Charlotte clicked her tongue against her teeth, selected her own daisy, and lifted it to her nose. “He’s called me Lottie since we were little, but there was this shift, and the next time that nickname rolled from his lips, my world expanded. I felt a glow. Like I was lifted from my slippers. It suddenly occurred to me that we weren’t simply friends anymore.” She dusted the petals against her palm. “And there was an impressive kiss. That, too.”
Raine laughed and gave her daisy a spin. “Ah, a blinding kiss. That sounds about right.”
“He was funny and charming, a bit naughty. Handsome. Frankly, he was everything. When I knew he loved me, too…” She shrugged, a dreamy tilt curving her lips. “There was no question.”
“So you can just know,” Raine whispered. “In an instant.”
Charlotte nodded. “Sometimes, yes, of course. However, Phillip and I took years to get around to it. We aren’t a perfect example.”
“It’s complicated. This man I speak of”—Raine laid the flower on her apron and glanced into Charlotte’s eyes, then back at her worn slippers—“he’s not a servant. It won’t advance his life, his career, his holdings in any of the ways another marriage, to someone more appropriate, wealthy or highborn, would. But he doesn’t care about that, and I’m not sure I should care so very much.”
“Does Mister Bainbridge love you? Do you love him? I think these are the questions you should ask yourself. That you should consider above any other. Not if he’s listed in Debrett’s Peerage or needs funds for his watchmaking business, which I can assure you, from what I know, he does not.”
Raine’s heart dropped to her knees. She swiveled on the bench, marble snagging her dress. “How did you know?”
Charlotte chewed on her lip, her smile when it broke through positively wicked. “You crossed the main hall yesterday on your way to the kitchens. You were reading a book and almost walked into a wall. Mister Bainbridge was at the front door with Lord Jonathan, and his gaze followed you until you were lost from sight. His expression…” She fanned her cheeks and trailed the daisy across them. “His expression was a study in dazzled befuddlement. He had to shake himself out of a stupor as if he’d had a sudden rush of blood to the head.” She pointed her flower at Raine, shrugged a slim shoulder. “He’s been here before, and certainly, there have been rumors in the scandal sheets, men will be men, but he’s always seemed lonely to me. Remote, without anyone except that scamp of a valet, Mister Pennington, by his side. So, my dear Miss Mowbray, what you can offer, if he loves you, is you. Not funds or property or a silly title, but you. And you are the only you he’ll ever be lucky enough to find.”
Raine watched a ladybug crawl along the bench and, with a flicker of its wings, drift from sight. The anguish in Kit’s voice when he spoke of having no one after his family died whispered through her mind. Even with the wenches and the watches, she suspected he was lonely. In a way only someone just as lonely could understand. “Will the duke be incensed if I agree to marry Mister Bainbridge and move to London? He did go to such trouble to secure my future and get me away from Tavistock House.”
Charlotte giggled and threw her arm around Raine’s shoulder, sending their daisies tumbling to the grass. “He’s a romantic! Do you see the way he looks at the duchess when she doesn’t know he’s looking? He’ll be extremely happy for you. Just think, we can have another wedding in the chapel! This is the most glorious year ever!”
Abigail Frank and Rex Ableman had gotten married in the estate’s chapel just after Raine arrived at Hartland Abbey, and Charlotte and Phillip had married there one month ago.
“Are you going to say yes?” Charlotte asked. “Tell me you are. I’ll help you plan, and we can have a dress made and…”
Raine smiled softly and ducked her head, Charlotte’s excited chatter flowing over her, the image of taking Kit’s hand in the enchanting Devon sanctuary too wonderful to imagine.
She only had to find the courage to seize her heart’s desire.
It was as simple as that.
Chapter 6
Hartland Abbey was tranquil, hushed, servants above and below stair asleep, duties complete. Kitchens cleaned, wicks extinguished, floors swept, beds turned, basins freshened. Raine tiptoed down the hallway, halting at Kit’s bedchamber door. It had been easy, a remark about the delivery of a letter that didn’t exist, to find out which room was his. She placed her hand on the walnut door as if she’d be able to feel his presence, then laughed at herself for such lovesick foolishness.
She stood there for a minute, perhaps two, the tick of a mantel clock Kit had likely recalibrated signaling the passing of time and her increasing cowardice.
“Damn and blast,” Raine whispered and tapped on the door. How hard was it to tell a man you loved him? Wanted to marry him. Live the rest of your days watching him fiddle with his timepieces. Translate his ridiculously intricate chronometer designs and have his undoubtedly gorgeous children.
She pressed her hand to her quivering belly.
Very hard, indeed.
The knob squealed, and the door inched open. Raine exhaled, then caught herself, and clamped her lips shut as Christian moved into view, perching his shoulder on the doorjamb with a look of surprise, pleasure, and finally, uncertainty. She took him in from head to toe. Heavens. Trousers hanging low on his lean hips. No shirt, no shoes, no stockings. A dusting of hair on his chest that trailed down and into his wrinkled waistband. His body was lean but layered with muscle. A body she wanted to press into
