“Caroline?” Amusement was evident in his voice.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to answer my question?”
She blinked. “Did you ask me one?”
“I asked you if you would…” He paused. “No, actually I didn't ask.”
Before Caroline realized what he was about, he rolled over and got up on one knee. “Caroline Trent, soon to be Ravenscroft,” he said, “will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
If her eyes hadn't filled with so many tears, she might have actually chuckled at the sight of him proposing to her stark naked. “Yes,” she said, nodding furiously. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Good.”
Caroline closed her eyes for a few seconds. She wanted to close off all her senses so that she might savor the moment in her mind. No sight, no touch, no smell—nothing to distract her from the exquisite joy in her heart.
“Caroline?”
“Shhh.” She waved her hand at him and then, a few seconds later, opened her eyes and said, “There. What were you going to say?”
His expression was curious. “What was that all about?”
“Nothing, I—Oh look!” She pointed up at the sky.
“What?” he asked, his eyes following her finger.
“The sky must have cleared up. The stars are out.”
“So they are,” he murmured, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “But then again, you were the one who said they were there all along.”
Caroline squeezed his hand in hers. “Yes,” she agreed. “They were.”
A half hour later they were dressed—albeit rather disheveled—and trying to slip into the house as quietly as possible.
James, however, was waiting in the front hall.
“I told you we should have used the back stairs,” Caroline muttered.
“I assume you're back for the night?” James said mildly. “Perriwick wanted to lock the door, but I wasn't sure you'd brought a key.”
“We've decided to be married,” Blake blurted out.
James merely lifted one eyebrow and murmured, “I thought you might.”
Chapter 21
prov-e-nance (noun). Origin, derivation.
I cannot claim to know or understand the provenance of romantic love, but I'm not sure that it is something that needs to be understood, just appreciated and revered.
—From the personal dictionary of Caroline Ravenscroft
They were married one week later, much to the delight of Penelope, who insisted upon purchasing a trousseau for the bride. Caroline had thought that the two ready-made dresses Blake had purchased for her were a luxury, but nothing could compare to Penelope's idea of a suitable wardrobe. Caroline let her soon-to-be sister choose every-thing—with one exception. The dressmaker owned a bolt of blue-green silk the exact color of her eyes, and Caroline insisted upon having an evening gown fashioned out of it. She had never given much thought to her eyes before, but after Blake had skimmed his fingers across her eyelids and declared her eyes the exact color of the ocean at the equator…Well, she really couldn't help becoming a little bit proud of them.
The wedding ceremony was small and private, with only Penelope, James, and Seacrest Manor's servants in attendance. Blake's older brother had wanted to come, but one of his daughters had taken ill, and he didn't want to leave her. Caroline thought that was as it should be and penned him a note expressing her desire to meet him at a more convenient time.
Perriwick gave the bride away. Mrs. Mickle was so jealous she insisted upon playing the part of mother of the bride, even though that role didn't entail her actually taking part in the ceremony.
Penelope was matron of honor, and James was best man, and a lovely time was had by all.
Caroline smiled her way through the next few days. She couldn't ever remember being as happy as she was as Caroline Ravenscroft of Seacrest Manor. She had a husband and a home, and her life was as near to perfect as she could imagine. Blake hadn't professed his love to her, but she supposed that was too much to expect from a man who had until recently been in so much emotional pain.
In the meantime, she would make him as happy as she could, and let him do the same for her.
* * *
Now that Caroline truly belonged to Seacrest Manor and vice versa, she was determined to make her mark on the small estate. She was puttering in the garden when Perriwick approached her. “Mrs. Ravenscroft,” he said, “you have a visitor.”
“I do?” she asked in surprise. Hardly anyone even knew she was Mrs. Ravenscroft. “Who?”
“A Mr. Oliver Prewitt.”
She paled. “Oliver? But why…”
“Do you want me to send him away? Or I could have Mr. Ravenscroft deal with him, if that is preferable.”
“No, no,” she said quickly. She didn't want her husband seeing Oliver. Blake was likely to lose his temper, and he'd hate himself later for it. She knew how important it was to him to apprehend Oliver and his entire ring of spies. If he blew his cover now, he'd never get the chance.
“I'll see him,” she said in a firm voice. She took a deep, cleansing breath and set down her work gloves. Oliver had no power over her now, and she refused to be afraid of him.
Perriwick motioned for her to follow him into the house, and they made their way to the drawing room. As she passed through the doorway, she saw Oliver's back, and her entire body tensed.
She'd almost forgotten how much she hated him.
“What do you want, Oliver?” she said in a flat voice.
He looked up at her, seven different kinds of menace lurking in his eyes. “That isn't a very affectionate greeting for your guardian.”