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He hardly recognized himself in his reaction to her. She was full of life, burning like sunflowers in the rime of autumn frost. Compared to the languid and diffident girls of London’s annual marriage mart, Pandora might have been another species altogether. She was just as beautiful as he’d remembered, and as unpredictable. Laughing after the dog had jumped on her in the front drive, when any other young woman in her place would have been angry or humiliated. As she’d stood there wanting to argue with him about carrots, all Gabriel had been able to think of was how much he wanted to carry her somewhere cool and dark and quiet, and have her all to himself.
But despite Pandora’s compelling attractions, there was no doubt she was ill-suited to the only kind of life he could offer. The life he’d been born into. He couldn’t renounce his title, nor could he turn his back on the families and employees who depended on him. It was his responsibility to manage the Challons’ ancestral lands and preserve their heritage for the next generations. His wife would be saddled with managing multiple households, performing court duties, attending charity organization committee meetings and foundation-layings, and so on.
Pandora would hate it. All of it. Even if she did grow into the role, she would never inhabit it comfortably.
They entered the summer parlor, where the Ravenels chatted amiably with his sisters, Phoebe and Seraphina.
Phoebe, the oldest of the Challon siblings, had inherited their mother’s warm and deeply loving nature, and their father’s acerbic wit. Five years ago she had married her childhood sweetheart, Henry, Lord Clare, who had suffered from chronic illness for most of his life. The worsening symptoms had gradually reduced him to a shadow of the man he’d once been, and he’d finally succumbed while Phoebe was pregnant with their second child. Although the first year of mourning was over, Phoebe hadn’t yet returned to her former self. She went outdoors so seldom that her freckles had vanished, and she looked wan and thin. The ghost of grief still lingered in her gaze.
Their younger sister Seraphina, an effervescent eighteen-year-old with strawberry-blonde hair, was talking to Cassandra. Although Seraphina was old enough to have come out in society by now, the duke and duchess had persuaded her to wait another year. A girl with her sweet nature, her beauty, and her mammoth dowry would be targeted by every eligible man in Europe and beyond. For Seraphina, the London Season would be a gauntlet, and the more prepared she was, the better.
After introductions were made, Pandora accepted a glass of iced lemonade and remained quiet as the conversation flowed around her. When the group discussion turned to the subject of Heron’s Point’s economy, and its tourism and fishing industries, it was obvious to Gabriel that Pandora’s thoughts had drifted in a direction that had nothing to do with the present moment. What was going on in that restless brain?
Moving closer to her, Gabriel asked quietly, “Have you ever gone to a beach? Waded in the ocean and felt the sand beneath your feet?”
Pandora glanced up at him, the vacant expression leaving her face. “No, I—there’s a sand beach here? I thought it would be all pebbles and shingle.”
“The estate has a private sandy cove. We walk to it along a holloway.”
“What’s a holloway?”
“It’s what they call a sunken lane, here in the southern counties.” Gabriel loved the way she shaped the word silently with her lips . . . holloway . . . seeming to savor it as if it were a bonbon. Glancing at Seraphina, who was standing nearby, he said, “I’m going to take Lady Pandora to the cove this afternoon. I expect Ivo will come too. Would you like to join us?”
Pandora frowned. “I didn’t say—”
“That would be lovely,” Seraphina exclaimed, and turned to Cassandra. “You must come with us. It’s refreshing to splash about in the ocean on a day like this.”
“Actually,” Cassandra said apologetically, “I would rather take a nap.”
“How could you possibly want a nap?” Pandora demanded, incredulous. “We’ve done nothing but sit all day.”
Cassandra was instantly defensive. “Doing nothing is exhausting. I need to rest in case we do nothing again later.”
Looking nettled, Pandora turned back to Gabriel. “I can’t go, either. I have no bathing costume.”
“You can wear one of mine,” Seraphina volunteered.
“Thank you, but without a chaperone, I couldn’t—”
“Phoebe has agreed to chaperone us,” Gabriel interrupted.
His older sister, who had been listening to the exchange, raised her brows. “I did?” she asked coolly.
Gabriel gave her a meaningful glance. “We discussed it this morning, remember?”
Phoebe’s gray eyes narrowed. “Actually, I don’t.”
“You said you’d spent too much time inside lately,” he told her. “You said you needed a walk and some fresh air.”
“Goodness, how talkative I was,” Phoebe said in a caustic tone, her gaze promising retribution. But she didn’t argue.
Gabriel grinned as he saw Pandora’s mutinous expression. “Don’t be stubborn,” he coaxed in an undertone. “I promise you’ll enjoy yourself. And if you don’t . . . you’ll have the satisfaction of proving me wrong.”
Chapter 7
After being shown to a pretty bedroom with delicate pink walls, and wide windows opening to a view of the ocean, Pandora changed into a bathing costume that had been brought by Seraphina’s maid. The ensemble consisted of a dress with short puffed sleeves and a shockingly brief skirt, and a pair of Turkish trousers to wear underneath. Sewn of light blue flannel trimmed with white braid, the bathing costume was wonderfully light and loose.