Kyra had written regularly to Jack, and her thoughtful letters, filled with funny anecdotes about home, and light-hearted accounts of the friends and parties in Town had been a source of immeasurable cheer for his cousin. She had teased him too, bringing laughter to his lips as he sat around a campfire, far, far from home.
Jack had shared her letters with him, along with stories of their youthful escapades together. It was clear that he cherished their camaraderie. And he would not have stood back and let her be destroyed by ugly rumors and innuendo. Whatever the truth, Jack would have remained a loyal friend and fought to have her forgiven.
There were ways to influence the ton. Her father was a duke, a powerful and respected member of Society. And Jack was extremely popular among his peers. With his support, Kyra would have had a fighting chance for redemption.
But Jack wasn't here...
"And so it is up to me to take his place," said Rafael. Lifting his eyes to the rain-dark sky, he swore a silent promise to do all he could to aid the young lady in mending her shredded reputation.
But first, he would have to convince her that she was not beyond help.
And that, he thought wryly, would be no easy task.
Chapter 6
The butler gave a discreet cough as he paused by the open doorway of Kyra's workroom. "You have a visitor, milady."
Surprised, she turned from her easel.
Who would visit—
"Forgive me for intruding, Lady Kyra." Rafael moved stand alongside Gorman. "It was such a fine day, I decided to take a walk from the folly, and the path led to here. So I thought I would stop in to pay my regards—but only if I am not intruding on your work. I would not want you to start thinking of me as an unwelcome distraction."
A distraction. The handsome Spaniard was certainly that—and though she should—she must—consider him an unwelcome one, she couldn't help but feel a flutter of happiness.
"You are never intruding, sir." Kyra set aside her brush. "You must be tired and thirsty after such a long trek." To the butler she added, "Gorman, kindly have tea and cakes brought to the west parlor."
"Yes, milady."
"Please follow me," she said, joining Rafael in the corridor and then leading the way to an airy, sun-filled room with glass-paned doors overlooking the back gardens. Draperies made of floral chintz framed the tall windows, the soft colors reflected in the pastel upholstery of the furniture. The effect created a feeling of buttery warmth.
"What a pleasant place," he remarked, after pausing to admire a set of hand-colored botanical engravings of roses.
"Yes, it is especially nice in the afternoon." Kyra took a seat on the sofa and gestured for him to join her. "Your leg looks to be getting stronger," she murmured as he settled himself on the cushions.
"The doctors advised daily exercise, and walking does seem to be helping." He glanced at her skirts. "You, too, seem to be making great strides in recovering."
"I—I suppose so." In truth, she felt a little guilty that her limp was nearly gone. "Somehow, it seems..." Kyra bit her lip. Rafael was so easy to talk to that she had nearly blurted out her innermost feelings.
As he shifted to stare out the window, a blade of sunlight cut over his handsome face, accentuating the fine lines etched around his eyes by the rigors of war—and its aftermath.
She looked away, reminding herself that she mustn't think of him as a kindred soul. Yes, that they had suffered loss of a loved one was an undeniable bond. But their situations were so achingly different.
"Somehow it seems unfair that you should be whole while a loved one is gone," he said, finishing her unspoken feelings after a few long moments. "Yes, I know. I feel just as you do. However, I have thought a great deal about that over the last five months, and have come to the conclusion that yes, life is terribly unfair, but I think both your sister and Jack would wish for us to live it to the fullest, as... as a celebration of their spirit."
Kyra pondered his words while the maid entered and set the tea tray on the table.
"It is not easy to push aside guilt," said Rafael once they were alone. "But please give some consideration to what I have said."
"I—I shall," she replied, for he was too kind for her to say otherwise. Though at heart, she couldn't imagine ever truly forgiving herself for what had happened.
"Bueno. And now we shall talk of more cheerful things." He helped himself to a strawberry tart and polished it off in three quick bites. "An idea occurred to me as I was walking here. I plan to return to London in a few days to purchase a few more supplies at the Covent Garden market."
She had wondered at the reason for his previous journey to London. There were, of course, any number of pleasures that would draw a gentleman to Town. But shopping for foodstuffs? His interests were so unusual—and intriguing. At times he appeared so solemn, so serious, then with mercurial quickness, a whimsical lightness could chase the shadows from his eyes.
His next words, however, jarred her from her musings.
"I thought perhaps you might care to accompany me. There is all manner of exotic produce sold there, including cacao pods from the Caribbean. So you could purchase some to paint here in your work room."
The luscious shades of red and orange flashed in her mind's eye.
"And if you had your own pods, you would be free to cut them open and try your hand at depicting the interior, which has an interesting range of creamy colors."
The suggestion was oh-so tempting. But Kyra shook her head. "Thank you, but I don't intend to return to London."
Ever.
"I understand you reluctance." Rafael rose and went to stand by the glass-paned doors. Unlike most bucks of the ton, he didn't feel the need to pontificate or push his own point of view on his listeners. He was comfortable with silence and his own thoughts. It was one of the many things she found appealing about him.
Several more moments passed before he continued, "But be assured that ladies like the marchioness and her daughters don't ever go to Covent Garden. It's filled with ordinary people—kitchen maids, hawkers, greengrocers, farmers and seamen from all over the globe. It's..."
He paused, as if searching for the right words. "How to explain the atmosphere—it's noisy, it's bustling with a raucous energy. There's much good-natured haggling and cursing in a dozen different languages." His mouth curled up at the corners. "It will be fun. I promise."
"You make it sound—" Kyra looked around abruptly as the parlor door swung open.
"My dear—oh, forgive me." The duke stopped short on the threshold. "I did not realize you had company."
"Papa, I don't believe you have yet met Lord Hendrie's nephew."
"Ah, the new Lord Leete." Pierpont approached and extended a hand. "Welcome, sir. Welcome. "
Rafael accepted the greeting with good grace, though she could see that being called by Jack's title pricked like a thorn every time he heard it. "Thank you, Your Grace."
"His Lordship and I have met several times while out walking by the lake, Papa," explained Kyra. "And we also encountered each other at Kew Gardens. He has an interest in botany."
"Indeed?" Pierpont quickly masked his look of surprise. "A scholar as well as a soldier, I see."
"Merely a beginning student, though I confess that the subject does interest me. I am especially interesting Theobroma cacao, which is more commonly known as chocolate," Rafael explained, "I am trying to convince your daughter to come with me to the Covent Garden market in London, where it's possible to buy specimens."
The duke's brows shot up in surprise.
"It seemed that Lady Kyra found the plant interesting at Kew Gardens. And on the whole, the market is quite a fascinating for an artist," added Rafael. "That is, Your Grace, if you have no objection."
The duke slanted a look at Kyra. "Why, I think that's quite a splendid idea, Leete."
"I am not sure your daughter agrees," said Rafael. "But I hope she will consider it."
He had painted such an appealin
g picture of the place. And it sounded as if she would be anonymous in the crowd.
No catty whispers, no hurtful snubs.
Kyra carefully collected the cups and plates and placed them back on the tray while her father and their visitor exchanged pleasantries about the local area. Yes or no? She knew the safe answer, the sensible answer.
Ah, but when did she ever choose caution over danger?
"I will," she finally announced. "Consider it, that is."
"Excellent." Rafael gave another glance at the engravings on the wall. "Did I mention there is a stand that sells potted orchids?"
"Orchids?" Did the man possess magical powers? How did he guess at her fascination with the delicate blooms?
"In a variety of colors."
Oh, definitely a warlock.
"Pink?" asked Kyra hesitantly.
"A deep, dusky pink, as I recall."
"When were you planning to make this trip, sir?"
"Ah, as to that, I have made no final plans. Is there a day that might suit you?"
"I am dispatching my under steward to Town to pick up a batch of books on agriculture from Hatchards on the day after tomorrow," said the duke. "The two of you could ride with him in the traveling coach. The new team of matched grays flies through the miles, so it will be an easy trip there and back."
Clasping his hands behind his back, Rafael raised one dark brow in question, waiting for her to answer.
"I..."
Her father looked to be holding his breath.
"I... I have to admit that I find the prospect of cacao and orchids too tempting to resist."
"Then it's settled!" Seeing her father's jaw unclench was worth the doubts that still roiled inside her. Perhaps it had been an error of judgment to agree. But there were already enough mistakes chalked on her slate that one more really wouldn't make any difference.
"It is getting late, so I had best be returning to Hendrie Hall." Rafael inclined a small bow to both of them. "Thank you for your hospitality to an uninvited guest."
"Nonsense. You need never stand on ceremony, Leete," replied the duke. "Our neighbors are always welcome here." He beckoned for Rafael to follow him. "Come, I shall show you out as I have a book that I would like to send along with you for your uncle."
Kyra rose to bid him farewell.
As Rafael passed, he murmured, "Wear old clothes and be prepared to enjoy yourself."
* * *
"Watch your step," counseled Rafael as they made their way along narrow cobbled passageway leading up from the Strand. "There are a great many substances underfoot that I don't care to identify."
"Ah." An ominous squish emanated from beneath Kyra's halfboot. "I believe that was a rotten cabbage."
"I didn't realize your botanical expertise extended to vegetables." He grinned, happy to see she was taking the adventure in stride. "I would have guessed it was a turnip."
"No, there were definitely leaves involved."
Shadows flitted overhead. Only a dappling of sunlight penetrated the overhanging eaves, making the space seem even more pinched. Sounds were funneling down from the market, an ever-loudening cacophony of shouts and thumps amplified by the soot-dark brick of the buildings pressing in around them.
Rafael slanted a surreptitious look at Kyra, but saw only curiosity rather than trepidation shading her profile. A good sign, but she had yet to be swept up in the helter-pelter jostling of the crowds.
"It's best if we stay close together," he counseled, shifting the wicker basket from one a hand to the other in order to take her arm. "The market is quite large and with all the rows of stalls, it's easy to lose one's way."
A last turn took them through a low archway, and then, in a flash, they emerged from the gloom and into the bright sunlight.
"Oh." A sudden exhale escaped her lips as Kyra blinked, her eyes adjusting to the blaze of colors and whirlwind of activity.
"It's a bit chaotic," said Rafael, trying to gauge her reaction. "But cheerfully so." Or so he hoped, suddenly worried that he might have misjudged just how overwhelming the experience would seem to someone who had chosen to retreat into the shadows of solitude.
She didn't answer right away, which was further cause for concern. Inwardly cursing himself for a fool, he fumbled for something to say that might sooth her fears...
When all of a sudden, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "There is so much to see—I hardly know which way to look."
"Let's begin here," answered Rafael quickly. Taking her arm, he guided her to a row of fruit stalls. "They have oranges from Valencia here. Their sun-kissed sweetness reminds me of home."
A woman clad in brightly mismatched calico hefted a sack of the pump fruits. "Aye—a handsome treat fer a handsome gent!" She winked at Kyra. "Ain't you a lucky gel."
Rafael promptly handed over some coins. "The luck is all mine, milady."
The fruit seller chortled. "Oh, sure enough, I be the Countess of Lemons and Limes." She raised several more sacks and winked. "Or would ye prefer some tasty English apples?"
"Just the oranges for now." He began peeling one of the fruits as he nudged Kyra to continue along the line of stalls. Their progress was greeted by good-natured jests and urgings to try more of the treats. Rafael purchased some almonds and sultanas, then led them down an aisle featuring pots and pans.
"Here, you must taste this." He handed Kyra a segment of peeled orange. "Close your eyes, and you can feel the warmth of the Spanish sun."
She hesitated, but only for an instant. "Mmmm. Why, that's quite delicious!"
"Have another morsel."
It disappeared even more quickly.
He peeled two more oranges and handed one of them to her. "I'm glad you like them. My grandmother had several trees in her garden and when I was a small child, it was always a special treat when she allowed me to chose one of the fruits."
"What lovely memories."
"Indeed." He hoped that she would soon let her own sunny memories of the past chase away the gloom of the recent events.
She looked thoughtful as she ate—slowly at first, then with increasing gusto. Her fingers were soon sticky and juice was dribbling down her chin. He reached out to flick a drop off her lower lip.
"Oh, Lud." A laugh burbled in her throat. "I must look like an absolute fright."
With her loosened curls dancing in the breeze, her cheeks flushed with mirth and her eyes sparkling with life, she had, in his estimation, never looked lovelier.
"You look like... someone who appreciates oranges. As do I." He licked his syrupy fingers, drawing another laugh. "Have some Marcona almonds. The saltiness is a nice counter to the sweetness of the oranges."
"Oh, I couldn't! I've indulged quite enough."
"Nonsense. It's impossible to indulge enough at markets. They are all about sampling everything."
"Well, if you insist."
A cheerful crunch-crunch punctuating their steps, they wended their way through the kitchenwares, the stacks of nubby linen and Belgian lace, and on to the flower stalls.
* * *
Rafael had not exaggerated—the display of orchids was even more impressive than he had described. Kyra stood entranced, the profusion of subtle hues and shapes leaving her a little breathless.
"Dare I hope the pinks are pleasing?" he asked.
"More than pleasing," she murmured. "They are astounding."
He stood for several long moments studying the blooms. "Let me try to guess which one you like best." Another drawn-out pause, before his fingers slid through the foliage, and drew one of the potted flowers closer. "I daresay it's this one."
"H-How did you guess?"
"I've seen your palette, remember? It's clear which shades of rose madder and alizarin crimson you favor."
"Most men would never notice such things," she mused.
"Ah, but I am not like most men."
How true. A clench of longing squeezed at her chest, but Kyra quickly shook it off. Such sentiments were
now forbidden—she was no longer worthy of romantic dreams. Of romantic desires.
Ducking her head, she began fumbling in her reticle for her purse. "How much—"
Rafael stilled her hand. "Allow me to negotiate," he said softly. "Wait here."
He moved to the far end of the display, where the proprietor was busy trimming some yellowed leaves from a small ficus tree. A rapidfire series of gestures and grimaces ensued, then finally a gruff nod from the man. In answer, Rafael smiled and passed over some money.
"Sir, I can't allow you to pay for my purchase," said Kyra tightly when he returned. "How much do I owe you?"
A twinkle lit in his eyes. "Oh, never fear, I fully intended to ask for recompense for my bargaining skill. And it will cost you dear, Lady Kyra."
"How much?" she repeated, reaching back into her reticule.
"You have no need for your purse. I wish to be reimbursed with a watercolor sketch of the bloom."
"B-But that doesn't seem a fair exchange. Orchids are expensive—"
"Allow me to be the judge of that."
Kyra bit her lip, uncertain if it would be proper. God knows, she had transgressed enough of Society's rules for several lifetimes.
"I hope we might consider it an exchange of tokens of friendship," added Rafael.
Friendship. Surely even a fallen lady was allowed to have friends.
"Very well. But I still say I have gotten the best of the bargain." She reached for the flower.
"Mr. Wilkins says we may leave it here we finish our shopping." He hefted his basket. "We need to visit the section where spices and exotic fruits and vegetables from the east and West Indies are on sale." Seeing she was loath to leave it, he added, "I've already made him swear a solemn oath not to sell it to anyone else."
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "It's a little unsettling how often you seem to read my thoughts. Does one of your grandmother's cacao recipes perchance confer the power of clairvoyance?"
"If so, I should bottle it and make my fortune selling it here in the market." Rafael flashed a boyish grin. "But alas, no. I have no special gifts."
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