“The master plumber explained it to me.”
“Dear,” Helen said gently, “it’s not seemly for you to converse with a man when you haven’t been introduced. Especially a laborer in our home.”
“But Helen, he’s old. He looks like Father Christmas.”
“Age has nothing to do with it,” Kathleen said crisply. “Pandora, you promised to abide by the rules.”
“I do,” Pandora protested, looking chagrined. “I follow all the rules that I can remember.”
“How is it that you remember the details of a plumbing system but not basic etiquette?”
“Because plumbing is more interesting.” Pandora bent her head over a book on deportment, pretending to focus on a chapter titled “A Lady’s Proper Demeanor.”
Kathleen contemplated the girl with concern. After a fortnight of tutelage, Pandora had made little headway compared to Cassandra, who had learned far more in the same length of time. Kathleen had also noticed that Cassandra was trying to conceal her own progress to avoid making Pandora look even worse. It had become clear that Pandora was by far the more undisciplined of the pair.
Just then Mrs. Church, the plump and genial housekeeper, came to inform them that tea would soon be brought to the upstairs parlor.
“Hurrah!” Pandora exclaimed, leaping from her chair. “I’m so famished, I could eat a carriage wheel.” She was gone in a flash.
Sending Kathleen an apologetic glance, Cassandra scampered after her sister.
Out of habit, Helen began to collect the books and papers, and sort them into stacks. Kathleen pushed the chairs back into place at the library table.
“Has Pandora always been so…” Kathleen began, but paused in search of a diplomatic word.
“Yes,” Helen said feelingly. “It’s why none of the governesses lasted for long.”
Kathleen returned to the library table, pushing the chairs back into place. “How am I to prepare her for the season, if I can’t manage to keep her seated for more than five minutes?”
“I’m not certain it can be done.”
“Cassandra is making excellent progress, but I’m not certain that Pandora will be ready at the same time.”
“Cassandra would never go to a ball or soiree if Pandora wasn’t with her.”
“But it’s not fair for her to make such a sacrifice.”
Helen’s slight shoulders lifted in a graceful shrug. “It’s the way they’ve always been. When they were small, they spoke to each other in their own invented language. When one of them was disciplined, the other would insist on sharing her punishment. They hate to spend time apart.”
Kathleen sighed. “They’ll have to, if progress is to be made. I’ll spend a few afternoons tutoring Pandora in private. Would you be willing to study separately with Cassandra?”
“Yes, of course.”
Helen organized the books, tucking in scraps of paper to mark the right place before closing each one. How careful she always was with books: they had been her companions, her entertainment, and her only window to the outside world. Kathleen worried that it would be difficult for her to acclimate to the cynicism and sophistication of London.
“Will you want to take part in society, when the mourning period is over?” she asked.
Helen paused, considering the question. “I would like to be married someday,” she admitted.
“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 would be very happy if he loved books and music… and children, of course.”
“I promise, we’ll find a man like that for you,” Kathleen said, regarding her fondly. “You deserve nothing less, dear Helen.”
“Why didn’t you come to eat at the club?” West asked, striding into the parlor of Devon’s terrace apartment. Most of the rooms had been stripped of their furnishings. The stylish modern terrace had just been let to an Italian diplomat for the purpose of keeping his mistress. “They served beefsteak and turnip mash,” West continued. “I’ve never known you to miss —” He stopped abruptly. “Why are you sitting on the desk? What the devil have you done with the chairs?”
Devon, who had been sorting through a stack of mail, looked up with a scowl. “I told you I was moving to Mayfair.”
“I didn’t realize it would be so soon.”
Ravenel House was a twelve-bedroom Jacobean residence of stone and brick, looking as if the manor at Eversby Priory had spawned a smaller version of itself. Thankfully Ravenel House had been kept in better condition than Devon had expected. It was overfurnished but comfortable, the dark wood interior and deeply hued carpets imparting a distinctly masculine ambiance. Although Ravenel House was too large for one person, Devon had no choice but to take up residence there. He had invited West to live with him, but his brother had no desire to give up the comfort and privacy of his stylish terrace.
One couldn’t blame him.
“You look rather glumpish,” West commented. “I know just the thing to cheer you. Tonight the fellows and I are going to the music hall to see a trio of female contortionists who are advertised as the ‘boneless wonders.’ They perform in tights and little scraps of gold cloth —”
“Thank you, but I can’t.”
“Boneless wonders,” West repeated, as if Devon must not have heard him correctly.
Not long ago, the offer might have been moderately tempting. Now, however, with the weight of accumulated worry pressing on him, Devon had no interest in flexible showgirls. He and West and their friends had seen similar performances countless times in the past – there was no novelty left in such shenanigans.
“Go and enjoy yourself,” he said, “and tell me about them later.” His gaze returned to the letter in his hand.
“It does no good to tell you about them,” West said, disgruntled. “You have to see them, or there’s no point.” He paused. “What is so fascinating about that letter? Who is it from?”
“Kathleen.”
“Is there news from the estate?”
Devon laughed shortly. “No end of it. All bad.” He extended the letter to West, who skimmed it quickly.
My Lord,
Today I received a visit from Mr. Totthill, who appears to be in failing health. It is my private opinion that he is overwhelmed by the demands of his position as your estate agent, and is no longer capable of carrying out his responsibilities to your satisfaction, or indeed to anyone’s.