Marrying Winterborne
Page 42
Annoyed by the uproar, Devon said to Kathleen, “I’m going to find out where our blasted train is. Don’t move an inch until I return. I’ve already told the footman that any man who approaches you or the girls is to be beaten to a pulp.”
Looking up at him, Kathleen placed her feet firmly on the planks as if rooting herself.
Devon shook his head with a reluctant grin. “You don’t look obedient in the least,” he informed her, stroking her cheek with a gloved finger.
“Am I supposed to?” Kathleen called out as he left.
“It would be interesting to see at least once,” he retorted over his shoulder without breaking stride.
Laughing, Kathleen went to stand beside Helen.
While the wide-eyed twins viewed the procession of Coldstreams, dressed in brilliant scarlet tunics trimmed with gold buttons, Kathleen sobered and glanced at Helen’s subdued expression with concern. “I’m sorry we have to leave London.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Helen said. “I’m perfectly content.”
It wasn’t true, of course. She was worried about being separated from Rhys for so long. Especially in light of how infuriated he’d been at her refusal to elope. He wasn’t accustomed to waiting or being denied something he wanted.
Ever since Rhys had left Ravenel House, Helen had written to him daily. In the first letter, she had asked about his health. In the second she had told him about the family’s travel plans, and in the third, she had dared to ask, in a moment of uneasiness and self-doubt, if he regretted their engagement.
After each of the first two letters, a succinct response, written in a remarkably precise copperplate hand, had arrived within hours. In the first, Rhys had assured her that his shoulder was mending quickly, and in the second, he had thanked her for the information about the Ravenels’ imminent departure.
But there had been no reply to Helen’s third letter.
Perhaps he did regret the engagement. Perhaps she had been a disappointment to him. Already.
To keep from troubling the rest of the family, Helen did her best to conceal her low spirits, but Kathleen was sensitive to her mood.
“The time will pass quickly,” Kathleen murmured. “You’ll see.”
Helen managed a strained smile. “Yes.”
“We would have had to return to the estate even if it weren’t for the situation with Mr. Winterborne. There’s much to be done now that the ground is being prepared for the railway and the quarry, and it can’t all fall to West.”
“I understand. But . . . I do hope that Cousin Devon will not continue to be severe upon Mr. Winterborne.”
“He’ll relent soon,” Kathleen assured her. “He’s not trying to be severe, it’s only that you and the twins are under his protection, and he cares very much for you.” After glancing around them, Kathleen lowered her voice. “As I told Devon,” she continued, “it’s hardly a crime for a man to make love to a woman he intends to marry. And he couldn’t argue. But he didn’t like the way Mr. Winterborne manipulated the situation.”
“Will they become friends again?” Helen dared to ask.
“They’re still friends, dear. After we’ve settled in and let a few weeks pass, I’ll persuade Devon to invite Mr. Winterborne to Hampshire.”
Helen clenched her gloved hands together, striving to contain her excitement before she made a spectacle of herself in public. “I would appreciate that.”
Kathleen’s eyes twinkled. “In the meantime, there will be more than enough to keep you occupied. You must go through the house to choose the things you’ll want to take to London. You’ll want your personal possessions, of course, but also any furniture and ornaments that will help to make your new home feel snug.”
“That’s very generous—but I wouldn’t wish to take anything that you might want later.”
“There are two hundred rooms in Eversby Priory. Scores of them are filled with furniture that no one ever uses and paintings no one ever views. Take whatever you like, it’s your birthright.”
Helen’s smile faded at that last word.
Their conversation was drowned out by the roar and blast of a train arriving on the other side of the platform. Smells of metal, coal dust, and steam poured out into the shed, while the wood planks beneath their feet seemed to shake with impatience. Helen shrank back instinctively, even though the locomotive posed no threat. The band continued to play, soldiers marched, and people cheered. Passengers emerged from the railway carriages to be met by porters with barrows, and there was so much calling and shouting that Helen covered her ears with her gloved hands. Kathleen went to gather in the twins as the crowd pressed forward. Bodies moved and collided all around them, while the footman, Peter, did his best to keep the women from being jostled.
A sharp gust came from the open side of the railway shed, whipping the front of Helen’s half-cape apart. The button of a frog fastening had slipped free of a braided silk loop. Gripping the edges of the cape, Helen turned her back to the wind and fumbled with the loop. Her fingers were so cold they wouldn’t work properly.
A pair of young women, clutching valises and hatboxes, brushed by her in their haste to leave the platform, and Helen was bumped sideways. Taking an extra step or two to maintain her balance, she collided with a huge, solid form.
A shocked breath escaped her as she felt a pair of hands steady her.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” she gasped, “I—”
Helen found herself looking up into a pair of midnight eyes. A deep flutter went through her stomach, and her knees weakened.
Looking up at him, Kathleen placed her feet firmly on the planks as if rooting herself.
Devon shook his head with a reluctant grin. “You don’t look obedient in the least,” he informed her, stroking her cheek with a gloved finger.
“Am I supposed to?” Kathleen called out as he left.
“It would be interesting to see at least once,” he retorted over his shoulder without breaking stride.
Laughing, Kathleen went to stand beside Helen.
While the wide-eyed twins viewed the procession of Coldstreams, dressed in brilliant scarlet tunics trimmed with gold buttons, Kathleen sobered and glanced at Helen’s subdued expression with concern. “I’m sorry we have to leave London.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Helen said. “I’m perfectly content.”
It wasn’t true, of course. She was worried about being separated from Rhys for so long. Especially in light of how infuriated he’d been at her refusal to elope. He wasn’t accustomed to waiting or being denied something he wanted.
Ever since Rhys had left Ravenel House, Helen had written to him daily. In the first letter, she had asked about his health. In the second she had told him about the family’s travel plans, and in the third, she had dared to ask, in a moment of uneasiness and self-doubt, if he regretted their engagement.
After each of the first two letters, a succinct response, written in a remarkably precise copperplate hand, had arrived within hours. In the first, Rhys had assured her that his shoulder was mending quickly, and in the second, he had thanked her for the information about the Ravenels’ imminent departure.
But there had been no reply to Helen’s third letter.
Perhaps he did regret the engagement. Perhaps she had been a disappointment to him. Already.
To keep from troubling the rest of the family, Helen did her best to conceal her low spirits, but Kathleen was sensitive to her mood.
“The time will pass quickly,” Kathleen murmured. “You’ll see.”
Helen managed a strained smile. “Yes.”
“We would have had to return to the estate even if it weren’t for the situation with Mr. Winterborne. There’s much to be done now that the ground is being prepared for the railway and the quarry, and it can’t all fall to West.”
“I understand. But . . . I do hope that Cousin Devon will not continue to be severe upon Mr. Winterborne.”
“He’ll relent soon,” Kathleen assured her. “He’s not trying to be severe, it’s only that you and the twins are under his protection, and he cares very much for you.” After glancing around them, Kathleen lowered her voice. “As I told Devon,” she continued, “it’s hardly a crime for a man to make love to a woman he intends to marry. And he couldn’t argue. But he didn’t like the way Mr. Winterborne manipulated the situation.”
“Will they become friends again?” Helen dared to ask.
“They’re still friends, dear. After we’ve settled in and let a few weeks pass, I’ll persuade Devon to invite Mr. Winterborne to Hampshire.”
Helen clenched her gloved hands together, striving to contain her excitement before she made a spectacle of herself in public. “I would appreciate that.”
Kathleen’s eyes twinkled. “In the meantime, there will be more than enough to keep you occupied. You must go through the house to choose the things you’ll want to take to London. You’ll want your personal possessions, of course, but also any furniture and ornaments that will help to make your new home feel snug.”
“That’s very generous—but I wouldn’t wish to take anything that you might want later.”
“There are two hundred rooms in Eversby Priory. Scores of them are filled with furniture that no one ever uses and paintings no one ever views. Take whatever you like, it’s your birthright.”
Helen’s smile faded at that last word.
Their conversation was drowned out by the roar and blast of a train arriving on the other side of the platform. Smells of metal, coal dust, and steam poured out into the shed, while the wood planks beneath their feet seemed to shake with impatience. Helen shrank back instinctively, even though the locomotive posed no threat. The band continued to play, soldiers marched, and people cheered. Passengers emerged from the railway carriages to be met by porters with barrows, and there was so much calling and shouting that Helen covered her ears with her gloved hands. Kathleen went to gather in the twins as the crowd pressed forward. Bodies moved and collided all around them, while the footman, Peter, did his best to keep the women from being jostled.
A sharp gust came from the open side of the railway shed, whipping the front of Helen’s half-cape apart. The button of a frog fastening had slipped free of a braided silk loop. Gripping the edges of the cape, Helen turned her back to the wind and fumbled with the loop. Her fingers were so cold they wouldn’t work properly.
A pair of young women, clutching valises and hatboxes, brushed by her in their haste to leave the platform, and Helen was bumped sideways. Taking an extra step or two to maintain her balance, she collided with a huge, solid form.
A shocked breath escaped her as she felt a pair of hands steady her.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” she gasped, “I—”
Helen found herself looking up into a pair of midnight eyes. A deep flutter went through her stomach, and her knees weakened.
