Devon frowned. He hadn’t been aware that Kathleen had left the house. “Where is she?”
“She has gone to visit the tenant farm on the other side of the hill. She took a basket of broth and elderberry wine to Mrs. Lufton, who is recovering from childbirth fever. I asked Kathleen if I could accompany her, but she insisted on walking alone. She said she needed the solitude.” Helen’s fingers wove together into a pale knot. “She should have returned by now, but the weather has come in so quickly that I fear she might be caught out in it.”
There was nothing in the world that Devon would love more than the sight of Kathleen rain-soaked and bedraggled. He had to restrain himself from rubbing his hands together in villainous glee.
“There’s no need to send a footman,” he said casually. “I’m certain that Lady Trenear will have the sense to stay at the tenant farm until the rain passes.”
“Yes, but the downs will have turned to mud.”
Better and better. Kathleen, wading through mud and clay. Devon fought to keep his expression grave, when inside all was joy and exploding Roman candles. He went to the window. No rain yet, but dark clouds seeped through the sky like ink on wet parchment. “We’ll wait a bit longer. She could return momentarily.”
Lightning bolts pierced the firmament, a trio of brilliant jagged streaks accompanied by a series of cracks that sounded like shattering glass.
Helen drew closer. “My lord, I am aware that you and my sister-in-law exchanged words earlier —”
“‘Exchanged words’ would imply that we had a civilized debate,” he said. “Had it lasted any longer, we would have torn each other to shreds.”
A frown corrugated her smooth brow. “You both find yourself in difficult circumstances. Sometimes that causes people to say things they don’t mean. However, if you and Kathleen could manage to set aside your differences —”
“Lady Helen —”
“Do call me cousin.”
“Cousin, you will avoid much future distress if you learn to see people as they really are, instead of as you wish them to be.”
Helen smiled faintly. “I already do.”
“If that were true, you would understand that Lady Trenear and I are correct in our assessments of each other. I am a scoundrel, and she is a heartless bitch who’s entirely capable of looking after herself.”
Helen’s eyes, the silvery-blue of moonstones, widened in concern. “My lord, I have come to know Kathleen very well in our shared grief over my brother’s passing —”
“I doubt she feels much grief,” Devon interrupted brusquely. “By her own admission, she hasn’t shed a single tear over your brother’s death.”
Helen blinked. “She told you that? But she didn’t explain why?”
Devon shook his head.
Looking perturbed, Helen said, “It isn’t my story to tell.”
Concealing an instant flare of curiosity, Devon shrugged casually. “Don’t concern yourself with it, then. My opinion of her won’t alter.”
As he had intended, the show of indifference pushed Helen into talking. “If it helps you to understand Kathleen a little better,” she said uncertainly, “perhaps I should explain something. Will you swear on your honor to keep it in confidence?”
“Of course,” Devon said readily. Having no honor, he never hesitated to promise something on it.
Helen went to one of the windows. Fissures of lightning crackled across the sky, illuminating her delicate features with a blue-white flash. “When I didn’t see Kathleen cry after Theo’s accident, I assumed it was because she preferred to keep her emotions private. People have different ways of grieving. But one evening as she and I sat in the parlor with needlework, I saw her prick her finger, and… she didn’t react. It was as if she hadn’t even felt it. She sat watching a drop of blood form, until I couldn’t bear it any longer. I wrapped her finger with a handkerchief, and asked what was the matter. She was ashamed and confused… she said she never cried, but she thought that she would have at least been able to shed some tears for Theo.”
Helen paused, seeming preoccupied with removing a flake of peeling paint from the wall.
“Go on,” Devon murmured.
Meticulously Helen set the flake of paint on the windowsill, and picked at another, as if she were pulling scabs from a half-healed wound. “I asked Kathleen if she could ever remember crying. She said yes, when she was a little girl, on the day she left Ireland. Her parents had told her they were all traveling to England on a three-masted steamer. They went to the docks and made as if to board the ship. But as Kathleen and her nanny stepped onto the gangplank, she realized that her parents weren’t following. Her mother told her that she was going to stay with some very nice people in England, and they would send for her someday when they didn’t have to travel abroad so often. Kathleen became quite frantic, but her parents turned and walked away, while the nanny dragged her aboard.” Helen sent him a sidelong glance. “She was only five years old.”
Devon swore quietly. He flattened his palms on the desk, staring at nothing as she continued.
“For hours after Kathleen had been brought to the ship’s cabin, she screamed and sobbed until the nanny became very cross and said, ‘If you insist on making such a horrid fuss, I shall go away, and you’ll be alone in the world with no one to look after you. Your parents sent you away because you’re a nuisance.’” Helen paused. “Kathleen quieted at once. She took the nanny’s warning to mean that she must never cry again; it was the price of survival.”
“Did her parents ever send for her?”
Helen shook her head. “That was the last time Kathleen ever saw her mother. A few years later, Lady Carbery succumbed to malaria during a return voyage from Egypt. When Kathleen was told about her mother’s passing, she felt the pain of it acutely, but she couldn’t find the relief of tears. It was the same with Theo’s death.”
The sound of hard-falling rain was like the clatter of coins.
“Kathleen is not heartless, you see,” Helen murmured. “She feels very deep sorrow. It’s only that she can’t show it.”
Devon wasn’t certain whether to thank or curse Helen for the revelations. He didn’t want to feel any compassion for Kathleen. But the rejection by her parents at such a tender age would have been devastating. He understood all about the desire to avoid painful memories and emotions… the compelling need to keep certain doors closed.