Page 29 of A Ghost of a Chance

In the middle of their game of whist, Rafe glanced at the pianoforte in the corner of the drawing room. Osanne would have already sat down and played beautiful melodies, including the one she had composed. The pieces, especially hers, repeated in his head.

Rafe gestured to the instrument and asked Miss Potter, “You play, do you not?”

Her laughter trilled. “Oh, Heavens no.”

“No? I thought I remembered you playing.”

“My mother insisted I take lessons many years ago but allowed me to stop after a year of...how did you put it, Mama? Torturing that poor instrument and all our ears?”

Mrs. Potter chuckled and nodded.

Kitty grinned at Rafe, giving him the urge to tug on his collar. “After that, she encouraged my artistic and equestrian interests. If I do those badly, no one’s hearing is offended.” She grinned again, looking so much like Benjamin that Rafe could only manage a polite smile before he had to look away.

“You ride expertly, my dear and your drawings are exquisite,” Mrs. Potter hastened to assure her. Or perhaps to assure Rafe that her daughter was in possession of at least some of the expected accomplishments in a well-bred young lady.

Later during a game of whist, Kitty touched his sleeve. “What is that tune you are humming?”

Startled by her bold contact, Rafe pulled back. “Was I humming?”

“You were. Pretty tune. I’m not familiar with it.” She tilted her head to one side in a question.

Osanne’s song had been playing over in his head since he spied the pianoforte, but he hadn’t realized he’d been humming it. “Something I heard while traveling.”

She eyed him as if she suspected more to that story, but refrained from asking. She had grown up. The younger Kitty Bug or Peanut would have pressed him until he satisfied her curiosity.

The evening passed pleasantly. The Potters bade them a good night, Kitty giving him a particularly dazzling smile, and left with the promise of future evenings together.

Mother let out a happy sigh and practically rubbed her hands together. “Well, I am persuaded that Kitty Potter is a sheer delight, is she not? Such an accomplished and lovely young lady.”

“Indeed,” Father agreed. “Pretty, always happy, a respectable dowry. Why, any man would be fortunate to snatch her up before someone else does.”

Rafe gave them a quelling glare. “You are both being far too subtle. I have no notion what you’re hoping I’ll do about Miss Potter.”

Pulling off his cravat, he marched up the stairs. Only two months had passed since he had basked in Osanne’s soothing presence. Ten more until she reappeared. Dare he go to her again? Surely seeing her every year would do him no good.

After everyone else had retired, Rafe went to Father’s library and studied the books of English aristocracy. Only a single vague mention of the surname Jewell appeared with some distant connection to the Duke of Suttenburg on the maternal side and the Earl of Tarrington on the paternal side. No helpful details appeared.

Over the next few weeks, Rafe vacillated between vowing to stay away from Madding Hollow and counting down the weeks until he could return.

Though Rafe’s family and the Potters enjoyed many social interactions, Rafe carefully kept his attention toward Kitty polite, but never focused enough to be accused of raising the young lady’s expectations. She was bright and lively and pretty. More importantly, she was a living, breathing mortal. His parents were right; if he were smart, he would court her.

He could not look at her without seeing Benjamin.

Nor could he stop comparing her to Osanne and finding her lacking.

Spring created the perfect excuse for Rafe to make his escape. He bade his family farewell and saddled his horse, Solo, for the next leg of his journey to visit the cavalrymen who had served under him.

As he swung up into the saddle, Kitty came down the lane on foot. The cool air and her vigorous activity had put a sparkle in her eyes and a bloom in her cheeks.

“Good morning!” she called out. “I feared I’d missed you.”

Rafe dismounted and walked toward her holding Solo’s reins.

She parted the edges of her cloak and held up a handmade scarf. “I made this for you.”

He blinked. “Oh. Erm, thank you.”

Surprised, Rafe extended a hand to accept the gift, but she reached up to put it around him. He lowered his head to make it easier for her. She gently wrapped it around his neck, leaving the edges dangling in front. At the hem, she had embroidered the words, “All Journeys Lead Home.”