Miss Molly Robbins Designs a Seduction (31 page)

As they signed their names in the church register, Carver was reminded of the first time he watched her write her name, when she brought the loan contract to him on a rainy day last April. He could not have known then, that he was looking at his future wife and the mother of his children, but he always knew there was something devious going on behind that prim countenance.

He should have realized Miss Molly Robbins had designs upon him.

After the wedding, he held her hand and helped her up into the carriage. His sister and Rafe Hartley were there to see them off, along with her other village friends—Rafe’s father and stepmother and his aunt and uncle. Molly’s siblings came too, all greatly suspicious of their sister’s new title, and muttering that she’d better not expect them to curtsy to her.

The horses moved forward, and the carriage wheels bumped over muddy tracks.

He glanced at his wife and saw how she tried to hide her wet lashes, leaning out as far as she could to wave at the vanishing folk through the carriage window.

“You’re sad to be leaving Sydney Dovedale and all the people in it,” he said, drawing her into his lap. For once, he would permit her to cry in his presence, but after that, he never wanted to see her unhappy again, and he would make it his personal duty to keep her smiling.

“I am sad,” she acknowledged with a nod, sliding a slender arm around his neck. “But I am happy to begin a new chapter in a new world.”

“With me.”

“With you. With us. No matter what we are, or where.”

“That’s all that matters,” he whispered against her lips. “Just us.”

The lane straightened out, and the horses picked up their pace, leaving the village behind and carrying the Earl and Countess of Everscham away under a thinning canopy of copper leaves.

Soon, once winter took the countryside in its firm grip, those same branches would be stark and bare against a bleak sky. But buds would sprout again eventually, and birds would nest there. By the time the next Everscham heir was born, the cherry and apple trees that bordered the lane to Sydney Dovedale would celebrate the occasion with festoons of pink and white blossom. And thus the cycle of life began all over again.

I would like to thank my family and friends for their tireless support and encouragement. To Aubrey, Danielle, and everyone at Sourcebooks—your belief in me has taken me farther than I ever thought possible. And to all my lovely readers—without you, none of this would be worthwhile.

Jayne Fresina sprouted up in England, the youngest in a family of four daughters. Entertained by her father’s colorful tales of growing up in the countryside, and surrounded by opinionated sisters—all with far more exciting lives than hers—she’s always had inspiration for her beleaguered heroes and unstoppable heroines. Visit
www.jaynefresina.com
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