Marrying Winterborne
Cassandra spun the little wooden teetotum and triumphantly advanced her piece to a space marked Sincerity.
Next came West’s turn. His piece advanced to a space bearing the ominous label “Sabbath Breaker.”
“It’s three turns in the stocks for you,” Cassandra told him.
“Clapped in the stocks, merely for breaking the Sabbath?” West asked indignantly.
“It’s a severe game,” Cassandra said. “It was invented at the turn of the century, and back then you could be put in the stocks or hanged even for stealing a piece of bacon.”
“How do you know that?” Rhys asked.
“We have a book about it in the library,” Pandora said. “Crimes of Fallen Humanity. It’s all about terrible criminals and horrid gruesome punishments.”
“We’ve read it at least three times,” Cassandra added.
West regarded the twins with a frown before turning toward the settee and asking, “Should they be reading a book like that?”
“No, they should not,” Kathleen said flatly. “I would have removed it, had I known it was there.”
Pandora leaned toward Rhys and said conspiratorially, “She’s too short to see the books above the sixth shelf. That’s where we keep all the naughty ones.”
West coughed in the effort to disguise a laugh, while Rhys stared down at the game board with sudden undue interest.
“Helen knows about it too,” Pandora added.
Cassandra frowned at her. “Now you’ve done it. They’ll take away all the interesting books.”
Pandora shrugged. “We’ve read all of them anyway.”
Rhys deftly changed the subject. “There’s a newer version of this game,” he commented, looking at the board. “An American company bought the rights, and they’ve revised it to make the punishments less harsh. My store carries it.”
“By all means, let’s purchase the less bloodthirsty version,” West said. “Or better yet, let’s teach poker to the twins.”
“West,” Devon warned, his eyes narrowing.
“Poker is positively wholesome compared to a game with more whippings than a novel by de Sade.”
“West,” Devon and Kathleen said at the same time.
“Mr. Winterborne,” Pandora asked, her blue eyes lively with interest, “where do these board games come from? Who invents them?”
“Anyone who designs one could contract a printer to make some copies.”
“What if Cassandra and I make one?” she asked. “Could we sell it at your store?”
“I don’t want to make a game,” Cassandra protested. “I only want to play them.”
Pandora ignored her, focusing intently on Rhys.
“Come up with a prototype,” he told her, “and I’ll take a look at it. If I think I can sell it, I’ll be your backer and pay for the first printing. In return for a percentage of your profits, of course.”
“What is the usual percentage?” Pandora asked. “Whatever it is, I’ll give you half.”
Raising one brow, Rhys asked, “Why only half?”
“Don’t I deserve an in-law discount?” Pandora asked ingenuously.
Rhys laughed, looking so boyish that Helen felt her heart quicken. “Aye, you do.”
“How will I know what games have already been done?” Pandora was becoming more enthusiastic by the minute. “I want mine to be different from everyone else’s.”
“I’ll send you one of every board game we sell, so you can examine all of them.”
“Thank you, that would be most helpful. In the meantime . . .” Pandora’s fingers drummed the table in a pale blur. “I can’t play any more tonight,” she announced, standing up quickly, obliging West and Rhys to rise to their feet as well. “There’s work to be done. Come with me, Cassandra.”
“But I was winning,” Cassandra grumbled, looking down at the game board. “Isn’t it too late at night to begin something like this?”
“Not when one has a dire case of imagine-somnia.” Pandora tugged her sister from the chair.
After the twins had left, Rhys glanced at Helen with a slight smile. “Has she always made up words?”
“For as long as I can remember,” she replied. “She likes to try to express things like ‘the sadness of a rainy afternoon’ or ‘the annoyance of finding a new hole in one’s stocking.’ But now she’s trying to break herself of the habit, fearing that it might expose her to ridicule during the Season.”
“It would,” Kathleen said regretfully. “Vicious tongues are always wagging, and high-spirited girls like Pandora and Cassandra rarely have an easy time of it during the Season. Lady Berwick was forever scolding me for laughing too loudly in public.”
Devon regarded his wife with a caressing gaze. “I would have found that charming.”
She grinned at him. “Yes, but you never took part in the Season. You and West were elsewhere in London, doing whatever rakes do.”
Rhys went to the sideboard to pour a cognac for himself. Glancing at Devon, he asked, “Will Lady Helen and the twins stay at the estate while you and Lady Trenear are in Ireland?”
“That would be for the best,” Devon said. “We’ve asked Lady Berwick to chaperone them during our absence.”
“It would raise eyebrows otherwise,” Kathleen explained. “Even though we all know West is like a brother to Helen and the twins, he’s still a bachelor with a wicked reputation.”