study a stunning celestial globe. Releasing a hand that he might turn it, a large, white, gilt-framed relief portrait drew his attention. As he approached it, his foot caught on the edge of a carpet. Stumbling, he bumped into a large vase filled with bright, yellow peonies. In frantic horror he clutched the vase just as it tipped sideways. Closing his eyes in relief, he righted the vase and inched away with great caution. With hands clasped behind his back once again, he continued on to the portrait.
Having seen likenesses of the Lady Robina and her mother when he’d come with his father for the funeral, Michael assumed the mature woman in the marble relief sculpture was the late Lady Glenhamond, not her daughter. His guess was proved correct when he bent low to get a good look at the tiny, gold plate set into the bottom of the frame and found it engraved with the inscription “My precious Roberta.”
Mind swimming with visions of the beautiful Lady Robina aging as gracefully as her mother had, Michael wandered aimlessly about the library, not really caring where his feet took him. When he found himself before the double doors leading outside, he stared out their paned glass a moment before pulling one of them open. Immediately, the scent of roses enveloped him. A lantern hanging here and there faintly illuminated beyond the doors a flagstone path beneath a rose-covered pergola. At the end of this canopy was flowering shrubbery, and further still an exquisite fountain, water spraying from the mouth of a huge, stone goldfish at its center. At the fountain the path separated into two separate walks—one going right, the other left. Behind the fountain stood a tall hedge.
Leaving behind the marvels of the Hamond Park library, Michael went forth into that shadowy world where pale and rich colors would have vied for supremacy during the brightest hours of the day.
Four
Hidden from view, Robina sat peering through the shrubbery to the gentleman who’d come into the library earlier. Of a mind to enjoy her solitude a little longer, she had, at first, watched him out of dismay, hoping he wouldn’t come out into the garden and discover her presence. However, he captured her honest curiosity when he nearly knocked over the vase full of peonies she herself had cut that morning, his desperate lurch to save the tipping vase and its bright occupants quite comical.
Presently, Robina sat completely immobile as the unknown gentleman strode out into the garden. As he neared she reflected how he seemed no older than her own twenty years. She was admiring the way his golden hair gleamed beneath the faint lantern light when some of the leaves of the roses trained about one of the columns of the pergola caught his hair as he bent to sample their scent. Covering her giggle, she observed as he pulled his hair free and attempted to reestablish its original sweptback elegance.
When he ventured further down the path, but still did not notice her presence, she was glad she’d chosen to wear all white that evening, for it blended incredibly well with the blooming pearl-bush she sat next to.
Robina’s interest in this handsome stranger only intensified when he caught the sight of the goldfish in the pond across from her and eagerly went to view them better. While Hamond Park’s gardens had been redecorated according to her mother’s taste, the Asian imported fish had been her father’s contribution.
Just then, the gentleman noticed the decorated wooden sign suspended from a chain hanging about a large rock at his feet.
From her nearly concealed position, Robina watched and listened as he crouched down to look at the sign her mother had made for her when she was a child, smiling when his brows twitched with nonplussed interest.
“‘Bobbie’s Pond.’ Bobbie?”
Unable to keep silent any longer, Robina finally made her presence known. “It was my mother’s nickname.”
So startled by the sudden voice, Michael loosed the sign, which caused it to slap loudly against the rock, as he vaulted to his feet. Scanning the shadowy garden to locate the owner of so lovely a voice, he instantly became paralyzed when he saw what he’d failed to see when first coming into the garden: across from him, beside a huge pearl-bush in full bloom, sat a young woman dressed gloriously in white silk and gauze, snowy roses adorning her dark coiffure. Unable to do anything else, he watched in stunned silence as she stood and approached—or rather the sign he’d treated so disgracefully—with flawless grace. As she regarded the wooden plaque his mind whirled. Is it she? It is she!
When Michael had examined the Brinkhurst family portraits, Lady Robina’s beauty—beauty she’d obviously inherited from her American Heiress mother—had caught his attention instantly. However, it had been everything he’d been told of her character that had truly set his heart to longing for her—her grace of manner, her easy humor and generosity, and her interest in learning. What more could a man want in a future wife?
Heart hammering, Michael stared down at the white roses so artfully affixed in Lady Robina’s dark hair. The proper thing to do would be to introduce himself and apologize for intruding upon her moment of privacy, no matter that it had been unconsciously done, and especially after acting so gauche. Being the shy individual he was, though, he seemed incapable of doing the proper thing. Instead, he blurted out the first thought that came into his mind. “It’s an unusual nickname for a lady.”
The corners of Robina’s pretty mouth curled slightly. More concerned about what this gentleman was rather than who, she sat down atop the stone ledge overlooking the fish pond. “My mother’s family used the diminutive to distinguish her from her own mother, who was also named Roberta. My father’s name being Robert, he thought it fitting to call me ‘Robina’ after both him and my mother.”
“Is…is that why it was made so rustically?” Realizing how insulting his question sounded, Michael mentally kicked himself. “What I meant to say…say was…well…that it seems so out of place here…I mean—”
Robina had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. “I understand what you mean, sir. And you’re correct—it does seem out of place here. But that was what my mother intended—a piece of rustic Texas here amidst the English delicacy to remind me always of my American roots.”
At the lady’s mention of that enormous most southern state of America, Michael recalled a photograph he’d seen of its flag. “Oh, I see. The star beneath the nickname stands for your Texas heritage.”
“Yes.”
After a moment of silence hung between them, Michael’s common sense finally decided to make an appearance. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Lady Robina. The surprise at finding myself not alone in the garden made me forget my manners.” He bowed. “I am Michael Killifax.”
Robina was a little taken aback at learning this intriguing gentleman was one of the two she’d been trying to avoid since her parents’ death. Remarkably enough, there came none of the old animosity to taint her recently acquired good humor.
Dark brows drawing together at the baron already familiar with her identity, Robina inquired, “How is it you know me, my lord? Introductions have not been made between us until this moment.”
Mortified over her candid perception as he was, Michael was determined not to start their association off with lies. Licking suddenly dry lips, he sat down atop the stone ledge, careful to keep a decent amount of distance between him and the lady for propriety’s sake. “When I came with my father here for your parents’ funeral, I had the chance to view your portrait.” His cheeks went hot. Bowing his head, he confessed, “I saw several of them…”—He raised his head and became mesmerized by the lady’s dark, fathomless eyes—“…actually.”
Having been the receiver of much admiration for her appearance from the opposite sex since she was young, Robina presently mistook the sudden intensity of Lord Killifax’s gaze for the same sentiment. Her interest flagged as she suspected he was just another admirer of exterior beauty.
Tone sweetly cynical, she offered, “And let me guess: you were instantly taken with my profound beauty that you knew me at once to be the source of all happiness for your future life.” She sighed in disappointment and rose fro
m the stone ledge.
At the open sarcasm in the lady’s musical voice, Michael’s countenance grew dismayed, lines of eagerness appearing between his golden brows. “I..I cannot deny your beauty caught my attention, my lady. H-how could it not? For you are as…as…the Four Beauties, putting all flowers to disgrace a-and causing the moon to shy away in mortification, for it could never compare to your loveliness.”
Robina had strolled away, distractedly thinking it time she join her grandmother in the ballroom, when Lord Killifax’s comparison brought her up short. Whirling, she studied him across the distance she’d put between them. Her looks had been equated to many things and people, but never had anyone venerated them as being like those of the four ancient Chinese women who’d been immortalized in legend for their renowned beauty.
Assuming the baron had sought to impress her with his exceptional compliment, Robina made to respond.
But Michael Killifax was far from done.
“B-but your looks are only what drew my initial attention. After…after listening to my Lady Glenhamond’s glowing description of your virtues, an opinion that was echoed by all outside individuals I conversed with, I quickly realized you are a rare gem indeed, my lady.”
To his own surprise,
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