He shook his head, his damp golden hair framing his face handsomely. “No, a small portion I put aside on the advice of my bank. In fact, it was invested in a number of ventures on this side of the border. And managed by responsible men on my behalf, those investments have blossomed. But they were made inmyname, not under the Dukedom.
“Unusual, yes, due to the fortune I potentially surrendered by not taking advantage of my title, but at least they belong to me, not to Bellmonte. You need to have no fear of poverty. I may not have a title any longer, but very soon, I shall still be a man of means.”
Charlotte felt a surge of relief. She had not realized how much anxiety she had locked up within her about how she and Seth would live. That he would take up the life of a working man had seemed surreal—not because he would not or could not do it, butbecause it seemed nonsensical to her that a man like him would be working in a field or sweating over a forge. In her mind, he had always been destined for more. To make a greater change in the world.
“So… about now, Tewkesbury will be discovering that his new title is paper thin,” Charlotte murmured.
“And that paper supports a mountain of debt, all secured against Bellmonte. Against the house and the properties. Maybe he will emerge from it like a phoenix from the flames. Maybe he is a man of ability who will correct the tangle I left behind.” Seth shrugged. “But it is not a position I envy.”
She scrunched her nose. “You feel no animosity?”
“I care not. I have what I want. I am the victor. The moment I broke my sword in front of him and walked away, I won. Now I have you, nothing else matters.”
EPILOGUE
TWO MONTHS LATER
The soft clink of hoofbeats on cobbles echoed down the main street of Burrow’s End, a sleepy village nestled at the edge of the Lake District, just shy of the Scottish border. Mist curled over the moors like spilled cream, golden with the early light. A sharp spring wind carried the scent of peat, damp grass, and baking bread from the nearby shop where the postmaster’s daughter was learning to knead properly.
Charlotte Redmaine—néeNightingale, or perhapsstillNightingale, depending on one’s view of legality—braced her boots against the stones, her skirt hitched indecorously high around her knees as she perched one foot on a wooden fence and pulled at a recalcitrant bit of wool snagged in the hawthorn. The lamb, the offending culprit, bleated mournfully beside her.
The creature belonged to old Mr. Talbot, whose flock had an abominable habit of slipping through gaps in the low stone wall and scattering themselves about the village. She and Seth hadencountered the straggler on their morning promenade across the meadow, tangled halfway in a thicket.
Seth crouched on the other side of the fence, one shirt sleeve rolled up and blonde curls falling into his eyes, holding the wriggling creature still with one strong hand.
“Are you certain you were raised in the countryside?” he asked, laughing as the lamb attempted to bolt.
“I wasn’t tending sheep, Your Grace,” she said with mock hauteur. “I was busy being ignored in drawing rooms and wearing the same dress two seasons in a row.”
The lamb kicked again, and Seth grunted as he caught it. “And now look at you. Smelling faintly of lanolin and about to ruin your stockings.”
Charlotte gave him a wicked smile. “Wouldn’t be the first pair ruined at your hands.”
He looked up at her, something hot and knowing in his emerald eyes. “That was one time.”
“It wastwo.”
“That second time, you were sitting in my lap,” he said, voice low and amused. “And it was very cold outside.”
She smirked. “It was very hot inside.”
He grinned, a devil of a thing, the sort of smile that once had made her knees wobble, and still did more often than she liked to admit. She freed the wool with a sharp tug and tossed the clump over the fence.
“There. You’re welcome, you little fool,” she muttered to the lamb.
Seth let it go, and the creature scampered back toward the field, tail wagging indignantly.
They climbed over the fence together, Charlotte swinging down first, Seth catching her waist as if by reflex. She lingered in his arms, breath fogging in the chilly air, hands resting on his chest.
“You’re flushed,” he murmured.
“I have just chased a sheep through half a meadow.”
“Mm.” He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “Or it’s the air again.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Not this again.”
“Well, forgive me, but it is not the first time you’ve gone a little pink and wobbly on me. How many times has Mrs. Newton been forced to examine you over the past fortnight?”
