* * * *
He led her from the hayloft. They walked back to the house together, and he kept her arm tucked through the angle of his elbow, her hand against his, his fingers twined through hers. Though they said nothing along the way, they did not need to. Even in the darkness, the fading light from the coachmen’s bonfires behind them, Charlotte could see Kenley smiling at her, his mouth lifted gently, tenderly.
They reached the terrace, and stood by the balustrade for a long moment, neither of them wanting to return to the party. She looked up at him and was helpless against his smile.
He leaned toward her, kissing her sweetly. “I love you,” he breathed—the most wondrous words she had ever heard.
“Charlotte, here you are!” someone cried from behind them.
Charlotte and Kenley whirled, jerking clumsily back from one another, both of them wide-eyed with start. Caroline stood in the doorway leading from the parlor onto the terrace. She was smiling broadly, flapping her hand in beckon. “Darling, do come inside!” she exclaimed. “You remember Lady Hinckford, do you not? Come and say hello.”
Caroline waddled across the terrace, pressing one palm against her belly. With the other, she caught Charlotte’s hand. “Why, your fingers are like ice!” she gasped with a laugh. “You will catch your death out here! Come in this very moment.”
“Caroline…” Charlotte began in protest as Caroline hauled her toward the house. She looked over her shoulder at Kenley. “Caroline, wait, please… a moment, will you?”
Caroline laughed. “He can kiss you later and at his leisure, though preferably before a hearth, where you might not turn so blue.”
She pulled Charlotte across the threshold, guiding her into the ballroom. Charlotte frowned, trying to pull away, trying to call out to Kenley, but she was caught by her sister, and Caroline did not relent as she led her indoors.