“It is unclear exactly who those two are,” the duke added, “but they most certainly are not Lily Draper and Stuart Wright. I suspect they orchestrated this entire scheme – including arranging the correspondence we received to welcome them into our home.”
He and his wife exchanged a look before they returned their attention to Charlotte.
“We would like to invite you back to our employ of course, if you will take the position after all that has happened. In addition…” The duke looked to his wife, who took up his apology.
“We would very much like for you to become Lady Ann’s maid, Charlotte,” she said with a small smile. “I know that there is no one more loyal, and you have been a great friend to our family for years. Mrs. Miller and Alice, who would become my lady’s maid, could help train you for the position, if you will have it?”
“Oh, yes, of course!” Charlotte said, clasping her hands together. Lady Ann had always been quite reserved, but Charlotte enjoyed her and looked forward to the thought of serving her. “I would love nothing more and I promise you that I will serve her very well.” She looked over to Philip, who winked at her, and she wondered if he had been part of this.
“And Lord William, I must thank you ever so much for helping to find those who were truly at fault,” she said, looking over at William with a smile, which he returned, for a moment giving her a glimpse of the boy who had been one of her closest friends.
“Of course,” was his reply; however, his look was warm, and Charlotte knew, deep within her, that this family would always be here for her.
“Forgive us?” the duchess asked, her expression imploring, and despite the fact that she had spent nearly her entire life within this house, Charlotte was aghast that a woman with a rank nearly the highest in the nation would ask her – a maid of no particular note – for forgiveness was astounding.
“Why, of course,” she said, nodding her head. “I understand that the evidence was compounded against me, and I thank you for not being rid of me entirely.”
“Of course,” the duchess said, clapping her hands. “That is all settled. Lady Ann will be awaiting you tonight, then, Charlotte.”
With that, Charlotte sensed their dismissal, and she and Philip followed Reeves from the room.
“Well,” Charlotte said, looking at Philip once they were outside the door. “I suppose I shall have to return to collect my things from my parents’ cottage.”
“Already done,” he said with a smile. “But I do think we must visit sooner rather than later, or your mother will be here knocking down the door.”
Charlotte laughed. “Agreed.”
“Now come,” Philip said, taking her arm and steering down the stairs. “You have some quick training to do.”
Epilogue
Three weeks later
“I don’t think our chapel has seen such use in years,” Lord William said to Philip as he finished dressing, before he turned around to look at him. “First Abigail and Ableman, now you and Charlotte.”
“I wouldn’t have believed it had you asked me but a few months ago.”
“Nor would I have,” William said with a smile. “You best hurry, or you’ll be late.”
“I have plenty of time,” Philip said, turning to leave, but then Lord William called him back.
“Your turn.”
“My turn?” Philip looked at him with some confusion.
“To get dressed,” Lord William said, and then swept an arm toward the wardrobe. “You can choose something that you might find suitable.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Philip said, shaking his head, unable to fathom the thought of wearing something befitting the son of a duke.
“Just this once,” Lord William said with a wink, and suddenly Philip was reminded of all the summers and all the troubles they’d gotten into in their youth. Lord William clapped Philip on the arm – briefly, but long enough to show what he truly thought. “I am happy for you, Philip. And I hope that you will be happy with your bride.”
Philip nodded, for once unable to form any words over the lump in his throat. It had been years since he and Lord William had spoken to one another as equals, and he knew it was unlikely to ever occur again. But he appreciated the gesture. It was one he would never forget.
Lord William, however, was right. He had to move, or he would be late for his own wedding.
* * *
Charlotte took a deep breath as she adjusted the bodice of her Sunday gown and fiddled with the bouquet in her arms. The past month had gone by far too slowly for her liking, but the banns had to be read, and all had to be set to rights – her new position, the investigation and dismissal of the two actors who had made a scheme of this, and settling the household so that all was well again.
And now, finally, her wedding day.
It was a wonder that all had worked out as it had. She and Philip would remain with the family, and she was ever so eager to return to London with them when the time came. She had never been to the city before, and she could hardly wait to see it, as well as everywhere else around the country when the family chose to travel. The best part of it was, she could do so with Philip. Someday, when Lord William and Lady Ann moved on, she knew they would have a decision to make, but for now, they were together – and that was all that mattered.
She was currently in the gardens, waiting around the back of a hedge for her father to come and collect her before they walked down the aisle of the small chapel. She felt a presence beside her, but when she turned, it was not her father at all.
“Philip!” she exclaimed, hitting him with her bouquet. “What are you doing here? You are not supposed to see me until the wedding!”
He laughed. “And since when have we ever done what we were supposed to?” he asked, before stepping back and taking her hand in his, twirling her around in front of him.
“You, love, are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.”
“Stop!” she said, laughing.
“It’s true,” he insisted. “I am the luckiest man there has ever been.”
Getting over her initial shock, she stopped and took a good look at him. “You are not so bad looking yourself – especially at the moment,” she said, appraising him. “Why, your clothing—”
“Is not mine,” he finished with his roguish grin. “But I gladly accepted it for the day.”
“Well, I shall have to thank William the next time I see him.”
“Be sure to tell him that it looks much better on me.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes at him. As she did so, she knew she would happily spend the rest of her life accepting his teasing.
They heard the murmur of voices beyond the hedge, and they shared an intimate gaze, knowing the time had come.
Charlotte took a breath, looking deep into Philip’s brown eyes.
“Are you ready?” she asked with such seriousness that they both knew it was more than a question of the moment, but a question about his willingness to accept what came with marriage between them.
“More than you could ever imagine,” he said, before leaning in and brushing his lips against hers.
It was just a touch – but it was all that was needed to tell her exactly how he felt.
In love.
* * *
THE END
* * *
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Tempting the Scoundrel
Preview Tempting the Scoundrel by Tracy Sumner, the next book in the House of Devon series!
Prologue
An evening when young love is in the air…
Tavistock House, Mayfair
July 1808
The girl had captivated from first sight, fascination a delightful little shiver alon
g his skin.
As she had every night he’d been in residence, she huddled in the veranda’s dark corner, book in hand, an oil lamp illuminating the page she brought close to the tarnished glass globe. A housemaid, she read in secret. And hungrily.
He could feel her determination, her daring, from his perch one story above.
Determination matching his own.
Christian Bainbridge braced his hands on the ledge of his bedchamber window and leaned into a spill of moonlight, releasing a half-laugh at his foolishness. There was nothing poetic about this night, this house, or his circumstances. The air reeked of coal smoke and charred meat, rotting vegetables and the Thames, familiar even in its wretchedness. Cousin to the Earl of Tavistock, whose home Christian currently occupied, he was stuck in the slender crack between the aristocracy and the middling classes, welcome in neither.
The loneliest place to wedge oneself, he’d come to find.
After the recent death of his beloved brother, Christian was alone in the world except for the earl, a man rumored—and, regrettably, the rumors were true—to have several significant deficits of character.
To Christian’s mind, the worst being that he failed to maintain his timepieces.
Christian glanced back to the pocket watch parts spread across the desk, candlelight dancing over metal coils, serrated wheels, the blunt edge of a screwdriver. You could tell much about a person from the way they maintained their treasures.
The earl maintained his poorly.
Tavistock had little care for his belongings, his tenants, his staff, his hapless fifteen-year-old cousin. Leading Christian to make the rash decision to accept an apprenticeship he’d been offered with a prominent watchmaker in Cambridge. He had another term at Harrow to complete, but there were no funds, not one farthing left to sustain further education. And Christian was not willing to accept additional charity from a man he’d come to loathe.
The situation was actually as it should be because Christian had never been interested in anything but the art of repairing timepieces.
And when he was ready, designing his own.
Before this girl, a housemaid close to his age whose name he’d not known but felt he must learn before he left the estate at dawn, only gears and coils and springs had captured his attention.
Raine Mowbray now held a unique position in his universe. Love at first sight did that to a boy.
There was something elemental about his reaction to her, more extraordinary than mere appreciation for her loveliness. Lust, he supposed, but it felt like more. He had little experience with women, so he couldn’t accurately categorize his response. He’d only seen her once up close, no words exchanged, no eye contact made, as she rushed through the walled garden and into the kitchens, the aroma of roses overpowering until the subtle scent of lemon and lavender clinging to her skin swept in and knocked all else aside. Blew every thought from his mind and left him stranded, like a withered leaf dangling from a limb.
It sounded melodramatic, but his heart had raced inside with her.
While she hadn’t paused or blinked or seemed to notice him at all.
Which was a good thing. Christian was leaving, he was destitute, lacking in funds, family, or friends. Too young to matter, too old to indulge. His future, which was going to be bloody brilliant he pledged right there in the cloying twilight, lay in Cambridge, not London.
He was going to make his way on his own, his awful cousin be damned.
The girl on the veranda moved the book into the light, turned a page with a delicate shift of her wrist, smiled softly at a twist in the story. He wished with everything in him that they’d been able to talk, he and Raine Mowbray. Even once. For a moment. About anything. Her voice was a mystery to him, and for that, he was genuinely sorrowful, because she looked as lonely as he felt.
Willing himself to turn away, Christian returned to his cousin’s watch and his promise to restore the neglected timepiece before he left London. When repaired, it would provide an accurate accounting for a man who didn’t deserve precision.
But such was life.
Christian placed the loupe against his eye and plunged into his task.
Preparing to walk away from one fascination and toward another.
Chapter 1
A morning long after love had been forsaken…
Hartland Abbey, Yorkshire
June 1818
Raine stared out the duchess’ drawing room window, the oilcloth in her hand forgotten. Her intention to dust the sashes and neat white frame forgotten.
There was something unusual about the tall, strikingly handsome man who’d arrived at the estate and now stood on the crushed-stone drive talking with Lord Jonathan, the Duke of Devon’s eldest son. She gave the baseboard a punishing buff, searching her memory.
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, which she couldn’t see well at this distance, he looked rather like a man who had a secret he was holding 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 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 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.”
A Touch of Temptation: House of Devon Book 2 Page 9