Cold-Hearted Rake
Page 47
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“Would that please you?” Devon asked.
“Oh, yes!”
“Will you bring presents?” Pandora asked.
“Pandora,” Kathleen chided.
Devon grinned. “What would you like?” he asked the twins.
“Anything from Winterborne’s,” Pandora exclaimed.
“I want people for Christmas,” Cassandra said wistfully. “Pandora, do you remember the Christmas balls that Mama gave when we were little? All the ladies in their finery, and the gentlemen in formal attire… the music and dancing…”
“And the feasting…” Pandora added. “Puddings, cakes, mince pies…”
“Next year we’ll make merry again,” Helen said gently, smiling at the pair of them. She turned to West. “How do you usually celebrate Christmas, cousin?”
He hesitated before replying, seeming to ponder whether to answer truthfully. Honesty won out. “On Christmas Day I visit friends in a parasitical fashion, going from house to house and drinking until I finally fall unconscious in someone’s parlor. Then someone pours me into a carriage and sends me home, and my servants put me to bed.”
“That doesn’t sound very merry,” Cassandra said.
“Beginning this year,” Devon said, “I intend for us all to do the holiday justice. In fact, I’ve invited a friend to share Christmas with us at Eversby Priory.”
The table fell silent, everyone staring at him in collective surprise.
“Who?” Kathleen asked suspiciously. For his sake, she hoped it wasn’t one of those railway men plotting to destroy tenant farms.
“Mr. Winterborne himself.”
Amid the girls’ gasping and squealing, Kathleen scowled at Devon. Damn him, he knew it wasn’t right to invite a stranger to a house of mourning. “The owner of a department store?” she asked. “No doubt accompanied by a crowd of fashionable friends and hangers-on? My lord, surely you haven’t forgotten that we’re all in mourning!”
“How could I?” he parried with a pointed glance that incensed her. “Winterborne will come alone, as a matter of fact. I doubt it will burden my household unduly to set one extra place at the table on Christmas Eve.”
“A gentleman of Mr. Winterborne’s influence must already have a thousand invitations for the holiday. Why must he come here?”
Devon’s eyes glinted with enjoyment at her barely contained fury. “Winterborne is a private man. I suppose the idea of a quiet holiday in the country appeals to him. For his sake, I would like to have a proper Christmas feast. And perhaps a few carols could be sung.”
The girls chimed in at once.
“Oh, do say yes, Kathleen!”
“That would be splendicious!”
Even Helen murmured something to the effect that she couldn’t see how it would do any harm.
“Why stop there?” Kathleen asked sarcastically, giving Devon a look of open animosity. “Why not have musicians and dancing, and a great tall tree lit with candles?”
“What excellent suggestions,” came Devon’s silky reply. “Yes, let’s have all of that.”
Infuriated to the point of speechlessness, Kathleen glared at him while Helen discreetly pried the butter knife from her clenched fingers.
Chapter 14
December swept over Hampshire, bringing chilling breezes and whitening the trees and hedgerows with frost. In the household’s general enthusiasm for the approaching holiday, Kathleen soon gave up any hope of curtailing the celebrations. She found herself surrendering by degrees. First she consented to let the servants plan their own party on Christmas Eve, and then she agreed to allow a large fir tree in the entrance hall.
And then West asked if the festivities could be expanded even more.
He found Kathleen in the study, laboring over correspondence. “May I interrupt you for a few moments?”
“Of course.” She gestured to a chair near her writing desk, and set the pen in its holder. Noticing the deliberately bland expression on his face, she asked, “What scheme are you hatching?”
He blinked in surprise. “How do you know there’s a scheme?”
“Whenever you try to look innocent, it’s obvious you’re up to something.”
West grinned. “The girls wouldn’t dare approach you about it, but I told them I would, since it’s been established that I can outrun you when necessary.” He paused. “It seems that Lord and Lady Trenear used to invite all the tenant families and some local tradesmen to a party on Christmas Eve —”
“Absolutely not.”
“Yes, that was my first reaction. However…” He gave her a patient, cajoling glance. “Encouraging a spirit of community would benefit everyone on the estate.” He paused. “It’s not that different from the charitable visits you pay to those families individually.”
Kathleen buried her face in her hands with a groan. A grand party. Music. Presents, sweets, holiday cheer. She knew exactly what Lady Berwick would have said: It was indecent to host such revelry in a house of mourning. It was wrong to steal a day or two of joy out of a year that had been set aside for sorrow. Worst of all, she secretly wanted to do it.
She spoke through her fingers. “It’s not proper,” she said weakly. “We haven’t done anything the way we should: The black was taken from the windows far too early, and no one’s wearing veils anymore, and —”
“No one gives a damn,” West said. “Do you think any of the tenants would blame you for setting aside your mourning just for one night? To the contrary, they would appreciate it as a gesture of kindness and goodwill. I know next to nothing about Christmas, of course, but even so… it strikes me as being in keeping with the spirit of the holiday.” At her long hesitation, he went in for the kill. “I’ll pay for it out of my own income. After all…” A touch of self-pity shaded his voice. “… how else am I to learn about Christmas?”
“Oh, yes!”
“Will you bring presents?” Pandora asked.
“Pandora,” Kathleen chided.
Devon grinned. “What would you like?” he asked the twins.
“Anything from Winterborne’s,” Pandora exclaimed.
“I want people for Christmas,” Cassandra said wistfully. “Pandora, do you remember the Christmas balls that Mama gave when we were little? All the ladies in their finery, and the gentlemen in formal attire… the music and dancing…”
“And the feasting…” Pandora added. “Puddings, cakes, mince pies…”
“Next year we’ll make merry again,” Helen said gently, smiling at the pair of them. She turned to West. “How do you usually celebrate Christmas, cousin?”
He hesitated before replying, seeming to ponder whether to answer truthfully. Honesty won out. “On Christmas Day I visit friends in a parasitical fashion, going from house to house and drinking until I finally fall unconscious in someone’s parlor. Then someone pours me into a carriage and sends me home, and my servants put me to bed.”
“That doesn’t sound very merry,” Cassandra said.
“Beginning this year,” Devon said, “I intend for us all to do the holiday justice. In fact, I’ve invited a friend to share Christmas with us at Eversby Priory.”
The table fell silent, everyone staring at him in collective surprise.
“Who?” Kathleen asked suspiciously. For his sake, she hoped it wasn’t one of those railway men plotting to destroy tenant farms.
“Mr. Winterborne himself.”
Amid the girls’ gasping and squealing, Kathleen scowled at Devon. Damn him, he knew it wasn’t right to invite a stranger to a house of mourning. “The owner of a department store?” she asked. “No doubt accompanied by a crowd of fashionable friends and hangers-on? My lord, surely you haven’t forgotten that we’re all in mourning!”
“How could I?” he parried with a pointed glance that incensed her. “Winterborne will come alone, as a matter of fact. I doubt it will burden my household unduly to set one extra place at the table on Christmas Eve.”
“A gentleman of Mr. Winterborne’s influence must already have a thousand invitations for the holiday. Why must he come here?”
Devon’s eyes glinted with enjoyment at her barely contained fury. “Winterborne is a private man. I suppose the idea of a quiet holiday in the country appeals to him. For his sake, I would like to have a proper Christmas feast. And perhaps a few carols could be sung.”
The girls chimed in at once.
“Oh, do say yes, Kathleen!”
“That would be splendicious!”
Even Helen murmured something to the effect that she couldn’t see how it would do any harm.
“Why stop there?” Kathleen asked sarcastically, giving Devon a look of open animosity. “Why not have musicians and dancing, and a great tall tree lit with candles?”
“What excellent suggestions,” came Devon’s silky reply. “Yes, let’s have all of that.”
Infuriated to the point of speechlessness, Kathleen glared at him while Helen discreetly pried the butter knife from her clenched fingers.
Chapter 14
December swept over Hampshire, bringing chilling breezes and whitening the trees and hedgerows with frost. In the household’s general enthusiasm for the approaching holiday, Kathleen soon gave up any hope of curtailing the celebrations. She found herself surrendering by degrees. First she consented to let the servants plan their own party on Christmas Eve, and then she agreed to allow a large fir tree in the entrance hall.
And then West asked if the festivities could be expanded even more.
He found Kathleen in the study, laboring over correspondence. “May I interrupt you for a few moments?”
“Of course.” She gestured to a chair near her writing desk, and set the pen in its holder. Noticing the deliberately bland expression on his face, she asked, “What scheme are you hatching?”
He blinked in surprise. “How do you know there’s a scheme?”
“Whenever you try to look innocent, it’s obvious you’re up to something.”
West grinned. “The girls wouldn’t dare approach you about it, but I told them I would, since it’s been established that I can outrun you when necessary.” He paused. “It seems that Lord and Lady Trenear used to invite all the tenant families and some local tradesmen to a party on Christmas Eve —”
“Absolutely not.”
“Yes, that was my first reaction. However…” He gave her a patient, cajoling glance. “Encouraging a spirit of community would benefit everyone on the estate.” He paused. “It’s not that different from the charitable visits you pay to those families individually.”
Kathleen buried her face in her hands with a groan. A grand party. Music. Presents, sweets, holiday cheer. She knew exactly what Lady Berwick would have said: It was indecent to host such revelry in a house of mourning. It was wrong to steal a day or two of joy out of a year that had been set aside for sorrow. Worst of all, she secretly wanted to do it.
She spoke through her fingers. “It’s not proper,” she said weakly. “We haven’t done anything the way we should: The black was taken from the windows far too early, and no one’s wearing veils anymore, and —”
“No one gives a damn,” West said. “Do you think any of the tenants would blame you for setting aside your mourning just for one night? To the contrary, they would appreciate it as a gesture of kindness and goodwill. I know next to nothing about Christmas, of course, but even so… it strikes me as being in keeping with the spirit of the holiday.” At her long hesitation, he went in for the kill. “I’ll pay for it out of my own income. After all…” A touch of self-pity shaded his voice. “… how else am I to learn about Christmas?”
