A few minutes later, he was in his room—a room with a distinct lack of frills and fripperies obviously designed for a male inhabitant. A spacious four-poster bed dominated the space, accompanied by a large wardrobe, matching dresser and comfortable chairs positioned before the fireplace. It was directly across the hall from Camille’s room and well worth the money he had paid to a footman. After all, if he was going to help Camille, it would be wise to stay as close to her as possible.

His bag was sitting untouched on the bed. In a fully staffed household, it would have been unpacked and his clothing attended to, although someone had seen to the fire and he was grateful for that. He smiled and opened his bag. Fending for himself was a small price to pay for being at Millworth Manor. In truth, he hadn’t had a valet since he had left Fairborough Hall. But if he was to remain in England, a valet would be expected for a man in his position. As would an appropriate house in the country and a respectable place in town and . . .

When had he decided to stay in England? The thought pulled him up short. He had told his uncle he wasn’t sure if he had returned home for good. Indeed, he even had passage back to America. Now he had apparently decided. He unpacked his bag, including a copy of The Innocents Abroad, so appropriate for travel, and considered the matter. Why not stay? England was home and today he had realized how much he had missed it. Still, he was not a man used to making impulsive decisions.

But hadn’t Win said that his letters in recent years indicated he would at last be returning home? Perhaps this was a decision he had been coming to for some time. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed right.

He put his clothes away in the wardrobe and dresser and removed his jacket. For a man who prided himself on not acting on impulse, he had introduced himself as Camille’s cousin without a second thought. That, too, now seemed right.

He may not be a prince, but as her friend, he had her best interests at heart. And the best way to protect her was to spend Christmas, and every night until then, in her house.

Try as he might, he couldn’t get Beryl’s charge out of his head. How had he broken Camille’s heart? She had been the one to reject him. He was the one whose hopes and dreams had been crushed. He was the one with a broken heart. How could anyone think otherwise? How could she?