He seemed familiar, which was absurd.
Raine cataloged his features, trying to solve the puzzle. Square jaw, dark, disheveled hair, tastefully elegant suit of clothing, polished Hessians glinting in the sunlight. A curl of amusement about his lips, lines of delight streaking from his eyes, he looked rather like a man who held a secret close. A hint of mischievousness beneath an almost bookish air. Spellbound, she watched him gesture to a passing footman who’d unloaded a bevy of cases from a landau and was struggling to carry them inside the house, the man’s regard for his belongings—which didn’t look like the customary sartorial fripperies the ton dragged to Yorkshire—possessive and intense. Whatever was in those gleaming wooden cases mattered to their visitor. His gaze followed the boxes up the marble stairs and into the house with the longing one usually reserved for a paramour.
“They say he refused a knighthood.”
Raine flinched, the oilcloth dropping from her hand to the Aubusson carpet. Ellen Bruce, one of the other housemaids, giggled and winked. In the duke’s employ since she was a child, Ellen knew everyone and heard everything, while Raine had only been on the estate for six paltry months.
Therefore she knew almost nothing.
“A knighthood dangled before him for repairing the Prince Regent’s fickle pocket watch,” Ellen murmured with a sly glance cast toward the drive. “Can you imagine such a thing? Royalty be daft, Prinny especially. That’s what I think, if anyone asks me, which they likely won’t.”
“Who are you referring to?” Raine stooped to pick up her cleaning cloth, hopefully hiding her curiosity about the intriguing stranger, inquisitiveness that a house servant of a magnificent house such as Hartland Abbey should not have about a guest.
“Mister Christian Bainbridge, that’s who. Friendly with Lord Jonathan since his school days, he’s stayed here one or two times in the past.” Ellen pranced over to the grand fireplace and gave the intricate trim a passing swipe with her duster that in no way accounted for housework. She laughed, throwing a playful look over her shoulder, knowing she had a captive audience. “It’s said he designs the most accurate timepieces in England, and you know the duke cannot stand to be late for any appointment. In this house, nothing but a Bainbridge will do.”
Wordlessly, they watched the celebrated watchmaker stroll past the drawing room, his footfalls echoing off marble, providing another brief look that confirmed he was as appealing inside the house as he was out of it.
“A most eligible bachelor but a duke’s daughter would be reaching too high. Although he’s here to court timepieces, not unmarried ladies,” Ellen whispered, breathless with delight at the opportunity to impart this much gossip in one sitting. “He has more money than half the peerage what with their silly extravagances and base business sense. And so attractive, too.” She turned, her duster poised like a sword, and gave it a little jab. “He’ll get one look at you, and poof, be smitten! It happened with Nash in seconds flat. You could have knocked him over with a feather after meeting you that first time.” She sniffed and returned to her half-hearted dusting. “As if you would dally with a groom. Poor besotted Nash. This one, however, is no groom, but a dangerous man. According to the broadsheets, Mister Bainbridge only cares for wenches and watches, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Raine held back a spurt of laughter and circled the room to check the water level in the many vases scattered about the charming parlor. It was no wonder the space smelled like one stood in the middle of a rose thicket. Wenches and watches, indeed. She wanted nothing less than to unwittingly capture another man’s attention, for her life to be dictated by his whims, weakness, or unfed appetites. Even if the newly-arrived scoundrel had imparted a slight quiver in her knees, thankfully well hidden beneath her skirt.
For now, she wanted, needed hard work and solitude. And a vast library where she could read to her heart’s content without being accosted.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Ellen gave the hearth another unproductive bit of consideration. “Our duke likes to rescue people, he does. Give back in reward for his good fortune. Like he did with Miss Abigail, who has a new life. A new husband! Such a lovely conclusion, don’t you think? A merry bit of matchmaking if I do say so myself.”
Raine paused by the escritoire desk sitting in a darkened corner. Ah, Miss Bruce had a motive after all. Raine would have liked to argue that she hadn’t needed rescuing, but she was nothing if not practical. She could admit the truth if only to herself. If not for the Duke and Duchess of Devon, she’d still be working at Tavistock House, living under the wicked, abhorrent thumb of the earl. Shoving a bureau in front of the attic door each night to keep him out. “My eldest brother is acquainted with Thomas Kingston, the duke’s footman, and he recommended me for the vacant maid’s position. The earl was reducing his staff due to financial constraints. It’s as simple as that.”
Of course, it wasn’t, but why discuss an unfortunate situation when a resolution had been so generously offered? A resolution humbly but promptly taken.
Ellen stilled with a reluctant release of breath, her gaze going molten, her tears apparent from across the room. “Whatever your story, you’re safe now. This is the finest household in England. The most generous of families to serve.”
Raine sighed and turned to gaze out the window, noting Mister Bainbridge’s landau was still parked in the drive. What color are his eyes, she wondered. How did one design a watch to be the most accurate in the country?
And why had she felt as if she recognized him the moment he stepped from his carriage?
* * *
Christian unpacked his tools in the paneled study the Duke of Devon had graciously assigned to him, the niggling hint of unease he’d
