He pats a hand against the wall, his expression warm and full of memories as he gazes at the stone. “I know it’s not a castle, but the walls are strong, and the foundation is sturdy.”

“Who said I was looking for a castle?” I came to Rosehill for a husband, not a house.

When he smiles down at me, my chest feels warm and full.

“Do you think… What I mean to say is, can you imagine yourself living here?”

I can picture myself sitting on the slightly worn sofa, darning socks in front of a crackling fire. Cooking dinner in the kitchen while children race up and down the stairs, squealing and laughing. I can imagine sitting by the stream reading while Trevor works in the gardens. It’s a future that makes me feel hopeful.

His parents have both passed and his brother lives in Wrenwich, so they don’t see each other very often. It would be just the two of us, building a life with no expectations but our own.

That makes me happier than I can put into words.

Our hands graze once more when I turn to face him. “That depends.”

His brows arch. “On what?”

“On whether or not you’ll let me change the curtains.”

He blinks at me, the wrinkles on his furrowed brow slowly smoothing with his answering smile. “This home would be yours, Kerris. You could do whatever you want with it—as long as you keep the acorns.”

“I’ll keep the acorns,” I promise.

Trevor inches closer, until the toes of his boots knock against my slippers where they peek from beneath my skirts. His hand lifts, hesitating for the briefest moment before he touches my cheek. “You are unlike any woman I’ve ever met. Most are swayed by Ronan’s title and wealth, but you… You make me feel as if I have a chance at winning your hand.”

He has more than a chance. After today, I’d say Trevor Dillon has a slight lead over the prince. He has been the perfect gentleman—not to mention excellent company. Unlike Ronan with his choice of cafés, Trevor appears honest and forthright in his words and actions.

I’m genuinely looking forward to spending more time with him.

“Would you permit me to take you out again?” he asks.

“I’d be upset if you didn’t.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is perfect.”

His gaze drops to my mouth, then travels back up to my eyes. I wait for him to ask for a kiss, to make some sort of move. After the longest ten seconds of my life, Trevor takes a giant step away from me and clasps my palm for a stiff shake.

He lets go, says he will see me tomorrow, and then practically sprints toward the front door with his head bowed and shoulders fallen.

This just won’t do.