“Change someone’s life,” he said without pause.
“After running away to Dover, I knew who needed it most.”
Charlie chewed on his bottom lip. “The duke.”
I waited until his eyes were set on mine. I wanted him to hear me. I wanted him to know that the list I’d finished had worked, but not because I’d completed it. Because I’d found myself in the process.
“No,” I said, wrapping my arms around my middle. “I changed mine.”
Charlie let out a puff of air and shook his head with a rueful smile on his lips. What on earth was he thinking in that handsome head? And why would he not speak?
“Charles, love,” his mother cooed. “Miss Newbury has come all this way, and no one has offered her a tour of the estate.”
He grinned at his mother and cleared his throat. “Miss Newbury,” he said, biting back his smile. “May I offer you a tour of Whitely?”
“I would like that very much,” I said.
“Start here, in this house,” his mother instructed. “She’ll want to see where you’ve taken residence. The three of us can wait out here for a time.”
“Ashorttime,” Eloise added.
Charlie looked down at me, studying my face as though looking for my approval. But the question wasn’t about propriety, for we’d thrown that to the wind long ago. His question was one I already knew the answer to. He needed only the opportunity to ask.
He held out his arm to me, and I took it. His eyes gleamed.
Our steps flew by in a flash. We said nothing, only watched each other and held fast, perhaps both frightened the other might fly away.
Up five stairs, and Charlie opened the door of his own accord. There would be no butler for so small a house. Perhaps a man of all trades? But not yet.
He closed the door behind us. Its heavy thud reverberated along the walls and up the stairs to what I imagined was three floors. Charlie’s arm straightened, and my hand slid down to catch his. He wrapped his fingers around mine and squeezed.
“This,” he said with reverence, “is my new home. It’s been called Blackstone.” He made a funny face, and I laughed.
“And what willyoucall it?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” he admitted as he walked me through the little dining room. Still holding fast to Charlie, I grazed the smooth, polished table, suited for eight, with my free hand. It matched the buffet on the far wall. A vase of flowers was all it needed.
Together we moved into the drawing room, less than half the size of mine at home, with only a settee and four chairs for entertaining. A stack of books sat on a table, and I released Charlie’s hand to study them.
Architecture. Framework. Engineering.
“Have you been reading?” I grinned.
He gave me a half smile. “I have indeed.”
My gaze stopped on a little notebook left open. It was a drawing of a woman with dark hair and round eyes who looked almost like ... me?
Charlie snapped it closed and threw it under the settee. His cheeks pinked. “Inspiration,” he muttered.
“I should like to see that.” I moved to the settee, but he sat on it and splayed out his legs to block me.
“I do have a small library attached to my study.” He pointed out of the room. “Shall we?”
“Lead the way,” I said innocently.
“I couldn’t. You first.”
“You are acting strange.”
