side into the back garden and breathed deeply. This time of year, the gardens were really coming into their own. The wisteria wound along a pergola and draped its fragrant blossoms in massive clumps of light purple. The roses weren’t quite on, but the buds were plump and near to blooming. The azaleas were bright pink and gorgeous, and her personal favorite, lilac, filled the air with the sweet scent she equated to love and security.
She loved the chateau. She loved her flat in Paris. But Chatsworth Manor would always be home to her. She wished her father were here now, to offer his guidance and wisdom. She reached out to the profusion of clematis leaves and flowers, her fingertips touching the trellis that supported the vines. Cedric Pemberton would not have been overjoyed at her being pregnant without the benefit of marriage, or at least in a long-term relationship rather than a weeklong fling. But he would have put that aside to support her, to help her sort the threads of confusion into a solid plan for the future. He’d always been a grounding force, and she’d never missed him so much.
That Jacob reminded her of her dad didn’t help, either. He had the same steadiness, the same calm in the face of the storm. Unfortunately, he was also part of the problem. Every time she considered seeing if something could work between them, she remembered the scars on his body, evidence that in years past he’d been a target. Knife wounds and gunshot wounds... And still he chose to put himself in front of people for their protection. She could admire it and still not be willing to take that on herself, couldn’t she?
And then there was still the question of Jacinta. Charlotte knew Jacob had loved her utterly. There was no denying that. She cared for Jacob, but she refused to be with someone, in a real relationship, when that person was still in love with someone else. Even if that someone else was a ghost.
Which kept circling her back to the same issue: how to manage her feelings for Jacob and come up with a workable plan so their child would grow up knowing both parents.
The walk in the gardens had helped calm her mind, so she went inside and got ready for dinner. It would be just the two of them tonight, and Charlotte knew Mrs. Flanagan would have told the cook to have some of Charlotte’s favorites during the weekend. Her mouth watered just thinking about it. Charlotte had learned to cook, but her skills were rudimentary at best. Oh, it was good to be home.
She found Jacob in the dining room, looking up at one of the paintings with a thoughtful expression. “You’re early,” she said.
“Occupational hazard,” he replied, dragging his gaze away from the art and settling it on her. “I go in and assess ahead of time. On time for me is fifteen minutes early.”
She smiled. “And yet I was at the pub before you the other night.”
“So you were. But then I discovered you are generally very prompt.”
“I was nervous. I wanted to control the situation.”
He went to her then. He hadn’t changed. He still wore jeans and a light sweater, and she was glad they hadn’t dressed for dinner. There was no point, was there? It was just the two of them, after all.
“You don’t have to be nervous with me.” He reached out and took her hand. “I don’t want to make this more difficult for you, Charlie. I want us to work as a team.”
She pulled her hand away. Ugh, a team. Like the guys he worked with, she supposed. Approach this in a tactical way as if her heart wasn’t involved. She knew he was right but resented that it seemed to be so easy for him.
Dinner was served then, and Charlotte smiled fondly as she looked down at her plate. One of her favorites—steak and Guinness pie, with a side of garlic mash and French green beans.
“This smells amazing,” Jacob said, picking up his fork. “I’ll confess I’m a little surprised. It’s very, uh...”
“Ordinary? Did you expect something you couldn’t recognize or pronounce? I promise, the Pembertons can be quite normal.” She lifted her fork with a piece of savory beef and put it in her mouth. The rich flavor exploded on her tongue. “We have a great cook and this was one of my favorites growing up. It’s lovely that she still remembers.”
“Your staff has been with you a long time,” he observed, digging into his meal.
“Many of them for years. I know it’s going to sound strange saying they’re like family, but it really isn’t like all that upstairs/downstairs nonsense from TV. Yes, we pay them a wage, but you get to know people. Mrs. Flanagan, for instance. She was widowed a few years back, has a lovely daughter named Esme who is around my age. Mrs. Flanagan never drove, but when her husband died, she finally went to get her license. When she decided to get a newer car, my dad went with her on the test drive and ensured she could get financing.”
The memory made her smile. The two of them had taken the older car in to trade and Mrs. Flanagan had driven the new car, a cute little hatchback, right up the main drive with the Earl sitting in the passenger seat grinning broadly.
“You miss your father.”
She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. “Terribly,” she admitted. “But we’re all managing okay, aren’t we?” Determined, she continued with her meal. “Now, we should discuss the baby. Did you come up with any ideas during our days apart?”
He took a long drink of iced water and then put the glass back down. “Nothing concrete. I think a good starting place, though, is for me to tell you that I want to make this work. I want to be there for you and for our child. I don’t ever want my kid to feel they don’t have a father, or that I’m not invested in their happiness.” He looked at her evenly. “And that means making sure our relationship is solid, based on respect and consideration. Whatever this ends up looking like, those are my non-negotiables.”
“Mine, too.” She let out a sigh of relief. “I think what I want from you isn’t material, Jacob. Clearly, I’m set financially. This is more about...well, our child’s sense of security and family.”
“I know. What does that look like for you?” He watched her with an expectant expression, and for some reason she felt a strange pressure to say the right thing.
What it looked like in her heart wasn’t what logic dictated. In her heart she saw the two of them, making coffee like they did in the morning in New York, maybe Jacob still in his workout clothes. Saw a little boy or girl come into the kitchen, looking for breakfast from Mum or Dad. That was where the logic jumped in and self-corrected. After breakfast Dad would take his duffel with him when he left for two weeks or a month, putting himself between his client and the threat.
She wasn’t really hungry anymore.
“What’s wrong? Are you still nauseated?” Jacob’s face tightened with concern and he got up from his chair, going to her side. And at that precise moment, the dining room door opened and Stephen strode in.
Charlotte collected herself quickly. “Stephen! We didn’t expect you.”
“Nor did I.” His face looked appropriately contrite. “What I mean is... I didn’t know you’d be here. With company.” His gaze moved to Jacob.