“What will you do with the farm?” Rhys asked.

“I’d like to sell it to the next Lord Carbery and have done with it,” Devon said. “Unfortunately, according to the farm manager, Carbery has no interest in horses.”

“No interest in horses?” Lady Berwick echoed, seeming aghast.

Kathleen nodded ruefully. “When Lord Trenear and I reach Glengarriff, we’ll be able to take account of all that must be done. I’m afraid we may have to stay a fortnight to resolve everything. Perhaps even a month.”

The countess knit her brows. “I’m afraid it won’t do for me to remain at Eversby Priory so long.”

West, who had seated himself as far away from Lady Berwick as possible, said insincerely, “Oh that’s too bad.”

“My daughter Bettina is in her first confinement,” Lady Berwick continued. “The birth is expected to occur soon, and I must be with her in London when the labor begins.”

“Why don’t you stay at Ravenel House with Helen and the twins?” Devon suggested to the countess. “You could manage them just as easily in London as here.”

Pandora clapped her hands together in enthusiasm. “I would love that, there is so much more to do in town—”

“Oh do say yes, my lady!” Cassandra exclaimed, bouncing in her chair.

The countess gave them both a stern glance. “This display is unseemly.” When the girls had fallen completely silent, she said to Devon, “My lord, that would seem an ideal solution. Yes, we will do that.”

Helen was quiet and still, but her heart quickened at the thought of returning to London, where she would be closer to Rhys. She didn’t dare look in his direction, even when she heard him speak calmly to Lady Berwick.

“I’ll escort you and the girls on the train to London, if that would be agreeable.”

“It would, Mr. Winterborne,” came the decisive reply.

“I’m at your service,” Rhys continued. “It would be a privilege to assist with anything you require while you’re in town.”

“Thank you,” the countess said with great dignity. “Coming from a man of your extensive connections, I realize that is no small offer. We will prevail on you if necessary.” She paused to stir another lump of sugar into her tea. “Perhaps you might call on us at Ravenel House from time to time.”

Rhys smiled. “It would be my pleasure. In return, I would like to invite you to Winterborne’s as my personal guest.”

“A department store?” Lady Berwick sounded disconcerted. “I only frequent small shops, where the tradesmen are acquainted with my preferences.”

“My sales clerks would show you the greatest variety of luxury goods you’ve ever seen in one place. Gloves, for example—how many pairs do they bring out for you at a little shop? A dozen? Two dozen? At the glove counter at Winterborne’s, you’ll view ten times that many, made of glacéed kid, calf suede, doeskin, elk, peccary, antelope, even kangaroo.” Seeing her interest, Rhys continued casually, “No fewer than three countries have a part in making our best gloves. Lambskin dressed in Spain, cut in France, and hand-stitched in England. Each glove is so delicate, it can be enclosed in the shell of a walnut.”

“You offer those at your store?” the countess asked, clearly weakening.

“Aye. And we have eighty other departments featuring items from all over the world.”

“I am intrigued,” the older woman admitted. “But hobnobbing with the common herd . . . the crowds . . .”

“You could bring the girls after-hours, when the daytime customers have gone,” Rhys said. “I’ll have some of the sales clerks stay to assist you. If you like, my assistant will make a private appointment for Lady Helen to consult with the store’s dressmaker. It’s time to begin designing her trousseau, aye?”

“It’s beyond time,” Kathleen said, sending her husband an inquiring glance.

“Knowing little of these matters,” Devon replied, “I’ll leave it to your judgment.”

“Then if Lady Berwick consents,” Kathleen said, “and Helen wishes it, the dressmaker at Winterborne’s could begin on the trousseau while Lord Trenear and I are away.”

Helen nodded. “That would be lovely.” She looked at Rhys for just an instant, seeing past his relaxed veneer. Judging from the gleam in his eyes, he was coming up with all manner of plans.

“I will give the matter due consideration,” Lady Berwick remarked, frowning as Pandora tapped the fingers of both hands on the table in a burst of excitement. “Child, do not make a tambourine of the tea table.”

HELEN FOUND IT both a pleasure and torture to go through an ordinary day with Rhys there at Eversby Priory. He was within her sight, her reach, but they were always in the company of others. It was exhausting to have to conceal how much she felt, how her heart raced whenever he entered the room. She had never expected how powerful the combination of physical desire and love would be. At some moments she was filled with melancholy, reflecting that her time with him was slipping through her fingers like fine white sand. She had to tell him about her father . . . she just couldn’t make herself do it yet.

The hours before midnight dragged by slowly, while Helen paced and fidgeted and waited in her room until the household had finally settled. She hurried barefoot through the hallways to the east wing in her white nightgown and robe, impatience pumping through her veins.

She arrived at Rhys’s door, and it opened before she even touched it, a strong arm reaching out to pull her inside. The key turned firmly in the lock, and Rhys caught her close with a soft laugh. Helen was electrified by the feel of him all along her, the aggressive pressure of him against her belly. His mouth blotted out every thought as he searched her hungrily, unlocking a flood of desire that she was too inexperienced to control. She responded blindly, desperate for him, her hands sliding into his thick hair to pull his head down harder over hers.