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, however, 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.”
Of course, it wasn’t, but why discuss an unfortunate situation when a resolution had been so generously offered? A resolution humbly but promptly taken.
Ellen stilled with a reluctant release of breath, her gaze going molten, her tears apparent from across the room. “Whatever your story, you’re safe now. This is the finest household in England. The most generous of families to serve.”
Raine sighed and turned to gaze out the window, noting Mister Bainbridge’s landau was still parked in the drive. What color are his eyes, she wondered. How did one design a watch to be the most accurate in the country?
And why had she felt as if she recognized him the moment he stepped from his carriage?
Christian unpacked his tools in the paneled study the Duke of Devon had graciously assigned to him, the niggling hint of unease he’d experienced since arriving decreasing with each treasured instrument he touched. Some items he’d purchased years ago when he’d had to decide between a new screwdriver or food for the week. Tweezers, pliers, oilers, files, calipers. A small, French wheel-cutting engine. The velvet-lined box of crystals sat at the bottom of one case. He breathed a sigh of relief; he hadn’t forgotten them. Devon had mentioned a cracked face in one of his messages.
Christian wasn’t used to traveling with his equipment. He rarely made home visits—but the man was a duke.
And he, Christian Bainbridge, could have been a knight, which verified the insanity said to roam the halls of Carlton House. He prayed he didn’t have to visit Prinny again this year.
Gordon Pennington, his trusty partner, stumbled into the room, swearing beneath his breath, and kicking the study door shut behind him. “Did you truly need all of these? Enough gadgets to repair every device in Yorkshire. Didn’t we discuss learning to work with less?” He deposited a trunk to the floor with a thump and a groan, then sent Christian a look that said, don’t say a word.
“Some business associate you are,” Christian murmured with a smile he made sure to cast away from the man who was, in reality, his best friend. His only friend.
“I’m a guard, Kit, not a business associate.” With a grunt, he went to his knee, produced a knife from his waistcoat pocket, and proceeded to pick the trunk’s lock.
Christian rolled his eyes. “I have the key, you know. And remember, Penny, to the ton, you’re my valet.” Although broad-shouldered, ham-fisted Penny looked like no valet Christian had ever seen.
“No need for a key. Your valet trained in the back alleys of Whitechapel in preparation for his duties protecting the most expensive timepieces in Christendom. And the watchmaker who created them. Thievery, lockpicking, forgery. Gordon Pennington, at your service.” He snapped the knife shut and slipped it in his pocket. “I’m ill-used in this role, to put it plainly. But the pay is ample, the attire first-rate, and the danger slight. Women like the valet title, too, I’ve found. Makes me seem refined.”
Christian laughed and situated his tools in a neat row on the duke’s rather imposing mahogany desk. “I thought it a good idea after you saved me from being gutted on the docks all those years ago to repay the favor and offer you a more enviable position. Plus, weren’t we both surprised to find that you’re the best bookkeeping in the city? Larceny certainly fostered a talent for addition and subtraction. I’d be lost without you.” He shifted to remove a folio from his satchel, unwittingly releasing a hint of jasmine. A strong enough presence to brush aside the aroma of leather and bergamot currently occupying the study. Katherine liked to scent her letters, and he’d crammed one in his bag as he rushed from his Berkeley Square townhome. “By the by, did you have the necklace delivered?”
Penny snickered and collapsed into an armchair, sending his long legs into a sprawl before him. “Your typical parting gift with me as solemn messenger, you mean? Then, yes, I did. Lady Wheaton was composed but furious. Slammed the door in my face. After snatching your expensive settlement from my hand.” He yawned and stacked one glossy boot atop the other. “Why not give them a watch when you’ve decided enough is enough? I’ll allow you a steep discount and even have it engraved for free. Your jeweler is robbing you blind with these tokens of lost affection.”
“Not going to happen,” Christian said and perched his hip against the desk, the folio spilling open in his hands, Katherine Wheaton’s letter peeking from behind a bent page to mock him. His watches were personal; he’d poured his whole bloody existence into their creation. It was like giving a part of himself away when he sold one, which he realized was ridiculous for a man of trade.