For her part, Kathleen was the same as she had always been, talkative, earnest, amusing, ready to argue when she disagreed with him.
He was the one who was different. He had become obsessed with Kathleen, so fascinated by everything she thought and did that he couldn’t tear his gaze from her. Half the time he wanted to do everything possible to fill her with happiness, while the rest of the time he was tempted to throttle her. He had never known such agonizing frustration, wanting her, wanting far more than she was willing to give.
He was reduced to pursuing her, trying to catch her in corners like some lecherous lord playing a game of slap-and-tickle with a housemaid. Fondling and kissing her in the library, sliding his hand beneath her skirts on the back stairs. One morning, after having gone out on an early ride with her, he pulled her into a dark corner of the harness room, coaxing and caressing until he’d finally had his way with her against the wall. And even then, in the disorienting seconds after a magnificent release, he wanted more of her. Every second of the day.
The rest of the household had to have noticed how preoccupied he’d become with Kathleen, but so far no one had dared utter a word. However, West eventually asked why Devon had changed his mind about returning to London in the middle of the month.
“You’re supposed to leave with Winterborne tomorrow,” West said. “Why aren’t you going with him? You should be in London, preparing for the land lease negotiations. The last I heard, they were set to begin on the first of February.”
“The lawyers and accountants can prepare without me,” Devon replied. “I can stay here where I’m needed for at least another week.”
“Needed for what?” West asked with a snort.
Devon’s eyes narrowed. “Between the house renovations, the drainage ditches, hedge planting, and corn threshing, I believe I can find something to do.”
They were walking back to the house from an outbuilding near the stables, where a newly arrived mechanical steam thresher had just been stored. Although the equipment had been purchased secondhand, it appeared to be in excellent condition. West had devised a plan by which the machine would be used and shared in rotation by several families.
“I can manage the estate,” West argued. “You would be of more use in London, working on our financial problems. We need money, particularly now that we’ve agreed to give rent remissions and reductions to the tenants.”
Devon sighed tautly. “I told you we should have waited before doing that.”
“Those families can’t wait. And unlike you, I can’t pluck crusts of bread from the mouths of hungry children.”
“You sound like Kathleen,” Devon muttered. “I’ll come to an agreement with Severin as quickly as possible. It would be easier if he left negotiations to his director, but for some reason he’s decided to handle it himself.”
“As we both know, Severin loves nothing more than to argue with his friends.”
“Which explains why he doesn’t have more of them.” Pausing before the entrance of the house, Devon slid his hands in his pockets and looked up at the second-floor parlor window. Helen was playing the pianoforte, an exquisite melody rippling from the house with such delicacy that one could almost overlook the fact that the instrument was out of tune.
Holy hell, he was tired of things that needed to be repaired.
West followed his gaze. “Did you speak to Winterborne about Helen?”
“Yes. He wants to court her.”
“Good.”
Devon’s brows lifted. “Now you approve of a match between them?”
“In part.”
“What do you mean, in part?”
“The part of me that loves money and wants to stay out of prison thinks it’s a splendid idea.”
“We wouldn’t face prison. Only bankruptcy.”
“A fate worse than debt,” West quipped, and shrugged. “I’ve come to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be a bad match for Helen. If she doesn’t marry him, she’ll have to choose from among the dregs of the aristocracy.”
Speculatively Devon glanced back at the window. “I’ve been thinking about bringing the family to London with me.”
“The entire family? Good God, why?”
“It will bring Helen into proximity with Winterborne.”
“And,” West said pointedly, “it will keep Kathleen in proximity with you.” Meeting Devon’s alert gaze, he continued in an ironic tone. “When I told you not to seduce her, it was out of concern for her well-being. Now it seems I should have been equally as concerned for yours.” A deliberate pause. “You’re not yourself these days, Devon.”
“Let it be,” he said tersely.
“Very well. But one more bit of advice – I wouldn’t mention anything to Kathleen about your plans for Helen. She’s determined to help all three of those girls find happiness.” West smiled grimly. “It seems she hasn’t yet realized that in this life, happiness is optional.”
As Kathleen entered the morning room, she discovered that Helen and the twins were not at breakfast. West and Devon sat at the table reading mail and newspapers, while a footman removed used dishes and flatware.
“Good morning,” Kathleen said. Both men stood automatically as she entered the room. “Have the girls finished already?”
West nodded. “Helen is accompanying the twins to the Luftons’ farm.”
“For what purpose?” she asked as Devon helped her into her chair.
“It was my suggestion,” West told her. “The Luftons have offered to take Hamlet, provided we undertake the expense of building a pen and covered enclosure. The twins are willing to give the pig away if they have Mr. Lufton’s personal guarantee of his welfare.”
Kathleen smiled. “How did that come about?” The footman brought a tea tray from the sideboard, and held it while she measured a few spoonfuls of loose leaves into a small pot.
West spread a liberal helping of preserves on a slice of toast. “I told the twins, as tactfully as possible, that Hamlet was never barrowed in infancy, as he should have been. I had no idea the procedure was necessary, or I would have made certain it was done.”
“Barrowed?” Kathleen asked, perplexed.
West made a scissoring gesture with two fingers.
“Oh.”