Helen glanced at her with mild surprise. They were in the orchid house, where Kathleen was helping her with the painstaking task of hand pollinating vanilla blossoms. “You sound as if you don’t like Mr. Winterborne.”
“He’s terrified the housemaids, cursed Mrs. Church, insulted Sims, and was rather short-tempered with me,” Kathleen said. “I’m beginning to think the only member of the household he hasn’t offended is the pig, and that’s only because Hamlet hasn’t gone into his room yet.”
“He’s had a fever,” Helen protested.
“You must at least concede that he’s grumpy and demanding.”
Helen’s lips tightened against a smile as she admitted, “Perhaps a little demanding.”
Kathleen laughed. “I’ve never been more impressed with your ability to manage difficult people.”
Helen pried a pale yellow flower open to find the pollen-tipped rod within. “If living in a house of Ravenels hasn’t been adequate preparation, I can’t fathom what would be.” Using a toothpick, she collected grains of pollen and applied them to the nectar, which was hidden beneath a tiny flap in the stigma. Her hands were adept from years of practice.
After finishing a flower, Kathleen gave her sister-in-law a puzzled glance. “I’ve always wondered why you’re the only one who doesn’t have a temper. I’ve never seen you in a rage.”
“I’m quite capable of anger,” Helen assured her wryly.
“Anger, yes. But not the kind of fury in which you shout and throw things, and make nasty remarks you’ll later regret.”
Helen worked diligently on the vanilla vine as she replied. “Perhaps I’m a late bloomer. I could develop a temper later.”
“Heavens, I hope not. If you do, we’ll have no kind, calm person to soothe savage beasts such as Mr. Winterborne.”
Helen sent her a quick sidelong smile. “He’s not savage. He’s accustomed to being the center of much activity. It’s difficult for a man with a forceful nature to be idle and ill.”
“He is better today, however?”
“Decidedly. And the ophthalmologist arrives today to examine his vision.” Helen paused, opening another flower. “I expect that Mr. Winterborne’s disposition will improve a hundredfold when he’s able to see again.”
“What if he can’t?”
“I pray that he will.” Considering the question, Helen looked troubled. “I think… he wouldn’t be able to bear anything that he thought of as a weakness in himself.”
Kathleen regarded her with wry sadness. “There are times in life when all of us have to bear the unbearable.”
After the last of the vanilla blossoms had been pollinated, Helen and Kathleen returned to the house and discovered that the ophthalmologist, Dr. Janzer, had already arrived. He was in the process of examining Winterborne’s eyes, while Dr. Weeks and Devon stayed in the room with them. Despite a few shameless attempts at eavesdropping, no one had been able to hear anything through the closed door.
“The number of ocular specialists in England, at Janzer’s level of expertise,” West said as he and the rest of the family waited in the private upstairs parlor, “can be counted on the fingers of one hand. He’s been trained to use an ophthalmoscope, which is a device that reflects light to allow him to look directly into the living eye.”
“Into the pupil?” Cassandra asked, looking amazed. “What can be seen in there?”
“Nerves and blood vessels, I imagine.”
Pandora, who had left the parlor a few minutes earlier, rushed to the threshold and announced dramatically, “Mr. Winterborne can see!”
Helen drew in a quick breath, her heart clattering. “How do you know, dear?” she asked calmly.
“I overheard him reading letters from an eye chart.”
Kathleen gave Pandora a chiding glance. “I asked you not to listen at the door, Pandora.”
“I didn’t.” Pandora held up an empty glass. “I went into the adjoining room and put this against the wall. When you bring your ear close enough, you can make out what they’re saying.”
“I want to try!” Cassandra exclaimed.
“You will do no such thing,” Kathleen told her, motioning for Pandora to come into the parlor and sit. “Mr. Winterborne is entitled to his privacy. We’ll learn soon enough if his vision is intact.”
“It is,” Pandora said smugly.
“Are you certain?” Helen couldn’t restrain herself from asking.
Pandora gave her an emphatic nod.
Helen retained her ladylike posture, but inside she wilted with relief, and prayed silently in gratitude.
“Thank God,” she heard West, who was lounging beside her on the settee, say quietly.
While the others in the room continued their conversation, Helen asked West, “Were you not optimistic about Mr. Winterborne’s vision?”
“I expected it would turn out well enough, but there was still a chance that something might have gone wrong. I would hate for that to happen to Winterborne. He’s not one to suffer hard knocks with forbearance and grace.”
Helen gathered that not all of Winterborne’s impatience was a result of being confined to a sickroom. “I had imagined that a man who owned a department store would be very charming and put people at ease.”
West grinned at that. “He can be. But the moments when he’s charming and putting people at ease are when he’s most dangerous. Never trust him when he’s nice.”
Her eyes rounded with surprise. “I thought he was your friend.”
“Oh, he is. But have no illusions about Winterborne. He’s not like any man you’ve ever known, nor is he someone your parents would have allowed you to meet in society.”
“My parents,” Helen said, “had no intention of allowing me to meet anyone in society.”
Staring at her keenly, West asked, “Why is that, I wonder?”
She was silent, regretting her comment.
“I’ve always thought it odd,” West remarked, “that you’ve been obliged to live like a nun in a cloister. Why didn’t your brother take you to London for the season when he was courting Kathleen?”
She met his gaze directly. “Town held no interest for me; I was happier staying here.”
West’s hand slid over hers and squeezed briefly. “Little friend… let me give you some advice that may prove helpful in the future, when you’re in society. When you lie, don’t fidget with your hands. Keep them still and relaxed in your lap.”