is very useful now that the weather has turned. I am pleased to relate that the cashmere absorbed an application of black dye quite evenly, so that it is now appropriate for mourning.
Thank you for your thoughtfulness.
Lady Trenear
“You dyed it?” Devon asked aloud, setting the note on his desk with a mixture of amusement and irritation.
Reaching for a silver penholder, he inserted a fresh nib and pulled a sheet of writing paper from a nearby stack. That morning he had already written a half-dozen missives to lawyers, his banker, and contractors, and had hired an outside agent to analyze the estate’s finances. He grimaced at the sight of his ink-stained fingers. The lemon-and-salt paste his valet had given him wouldn’t entirely remove the smudges. He was tired of writing, and even more so of numbers, and Kathleen’s letter was a welcome distraction.
“I am. But the scenario presents obvious difficulties. They’ll require a chaperone. Not to mention rigorous instruction, if they’re eventually to come out in society.”
“Society?” Kathleen echoed in bemusement. “All three?”
“Why not? They’re of an age, aren’t they?”
“Yes, but… the expense…”
“That’s for me to worry about.” He paused. “You would manage the most difficult part of the whole business by taking the twins in hand. Civilizing them to whatever extent you can manage.”
“Me?” Her eyes widened. “You… you propose that I remain at Eversby Priory with them?”
Devon nodded. “Obviously you’re scarcely older than Helen and the twins, but I believe you could manage them quite well. Certainly better than a stranger could.” He paused. “They deserve the same opportunities that other young ladies of their rank enjoy. I’d like to make that possible, but I can’t do it without you staying here to bring them along.” He smiled slightly. “Of course, you would be free to train Asad as well. I suspect he’ll learn table manners before Pandora does.”
Kathleen’s heart was fluttering madly. To stay here with Helen and the twins… and Asad… it was more than she could have dared to dream. “I suppose you would live here as well?” she asked warily.
“I’ll visit infrequently,” Devon said. “But most of the work in setting the estate’s financial affairs to rights will have to be done in London. In my absence, the entire household will be under your supervision. Would that be inducement enough for you to stay?”
Kathleen began to nod before he’d even finished the sentence. “Yes, my lord,” she said, almost breathless with relief. “I’ll stay. And I’ll help you any way I can.”
Chapter 7
A month after Devon and West had left Hampshire, a parcel addressed to Kathleen was delivered to Eversby Priory.
With the Ravenel sisters gathered around her in the upstairs parlor, she opened the parcel and folded back layers of rustling paper. They all exclaimed in admiration as a cashmere shawl was revealed. Such shawls were all the rage in London, hand-loomed in Persia and finished with a border of embroidered flowers and silk fringe. The wefts of wool had been dyed in graduating colors so that it produced the exquisite effect of a sunset, glowing red melting into orange and gold.
“It’s called ombré,” Cassandra said reverently. “I’ve seen ribbons dyed that way. How fashionable!”
“It will look beautiful with your hair,” Helen commented.
“But who sent it?” Pandora asked. “And why?”
Picking up the note that had been enclosed in the parcel, Kathleen read the boldly scrawled words:
As promised.
Trenear
Devon had deliberately chosen a shawl with the most vibrant colors imaginable. A garment that a widow could never, ever wear.
“I can’t accept this,” she said with a scowl. “It’s from Lord Trenear, and it is entirely too personal. Perhaps if it were a handkerchief or a tin of sweets —”
“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.
“Even if I did keep it,” Kathleen said, “I would have to dye it black.”
The girls looked as aghast as if she had suggested murdering someone. They all spoke at once.
“You mustn’t —”
“Oh, but why?”
“To ruin such lovely colors —”
“How could I wear this as it is?” Kathleen demanded. “I’d be as flamboyant as a parrot. Can you imagine the gossip?”
“You can wear it at home,” Pandora interrupted. “No one will see.”
“Do try it on,” Cassandra urged. Despite Kathleen’s refusal, the girls insisted on draping it over her shoulders, just to see how it looked.
“How beautiful,” Helen said, beaming.
It was the most luxurious fabric she had ever felt, the fleece soft and cushiony. Kathleen ran her hand across the rich hues, and sighed. “I suppose I can’t ruin it with aniline dye,” she muttered. “But I’m going to tell him that I did.”
“You’re going to lie?” Cassandra asked, her eyes wide. “That’s not setting a very good example for us.”
“He must be discouraged from sending unsuitable gifts,” Kathleen said.
“It’s not his fault if he doesn’t know any better,” Pandora pointed out.
“He knows the rules,” Kathleen said darkly. “And he enjoys breaking them.”
My Lord,
It was very kind of you to send the lovely gift, which is very useful now that the weather has turned. I am pleased to relate that the cashmere absorbed an application of black dye quite evenly, so that it is now appropriate for mourning.
Thank you for your thoughtfulness.
Lady Trenear
“You dyed it?” Devon asked aloud, setting the note on his desk with a mixture of amusement and irritation.
Reaching for a silver penholder, he inserted a fresh nib and pulled a sheet of writing paper from a nearby stack. That morning he had already written a half-dozen missives to lawyers, his banker, and contractors, and had hired an outside agent to analyze the estate’s finances. He grimaced at the sight of his ink-stained fingers. The lemon-and-salt paste his valet had given him wouldn’t entirely remove the smudges. He was tired of writing, and even more so of numbers, and Kathleen’s letter was a welcome distraction.
