Their wedding had been a three-day affair, attended by the Challons, Ravenels, and a limited number of close friends, including Lord and Lady Berwick. To Gabriel’s regret, there had been no time for his younger brother Raphael to return from his business trip to America in time for the ceremony. Raphael had sent a telegram, however, and promised to celebrate with them when he returned home later in the spring.
As Pandora had taken Gabriel on a private tour around her family’s estate, Gabriel had begun to comprehend exactly how secluded she and her sisters had been for most of their lives. Eversby Priory was a world unto itself. The rambling Jacobean manor, set among ancient forests and remote green hills, had been largely unchanged for two centuries. Devon had begun making much-needed improvements to the estate ever since inheriting the earldom, but it would take time to fully renovate the house. They had installed modern plumbing only two years ago. Before then, they had used chamber pots and outdoor privies, leading Pandora to tell Gabriel with mock gravity, “I’m barely housebroken.”
The festivities had provided an opportunity for Gabriel to meet the two Ravenels he hadn’t yet encountered: Devon’s younger brother West, and Pandora’s older sister, Lady Helen. Gabriel had taken an instant liking to West, a charming rogue with a sharp wit and an irreverent manner. As the manager of Eversby Priory’s farms and tenants, West seemed to have a thorough grasp of all their issues and concerns.
Lady Helen, who had been accompanied by her husband, Mr. Rhys Winterborne, was far more reserved than the twins. Instead of Pandora’s raw and radiant energy, or Cassandra’s effervescent charm, she possessed a quality of sweet, patient gravity. With her silver-blonde hair and willowy slenderness, Helen seemed as ethereal as a figure from a painting by Bougereau.
Few people would have envisioned a match between such a delicate creature and a man like Rhys Winterborne, a big, black-haired Welshman whose father had been a grocer. Now the owner of the largest department store in England, Winterborne was a man of considerable financial power, known for his forceful and decisive nature. Since his marriage, however, Winterborne seemed to have become far more relaxed and content, smiling with an ease Gabriel hadn’t seen in him before.
Gabriel had met Winterborne several times over the past four years, at the biannual board meetings of a hydraulic equipment manufacturing company. Winterborne had shown himself to be a pragmatic and decent man, with remarkable intuition and shrewdness in business matters. Gabriel liked the Welshman, for all that he lacked polish, but they moved in very different social circles and had never encountered each other outside of business meetings.
Now it seemed that Gabriel and Winterborne would be seeing a great deal of each other. Not only had they both married into an extraordinarily close-knit family, but Winterborne was a mentor to Pandora. For the past year, he had encouraged and advised Pandora about her board game company, and had made a firm commitment to stock her game in his department store. Pandora made no secret of her gratitude and affection for the man. In fact, she hung on to his every word, and glowed at his attention.
As Gabriel had seen how comfortable they were with each other, he’d struggled with an unexpected pang of jealousy. The realization appalled him. He’d never been jealous or possessive of anyone in his life, having considered himself above such petty emotions. But when it came to Pandora, he was no better than a primitive brute. He wanted her all to himself, every word and glance, every touch of her hand, every glint of light on her hair and breath from her lips. He was jealous of the air that touched her skin.
It didn’t help that Pandora was so determined to remain independent from him, like a small sovereign nation afraid of being conquered and absorbed by a powerful neighbor. Every day she added more conditions to her list of marital boundaries, as if she needed to protect herself from him.
When Gabriel had discussed it privately with Phoebe, his sister had given him an incredulous glance and said, “There are items in the meat larder that are older than your relationship with Pandora. You can’t expect eternal love and devotion from a woman after a mere two weeks’ acquaintance.” She had laughed affectionately at his disgruntled expression. “Oh, I forgot. You’re Gabriel, Lord St. Vincent—of course you would expect that.”
His thoughts were drawn back to the present as Pandora lifted her face to the cooling breeze.
Wondering what was going on in her restless brain, Gabriel stroked back a lock of loose hair that clung to her cheek. “What are you thinking about?” he asked. “The wedding? Your family?”
“A rhombus,” Pandora said absently.
His brows lifted. “You’re referring to the parallelogram with opposite equal obtuse angles?”
“Yes, Cousin West told me the Isle of Wight is shaped like a rhombus. I was just thinking that if ‘rhombus’ were an adjective . . .” Raising a gloved hand to her chin, Pandora tapped her fingertips against her lips. “It would be rhombuseous.”