“She hasn’t found other lodgings?”
“Not that I’ve been made privy to.”
“It is kind of you to allow her to stay. Especially if you’re not close.”
“Allow her? It’s her home.” I sensed his curious gaze but was too comfortable to move to meet it.
“Well, technically it’s not. It’s your home now. You would be well within your rights to ask her to find other accommodations. Or at the very least move her into the dower house if there is one.”
“The gentry likes to play at being civilized. But is it a common practice to throw a widow out of her home? And with a daughter?” Incredulity spilled from his tone.
“Once you’re certain she’s not with child—a male child—yes. Xander managed to buy Cee a few months before our father insisted. But Father wasn’t happy about it.” I could feel the clench of his jaw against my temple. “I wasn’t trying to make you angry.”
“I know. I’m not angry with you. But among other things, it is going to be so much more difficult to abide Tansy if I know Icouldhave her removed.”
I chuckled, tucking closer against his chest. He tugged our fingers free and slid an arm along my shoulders. “How do you still smell so good?” he murmured, half to himself.
Kit’s blatant affection surprised me. I expected some of the ease we shared to wash away with the distance from his family and the necessary ruse. Still, it was a pleasant familiarity that left my chest warm. “I don’t?”
“You do. There’s vanilla, but something floral and something citrus. You always smell that way.”
“Myparfum, but I did not pack it. It’s probably just lingering on my clothes. It’s irises and bergamot. You’ve a good nose.”
“It’s nice.” The words were simple, his tone anything but. It was thick with something I was afraid to name.
“Is this your first time back? Since?—”
“Yes. I’ve managed everything through the steward. I don’t mean— That’s not how I prefer to do things. It’s just that…”
“You don’t want to see this place?”
“Among other things. I know men who are not born to the task inherit titles. Your brother, for example, manages his responsibilities with great care. And I know that some men who are born to it do not find that the task comes naturally— Hugh is proof enough of that. But… I am good at things. I know what is expected of me, and I exceed those expectations. I take pride in my work. But I studied and trained for it. I practiced under Will for nearly five years before he made me partner—rightfully so.”
“But you’ve never prepared for this.”
“Precisely. And, well, I like the life I built for myself. It’s not perfect, but it’s mine. I like being near Katie and her children—even if she drives me barmy. I like being able to help people—being able to help you.”
“And you cannot help people in Lincolnshire?”
“I can, but not the same people.”
I felt a smile pull at the corner of my lips. “Christopher Summers, are you saying you would miss me and my adventures?” That was a tempting enough thought to drag myself away from the comfort of his shoulder to study his response.
“Aye. My life is dreadfully predictable when you’re not in it.” A smile creeped into his eyes first, crinkling at the corners, before finding his lips. They were still closed, not a complete smile. It was perhaps seven-eighths of one. And it was entirely charming.
I couldn’t have stopped myself from tracing one of the lines curving from his lower cheek under his several days of growth for the world.
“You look fascinated,” he whispered.
“Your smile— It’s— I like it.” It was one of the greatest understatements of my life. Kit’s smiles were rare and precious things, given only in partial measures. And without conscious thought, I’d been collecting them, hoarding them, for years. I numbered them and named them and felt a well-deserved sense of pride when I reached even the halfway mark. If I ever earned a real, true, complete smile, it would stop my heart.
“I’ll take that under advisement,” he replied, then dipped his forehead to press against mine.
“If the two of ye are finished with yer flirtin’, we’re here,” Rory interjected. We broke apart in time to watch her haul herself over the side of the wagon with one hand.
Kit shifted, awkwardly, then helped me down from the back. We were just outside of the stables as Kit had instructed, suggesting that he preferred to arrive on foot rather than in the back of a wagon.
Once on solid ground, he brushed imaginary dust and hay from his person, smoothing ineffectual fingers through his wild mass of curls. Then he dragged a frustrated hand across the growth covering his jaw. And I couldn’t have that.
