Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (51 page)

After a moment’s pause, Soleil’s meditations were broken and she turned to Rhianna with an anxious look.

“What were your impressions of Count Armand Deveraux last night, Rhianna? You know how I trust your judgment and I am positively desperate for your opinion. I seem to be remarkably well aware of what my own is, but I fear my mind is clouded.”

Rhianna tugged on the reins to ease her steed that, at the sight of a rabbit, had become restless. She could not suppress a smile.

“Certainly, his good qualities cannot be doubted,” Rhianna observed. “From what time we spent with him — though not opportunity enough to perceive the most intimate details of his character — I managed to form a very high opinion of him. And he seemed very much to fancy you.”

Soleil’s dimples deepened in her cheeks. “We may have an opportunity of being in his acquaintance again in a few days’ time. Will you do me the favor of paying particular attention to his disposition? I am certain to be blinded the moment I am in his presence!”

Rhianna promised to do as much, and added, “From his sweetness alone, one would imagine his person could only improve upon further acquaintance.” Brushing the horse’s mane with her fingers to further calm him, Rhianna concluded, “I confess, too, his appearance was very agreeable, very striking. His voice, expression, countenance — I cannot say I have before met a man whom I would deem so worthy of consideration for my dearest friend.” Soleil smiled broadly, and Rhianna added, “Of course, if you were to marry, I don’t know what I would do with myself!”

“Rhianna,” Soleil quickly reflected, “you must know I am not the only one with such possibilities in my future. Each passing day I anticipate a confession from you.” When Rhianna offered a perplexed look, Soleil more daringly questioned, “Has he not
yet
expressed his feelings?”

Rhianna was left no choice but to affirm her puzzlement. “I cannot think who you mean, Soleil.”

Leaning closer, as though she might be overheard, Soleil hinted, “Someone with whom we are both most intimately acquainted.”

Rhianna spoke the thoughts that came to her mind. “Surely, you cannot mean Philippe.”

Her friend’s sudden blush betrayed her thoughts.

“Soleil, you are quite imaginative, I declare!” Rhianna cried. “He views me in the same manner in which he views you, as his sister. There can be no deeper feelings on his account.”

Soleil insisted otherwise. “On my word, Rhianna, Philippe is quite in love with you and has been, you may be assured, since the day you entered into our very house.”

“I cannot believe so positively absurd a notion!”

“And, pray, where is the absurdity in it? Do you find my brother so lacking in sense as to
not
fall in love with a girl so learned and handsome as the one I see before me?”

Rhianna could barely find words, as Soleil insisted her red curls and green eyes had quite done him in.

“In all seriousness, Soleil, why would a man who could have his pick of all the loveliest and wealthiest women in France ever consider the daughter of an English
curate
? It’s preposterous!”

“Did you not see his expression as he danced with you last night? Mind you, it is the same expression he always has when he dances with you. You put him into quite a stupor!”

“If Philippe had any such expression, it was most certainly due to the wine,” she returned, with a laugh.

Thus, Rhianna made it apparent that no persuasion, no matter how convincing, could influence her to believe that Philippe Vallière was in love with her and Soleil pursued it little further.

With these final reflections, the girls returned their attention to the landscape before making their way back toward the stables.

• • •

Had Soleil not been so excessively tired from the previous night’s dance — not to mention the sleeplessness that resulted from meeting a handsome gentleman — she would have accompanied Rhianna on her walk through the garden. As it was, Soleil bid
adieu
to her companion at the stables and entered the manor house.

Rhianna, resolved to enjoy the morning air a while longer, wandered along under sapphire skies in peaceful intimacy with the nature surrounding her. Leisurely, she strolled among the flowers, breathing in their pleasant fragrances. There was evidence of perfection in every turn and Rhianna felt, as she often did, that walking through this garden was much like walking through a painting — a painting where no leaf had gone astray and no flower wanted a petal. Perhaps, she mused, the gardens of Kingsley Manor imitated a similar design …

As she twirled the leaf of a rhododendron bush between her fingers, a mental image of the house brought a smile to her face. Kingsley Manor, the great manor house that sat atop the hill beside her old English cottage, the very staple of her girlhood dreams of petticoats and pearls. She had dreams of it still.

Thus transported, Rhianna recalled a girlhood conversation with a young neighbor, Brenna:

“Just once, Brenna, I would like to walk up a Kingsley Manor staircase or to dance in its ballroom. Just once, I would like to have a necklace with matching earrings and gloves for my gown.”

“That would be lovely,” Brenna replied, wistfully. “And perhaps, too, some handsome fellow would ask you to dance.”

When she caught sight of Philippe Vallière entering the garden from the opposite side, her reminiscences came to an end.

“Philippe.” She smiled widely at the sight of him. “What brings you to the garden this morning?”

His lips curled in response. “I cannot see how it was to be avoided, on such a day.”

“Well, you must have read my thoughts,” she declared, as Philippe approached her. “I was only just this moment feeling the ache of having no one to share this inspiration with. The garden is so enchanting.”

“Unquestionably, it is that,” he asserted, his manner distracted. “There is something about it today that makes it more so than usual.”

Unaware of any hidden implications, Rhianna readily agreed.

Seeming at once to forget the garden, Philippe went on, “I am glad of finding you. Indeed, I have searched for you all morning.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. Rhianna, I must speak with you on a subject that has consumed me as of late.”

Not his words only, but also the manner in which he spoke them caught her attention acutely. All fascination with the garden was lost as her eyes met his and she beheld in them the agitation of his emotions. Philippe appeared to be in a state so ill at ease that she was certain she had never seen him thus in their ten years’ acquaintance.

“It is of the utmost importance,” he added.

Rhianna recalled her earlier conversation with Soleil, but dismissed it at once, unable to conceive he was, in fact, or would ever, head toward the delicate subject of love.

“I can see that it is,” she replied with care. “Philippe, I have not before seen you so distressed. Pray, do not leave me in wonder.”

“You must not, Rhianna, mistake my anxiousness for distress. My affliction is one of joyful anticipation. And you alone can relieve me of my restlessness, allay me from this malady.”

Rhianna was earnest in her concern. “Philippe, I have not the privilege of understanding you …”

“No, indeed, you do not, for I have been too concealing in my behavior. Repeatedly have I asked wherefore? To what end should I suppress it? For years have I kept silent, my soul restrained and inwardly anguished while awaiting the sensible and perfect moment — but no more! My secret shall be masked no longer. For my own sanity it cannot!”

His meaning could no longer be mistaken. These opening words produced a shock in Rhianna, for they were beyond everything she could have supposed. She stood silent as he took her hands in his and continued with his declaration, his unrestrained passion in presenting it rendering her wordless.

“It has been said the gift of a rosebud is considered a confession of love. I should like to give to you all the rosebuds of this garden — nay, those of all the gardens in France! Tell me your heart does share mine’s affections, that your soul shares mine’s desires. I treasure you, my dear Rhianna, and I want to treasure you always. Grant me the permission to do so and cease this torment!”

No sooner had he avowed this last to her than a servant came racing toward them from the house. Once within audible distance, the servant exclaimed his winded announcement.

“Count Vallière, Miss Braden! I beg your pardon, but there is a guest arrived only a few moments ago. He comes from England for you, Miss Braden, and requests to speak with you on a matter of great importance! Marquis Vallière is with him and begs you to come directly.”

The awkward interruption drained all color from Philippe’s complexion, while Rhianna’s cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. After a weak recovery, Philippe recognized the need to put aside his proposal.

“Where are they?” he called out to the servant.

Rhianna was grateful for his response, for she was not yet lucid enough to form words of any audible quality. First, Philippe’s declarations and, now, a mysterious visitor from England! She decided it imperative that she focus only on taking in each breath.

“The drawing room,” the servant responded, with his first look of curiosity at the scene before him.

Philippe lowered his eyes to the hands he yet held and seemed unwilling to release them.

“You must go,” he stated with chagrin.

Feeling severely for him and how his proposal had been so critically disrupted, she hardly knew how to respond, either to him or to the servant.

“Philippe …” His name was all she could manage and, yet, it said everything to him.

“Come,” said he, with grand composure, “we shall
both
go.”

There could be no other option. They withdrew from the garden and hastened toward the house.

• • •

His arrival was early in the day and unannounced, but Guilford, Lord Kingsley, received a warm reception to the Vallière home. A strikingly tall man, with a broad stature and a generally pleasing appearance, he entered the Vallières’ drawing room with little time for social graces. With a brief introduction and hurried civilities, he explained his visit from England to Marquis and Marquise Vallière.

“I hope you will forgive the discourtesy,” he expressed. “It is unfortunate that we must meet in this manner, but the tidings I bring are rather urgent.”

Even under such circumstances, Lord Kingsley had a composed way about him. His calm, gentle manner recommended him to Marquis Vallière who, although characteristically cautious and fittingly concerned, felt quickly at ease with this unknown traveler.

“Please, will you not have a seat?” insisted the somewhat rounder, though in no way displeasingly shaped Marquis Vallière. Turning to his butler, he instructed, “Belmont, do bring our guest some refreshments.”

“I thank you for your kind hospitality, Marquis Vallière,” Lord Kingsley replied somberly. “However, I feel I cannot rest until I have carried out the purpose of my visit. I bring a message to Miss Rhianna Braden. It is my understanding that it is here, in your excellent care, that I may find her.”

Marquis Vallière was excessively protective of his children and, as he had for the last decade considered Rhianna as one of them, his first reaction to this comment was guarded.

“Of course,” he responded, with a thoughtful nod. “I imagine this message is from someone of close connection to her.”

“It is. I have personally been well acquainted with Miss Braden’s father for many years and, in fact, bestowed him with the benefice at Thornton Church where Miss Braden lived prior to her schooling at Madame Chandelle’s School for Girls.”

“Ah! I see,” he declared, his investigation nearly complete and his inquiring mind all but satisfied. “And I trust her father is well?”

Lord Kingsley hesitated before answering, “It is of Mr. and Mrs. Braden that my message refers. I am afraid it is not good news and, if it is not an unreasonable request, it is my hope that it be related first to Miss Braden.”

“Oh dear,” Marquise Vallière declared, speaking for the first time since their introduction. She wrung her hands together.

Marquise Vallière was a petite, slender woman whose exquisite fashion and irreproachable character were eclipsed only by her common sense.

“I do not believe Rhianna and Soleil have returned yet from their riding,” she told her husband.

As she spoke her words, Soleil entered the room. Belmont closed the double doors behind her.

“What is it, Mother? You look troubled.”

Soleil, noting the intensity in the air, turned to the unacknowledged guest. Marquis Vallière hurriedly introduced him.

“My dear, this is Lord Kingsley of Thornton, England. He is the friend and patron of Rhianna’s father and wishes to speak with her
tout de suite
.”

Stationed beside her mother, and at once afflicted, she offered, “Rhianna had mentioned going for a walk in the garden. To my knowledge, she is yet there.”

A servant was dispatched to find her at once.

• • •

Neither Rhianna nor Philippe wasted a moment. As the doors were opened and the two entered the drawing room, Rhianna moved instinctively toward Marquis Vallière, a man she had for many years viewed with a deep, fatherly regard.

“What has happened?” she implored him.

“There you are, child,” he received her. “Rhianna, we have a Lord Kingsley to see you.”

At the mention of this name, Rhianna’s heart fluttered so intensely that she was certain it could not endure another surprise in the same day. Could she have heard him correctly? Lord Kingsley, owner of her most beloved Thornton, England manor house?

“I beg your pardon?” she replied.

The tall man beside her bowed — the most graceful bow she had ever witnessed — and she pressed her hand to her chest as if to ease the palpitations. When his posture straightened, she curtseyed with equal elegance and he took a step toward her.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Braden,” he began, his voice kind and mild. “My only wish is that it would have been under happier circumstances.”