Chapter 4
Pandora knew she was about to receive bad news when Devon sent for her to come to his study without having requested Cassandra to come down as well. To make matters worse, Kathleen, who usually served as a buffer between Pandora and Devon, wasn’t there. She had gone for the afternoon to visit Helen, who was still in childbed after having given birth to a healthy son a week and a half ago. The robust dark-haired infant, named Taron, closely resembled his father—“Except prettier, thank God,” Mr. Winterborne had said with a grin. The boy’s name had derived from the Welsh word for thunder, and so far he had justified it in full measure every time he was hungry.
During the delivery, Helen had been attended by Dr. Garrett Gibson, a staff physician at Mr. Winterborne’s department store. As one of the first few women to have been certified as a physician and surgeon in England, Dr. Gibson was skilled and trained in modern techniques. She had taken excellent care of Helen, who’d had a difficult time during the delivery and had developed a mild case of anemia from loss of blood. The doctor had prescribed iron pills and prolonged bed rest, and Helen was improving every day.
However, Mr. Winterborne, who was overprotective by nature, had so far insisted on hovering over his wife every possible minute, neglecting the mountain of responsibilities accumulating at the store. No matter how Helen reassured him that she was in no danger of falling ill from childbed fever or some other dread condition, he remained at the bedside in a near-constant vigil. Helen spent most of her time reading, nursing the baby, and playing quiet games with Carys, her little half-sister.
This morning Helen had sent a note, begging Kathleen to visit so that Mr. Winterborne would go to his office and attend to some urgent business matters. According to Helen, Winterborne’s employees were all going mad without him, and she was going mad with him.
The house seemed abnormally quiet as Pandora reached Devon’s study. Slants of afternoon light bored through multipaned windows set in deep oak wainscoted recesses.
Devon stood as she entered the room. “I have news.” He gestured for her to take the chair beside the desk. “Since it involves Lord St. Vincent, I thought I should tell you before the others.”
Her heartbeats stumbled and collided at the sound of the name. Lowering herself to the chair, Pandora balled her hands in her lap. “What is it? Has he withdrawn his offer?”
“Just the opposite.” Devon sat and faced her. “St. Vincent has extended an invitation for all of us to visit his family’s estate in Sussex. We’ll stay for a week. It will allow both families to—”
“No,” Pandora said, popping up instantly, her nerves clamoring with alarm. “I can’t do that.”
Devon regarded her with a perplexed frown. “It’s an opportunity to become more familiar with them.”
That was exactly what Pandora feared. The Duke and Duchess of Kingston, and their brood of superior offspring, would be sure to look down their elegant noses at her. Only the thinnest veneer of politeness would cover their contempt. Every question they asked her would be a test, and every mistake she made would be noted and stored away for future reference.
Pandora paced around the perimeter of the room in agitation, her skirts whisking the air and sending dust motes swirling upward in tiny glinting constellations. Each time she passed the heavy pedestal desk, stacks of papers fluttered their edges in protest. “By the time they’re done with me, I’ll be gutted, drawn, and dressed like a trout ready for sautéing.”
“Why would they mistreat you after having invited you as their guest?” Devon asked.
“They could be trying to intimidate me into refusing Lord St. Vincent’s proposal, so he won’t have to withdraw it and look ungentlemanly.”
“They only want to become acquainted,” Devon said in an extra-patient manner that made her want to explode like an overboiled pudding. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
Pandora stopped in her tracks, her heart thrashing in her chest like a wild caged bird. “Does Kathleen know about this?”
“Not yet. But she’ll agree that the visit is necessary. The fact is, none of us can go anywhere in London without being badgered with questions about you and St. Vincent. Kathleen and I agreed last night that the family would have to leave town until this situation is resolved.”
“I’ll go back to Eversby Priory, then. Not Sussex. You’ll have to throw me bodily into the carriage, and even then—”
“Pandora. Come here. No, don’t be stubborn, I want to talk to you.” Devon pointed firmly to the chair. “Now.”
It was the first time Devon had ever exerted his authority over her as the head of the family. Pandora wasn’t certain how she felt about it. Although she had an innate dislike of authority, Devon had always been fair. He’d never given her reason not to trust him. Slowly she complied, sinking into the chair and gripping the wooden arms with pressure-whitened fingertips. The hated ringing had begun in her left ear. She cupped her palm over it lightly and tapped her forefinger on the back of her skull a few times, which sometimes caused the irritating noise to subside. To her relief, it worked.
Leaning forward in his chair, Devon contemplated Pandora with eyes the same shade of blue-black as her own. “I think I understand what you’re afraid of,” he said slowly. “At least in part. But I don’t think you understand my perspective. In the absence of a father or older brother to protect you, all you have is me. Regardless of what you or anyone else may assume, I’m not going to push you into marrying St. Vincent. In fact, even if you wanted the match, I might not consent to it.”