by Lisa Kleypas
His clothes had been miraculously washed, dried and pressed, and his shoes cleaned and shined. After dressing, West sat down at a small table in an adjoining room, where he was served coffee with heavy cream, and a plate of coddled eggs and the thin, tender undercut of beef sirloin that had been fried on a gridiron and dressed with salt and chopped parsley. At first the very idea of chewing and swallowing revolted him. But he took a bite, and another, and then his digestive system began to hum in gratitude, and he consumed it all with indecent haste.
Near the end of the meal, Kingston came to join him. Coffee was set at his place, and West’s cup was replenished.
“Still not back to form,” the duke said, looking over him critically, “but better.”
“Sir,” West began, and had to stop as the muscles of his throat tightened. Damn it. He couldn’t talk with this man about anything personal. He would break. He was as fragile as a blown glass bubble. He cleared his throat twice before he could continue. “I think I know what you want to discuss, and I can’t.”
“Excellent. I’d already planned to do most of the talking. I’ll go to the point: I give my blessing to a marriage between you and my daughter. Now, you will undoubtedly wish to point out that you haven’t asked for it, which will prompt me to ask why. Then you’ll relate a few stories from your unsavory past and go through some tedious self-flagellation to make me aware of your unworthiness as a potential husband and father.” The duke took a sip of coffee before adding, “I will not be impressed.”
“You won’t?” West asked warily.
“I’ve done worse things than you could imagine, and no, I’m not going to share any of my secrets as a sop to your conscience. However, I’ll assure you from personal experience that a ruined reputation can be regilded, and gaseous society gossips will eventually seek new material with which to inflate themselves.”
“That’s not my worst concern.” West rubbed the pad of his thumb across the dull edge of a butter knife, back and forth. He forced himself to go on. “I’ll always have to wonder when my inner demons might lash out and drag anyone who loves me down to whatever circle happens to be propping up hell.”
“Most men have inner demons,” Kingston replied quietly. “God knows I do. And so does a friend who’s the finest and most genuinely moral man I’ve ever known.”
“How do you get rid of them?”
“You don’t. You learn to manage them.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Let’s not go in circles, Ravenel. You’re not perfect—we’re both in agreement on that. But I’ve seen and heard enough to be assured you’ll provide the kind of companionship my daughter wants and needs. You won’t seclude her from the outer world. She and Henry lived in that damned Greek Temple on a hill like deities on Mount Olympus, breathing only rarefied air. You’ll be the kind of father those boys need. You’ll prepare them for a changing world and teach them empathy for the people who live on their land.” His intent gaze met West’s. “I understand you, Ravenel. I’ve been in your shoes. You’re afraid, but you’re not a coward. Stand up to this. Stop running. Go take up this matter with my daughter. If the two of you can’t come to some satisfactory conclusion on your own, I’m sure you don’t deserve to marry.”
There was a discreet knock at the door.
“Come in,” the duke said, the silvered locks at his temples glinting in the light as he turned his head.
A footman opened the door. “Your Grace,” he said, and gave a decisive nod toward the window.
The duke rose from his chair and went to the window, glancing down at the street. “Ah. What perfect timing.” He glanced back at the footman. “Proceed.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
West was too consumed by his thoughts to pay attention to the exchange. In his life, he’d had more than his share of lectures, some brutal enough to leave permanent gouges in his soul. But no man had ever spoken to him quite like this, wry, honest, direct, bracing, and a bit high-handed in a way that felt oddly reassuring. Fatherly. Admittedly, the suggestion of cowardice had rankled, but West couldn’t deny that Kingston was right, it was fear. He was afraid of too many damned things.
But the list was a bit shorter now. Shaving had just been crossed off. That proved something, didn’t it?
Kingston had gone to the partially open door. He was speaking to someone on the other side of the threshold.
A muffled female voice, just the tone of it, awakened West’s nerves like a handful of Lucifer matches all lit at once. He stood so quickly, he nearly knocked the chair backward. As he moved closer to the door, his heart started beating fast and hard, his ears straining.
“. . . brought the children,” she was saying. “They’re downstairs with Nanny.”
Kingston laughed quietly. “Your mother will have a fit of temper when I tell her I had them all to myself here, while she was at Heron’s Point.” Becoming aware of West’s approach, he stepped back and opened the door a bit wider.
Phoebe.
Joy filled West in a violent rush. Thunderstruck by the force of his feelings, he could only stare at her. In that moment, he knew that no matter what happened from then on, no matter what he had to do, he would never be able to leave her again.
“Father sent for me this morning,” Phoebe said breathlessly. “I had to hurry to catch the train in time.”
Clumsily West took a step back as she entered the room.
“I’ve done my part,” the duke said. “Now I suppose I’ll have to leave it to you two.”
“Thank you, father,” Phoebe replied wryly. “We’ll try to manage without you.”
Kingston left, closing the door behind him.
West stayed exactly where he was as Phoebe turned to face him. Holy Hell, it felt good to be near her. “I’ve been thinking,” he said huskily.
A tremulous smile curved her lips. “About what?”
“Trust. When I told you I couldn’t count on someone loving me . . .”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I realized that before I can have trust . . . actually feel it . . . I’ll have to start doing it. Trusting blindly. I’ll have to learn how. It’s . . . difficult. “
Her beautiful eyes shimmered. “I know, darling,” she whispered.
“But if I’m ever going to try it with anyone, it has to be you.”
Phoebe inched closer to him. Her eyes were so bright, they were like bottled lightning. “I’ve been thinking, too.”
“About?”
“About surprises. You see, there was no way of knowing how much time Henry and I would have together before his decline started. As it turned out, it was even less time than we’d expected. But it was worth it. I would do it again. I wasn’t afraid of his illness, and I’m not afraid of your past, or whatever might leap out at us. That’s the chance everyone takes, isn’t it? The only ironclad guarantee is that we’ll love each other.”
West’s heart was thundering now, his entire life poised at the brink. “There is one problem,” he said hoarsely. “I once promised never to propose to you. But I never said I wouldn’t accept a proposal. I’m begging you, Phoebe . . . Ask me. Because I love you and your children more than my heart can bear. Ask me as a mercy, because I can’t live without you.”
Her smile was blinding as she drew closer. “West Ravenel, will you marry me?”
“Oh God, yes.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately, too hard for pleasure, but she didn’t seem to mind at all.
Now their story would begin, their futures instantly rewritten. Two futures joined into one. Light seemed to shimmer all around them, or perhaps that was just the effect of tears in his eyes. This, West thought in wonder, was far too great a portion of happiness for one man.
“Are you sure?” he asked in-between kisses. “Somewhere out there, the perfect man you deserve is probably searching for you.”
Phoebe laughed against his mouth. “Let’s hurry, then—we can be married before he gets here.”
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Author’s Note
The phrase “God Speed the Plow” started in the 1400s. It relies on the original Middle English meaning of the word speed: prosperity and success. Plowmen used to sing a song of this title on Plow Monday, the first Monday after Twelfth Night, when all the plowmen would go back to work hoping for a successful season.
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the origin of using x’s in letters to represent kisses dates back to a letter written by British curate and naturalist Gilbert White in 1763. However, Stephen Gorenson, a highly respected researcher and language specialist at Duke University, says the x’s in Gilbert White’s letter were intended to mean blessings. Gorenson found citations of the definite use of x’s as kisses from 1890 onward, including a letter from Winston Churchill to his mother in 1894: “Please excuse bad writing as I am in an awful hurry. (Many kisses.) xxx WSC.”
As part of my research, I watched (along with my husband Greg, who’s a history buff) the BBC’s British historical documentary Victorian Farm and the follow-up Victorian Farm Christmas. We were enthralled! The show recreates everyday life on a mid-1800s Shropshire farm by sending a team of three people—historian Ruth Goodman and archaeologists Alex Langlands and Peter Ginn to live and work there for a year. We found it on YouTube—watch it, you’ll love it!
Thank you for your kindness and enthusiasm, my wonderful readers! I love sharing my work with you, and I’m grateful every day that you make it possible.
—L.K.
West Ravenel’s Favorite Purée of Spring Vegetable Soup
This recipe, based on many similar Victorian ones, is one we’ve used often. Not only is it easy, delicious and nourishing, it also makes use of those “odds and ends” vegetables that sometimes lurk forlornly in the refrigerator drawer. You can substitute or add any vegetables you like, including cabbage, cauliflower, parsnips, etc. Just add more broth if you need to make it more liquid for easy blending. Although the recipe calls for dried herbs, always use fresh if you have them. I like to use thyme and oregano, but any herbs you like will work beautifully.
Ingredients
1 quart chicken or vegetable broth
2 tablespoons butter (or olive oil)
1 yellow onion, chopped
1 teaspoon minced garlic
1 large (or two small) zucchinis
1 large (or two small) yellow summer squash
2 regular carrots, or a couple of handfuls of baby carrots
1 red or yellow bell pepper
1/4 cup tomato paste
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 14-ounce can white beans, rinsed and drained
1/2 cup heavy cream or half and half
Directions
Chop vegetables into half inch pieces. Don’t worry about being terribly precise, since they’re going to be blended, but you do want them to cook evenly.
Melt the butter in a large pot on medium high heat. Add the garlic, onion and other chopped vegetables and sauté for 10 to 15 minutes.
Add broth, tomato paste, beans, seasonings and herbs. Bring to a boil, then turn down to a simmer and cook for at least a half hour, or until everything is super tender and can be pierced easily with a fork.
Either blend with a hand immersion blender, or a regular stand blender. If you use a regular blender, which is what I use, make sure to do it in batches—don’t overfill!
Add the cream or half and half at the end, and add more salt and/or pepper if needed.
Serve with buttered croutons if desired, or if you want a really hearty meal, have it with a grilled cheese sandwich.
About the Author
LISA KLEYPAS graduated from Wellesley College with apolitical science degree. She is a RITA® Award-winning author of both historical romance and contemporary women’s fiction. Her novels are published in fourteen different languages and are bestsellers all over the world. She lives in Washington State with her husband, Gregory, and their two children.
www.lisakleypas.com
www.avonromance.com
www.facebook.com/avonromance
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By Lisa Kleypas
Devil's Daughter
Hello Stranger
Devil in Spring
Marrying Winterborne
Cold-Hearted Rake
Scandal in Spring
Devil in Winter
It Happened One Autumn
Secrets of a Summer Night
Again the Magic
Where’s My Hero? (with Kinley McGregor and Julia Quinn)
Worth Any Price
When Strangers Marry
Lady Sophia’s Lover
Suddenly You
Where Dreams Begin
Someone to Watch Over Me
Stranger in My Arms
Because You’re Mine
Somewhere I’ll Find You
Three Weddings and a Kiss (with Kathleen E. Woodiwiss, Catherine Anderson, and Loretta Chase)
Prince of Dreams
Midnight Angel
Dreaming of You
Then Came You
Only With Your Love
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
devil’s daughter. Copyright © 2019 by Lisa Kleypas. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
Digital Edition FEBRUARY 2019 ISBN: 978-0-06-237192-8
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-237193-5
Cover design by Patricia Barrow
Avon, Avon & logo, and Avon Books & logo are registered trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America and other countries.
HarperCollins is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America and other countries.
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venels Meet the Wallflowers
