Cold-Hearted Rake

“He will,” Pandora said confidently. “He’s come to dinner at least three times, and accompanied us to a concert, and let us all sit in his private box. Obviously the courtship is going very well.” Pausing, she added with a touch of sheepishness, “For the rest of the family, at least.”

“He likes Helen,” Cassandra remarked. “I can tell by the way he looks at her. Like a fox ogling a chicken.”

“Cassandra,” Kathleen warned. She glanced at Helen, who was staring down at her gloves.

It was difficult to tell whether the courtship was going well or not. Helen was sphinxlike on the subject of Winterborne, revealing nothing about what they had discussed, or how she felt. So far Kathleen had seen nothing in their interactions to indicate that they actually might like each other.

Kathleen had avoided discussing the subject with Devon, knowing it would lead to another pointless argument. In fact, she hadn’t discussed much of anything with him during the past two weeks. After the family’s morning excursions, Devon usually left to meet with lawyers, accountants, or railway executives, or to attend the House of Lords, which was back in session. He returned late most nights, weary and disinclined to talk after having been sociable all day.

Only to herself could she admit how much she missed their intimacy. She longed for their companionable, amusing conversations, and the easy charm and comfort he had given her. Now he could barely bring himself to meet her gaze. She felt their separateness almost as a physical numbness. It seemed they would never find enjoyment in each other’s company again. Perhaps that was for the best, she thought bleakly. After his coolness to her regarding her possible pregnancy – her monthly courses still hadn’t started – and the way he had deceived her into coming to London merely as a pretext to push Helen together with Winterborne, Kathleen would never trust him again. He was a manipulator and a scoundrel.

The carriage arrived at the mews behind Winterborne’s, where one of the back entrances would allow them to enter the store discreetly. After the footman opened the door and set a movable step on the pavement, Devon helped the young women from the carriage. Kathleen was the last to emerge, taking Devon’s gloved hand as she stepped down, releasing it as soon as possible. Laborers passed through the nearby delivery yard, carrying crates and boxes to the loading dock.

“This way,” Devon said to Kathleen, leading the way toward an arched entrance. The others followed at their heels.

A blue-uniformed doorman opened a large bronze door and tipped his hat. “Welcome to Winterborne’s, my lord. At your service, ladies.” As they passed through the doorway, he handed them each a little booklet in turn. The ivory and blue covers had been stamped with gilt letters that read, “Winterborne’s,” and below that, “Index of Departments.”

“Mr. Winterborne is waiting at the central rotunda,” the doorman said.

It was a mark of the twins’ awe and excitement that they were completely silent.

Winterborne’s was a pleasure palace, an Aladdin’s cave designed to dazzle its customers. The interior was lavishly appointed with carved oak paneling, molded plaster ceilings, and wood flooring with intricate insets of mosaic tiles. Instead of the small, enclosed rooms of traditional shops, the interior of Winterborne’s was open and airy, with wide archways that allowed customers to move easily from one department to the next. Glittering chandeliers shed light on intriguing objects that had been heaped inside polished glass cases, with even more treasures artfully arranged on countertops.

In one day of shopping at Winterborne’s, one could buy an entire household’s worth of goods, including crystal and china, cooking utensils, hardware, heavy furniture, upholstery fabric, clocks, vases, musical instruments, framed artwork, a saddle for the horse, and a wooden ice refrigerator and all the food to store inside it.

They approached the central rotunda, six stories high, with each floor framed by gilded scrollwork balconies. It was surmounted by an enormous stained-glass dome with scrolls, rosettes, and other flourishes. Winterborne, who was standing beside a plate-glass counter and looking down at its contents, glanced up at their approach.

“Welcome,” he said, a smile in his eyes. “Is this what you had expected?” The question was addressed to the group, but his gaze had gone to Helen.

The twins erupted with happy exclamations and praise, while Helen shook her head and smiled. “It’s even more grand than I had imagined,” she told him.

“Let me take you on a tour.” Winterborne slid a questioning glance to the rest of the group. “Would any of you like to accompany us? Or perhaps you’d like to start shopping?” He gestured to a stack of rattan baskets near the counter.

The twins looked at each other, and decisively said, “Shopping.”

Winterborne grinned. “The confectionery and books are in that direction. Drugs and perfumery over there. Back there you’ll find hats, scarves, ribbons, and lace.” Before he had even finished the sentence, the twins had each grabbed a basket and dashed away.

“Girls…” Kathleen began, disconcerted by their wildness, but they were already out of earshot. She looked at Winterborne ruefully. “For your own safety, try to stay out of their path or you’ll be trampled.”

“You should have seen how the ladies behaved during my first bi-annual sale discounts,” Winterborne told her. “Violence. Screaming. I’d rather go through the train accident again.”

Kathleen couldn’t help smiling.