Chapter 4 #2
“Thank you, Papa.” Kyra hesitated as they turned the corner of the corridor.
Dare she ask? Before she could think twice about the decision, she let the words slip free.
“I was wondering. Might I come along? I was thinking that my maid and I might spend a few hours exploring Kew Gardens while you are taking care of your affairs in the city.”
The low flame of the wall sconce caught the flicker of light that lit in the duke’s iron-gray eyes. “By Jove, I think that a splendid idea!” he exclaimed. “I seem to recall reading in the newspaper that they have recently received a new shipment of tropical specimen plantings from the West Indies.”
“Yes, and it’s said to include some very rare flowers,” she replied. “I thought I would bring along my sketchbook and do some quick studies. It is always inspiring to try a new subject.”
“Excellent, excellent!” he exclaimed, his face wreathing in a smile. “Let us leave bright and early, so you have plenty of time to stroll through the pathways and conservatories.”
“Thank you,” she repeated, feeling a pinch of guilt at how the timid request had sparked such a look of hope. It reminded her again of how her actions had hurt the ones she loved. For an instant, she was tempted to retreat, to make up a cowardly excuse to put off the trip.
But she couldn’t bear to disappoint him yet again. “Good night, Papa. I had best retire if we are to rise at the crack of dawn.”
The next morning, as the carriage drew closer to the city, Kyra was feeling even more unsettled about her decision.
Living in her own isolated little enclave, she had forgotten just how noisy and crowded the main thoroughfare could be—carriages jostled with the farm carts and brewery wagons, drovers called curses at the young bucks racing their curricles at a reckless pace.
A part of her cringed at all the commotion and yet, a part of her felt the thrum of activity stir a certain frisson of excitement. Clenching her hands in her lap, she tried to still her quickening pulse. This wasn’t her world anymore, and never would be. She was an outcast.
“We are almost there.” Her father shifted to glance out the window, drawing her out of her own mordant thoughts. “You have an extra shawl in case it turns chilly?”
“Yes, Papa.”
Turning to her maid, who was busy arranging the parcels piled on the seat beside her, the duke asked. “And you have the picnic that Cook prepared?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The young woman indicated the hamper, which looked to have enough food to feed a regiment. “And a blanket in case the ground is a trifle damp.”
He pulled out his pocket watch and blew out his cheeks. “Well, then. I shall leave William with you to carry the parcels. We shall return around two if that suits you.”
“Please do not feel that you need to rush through your errands on account of me.” Already Kyra could see a hint of intriguing colors poking up from flowerbeds bordering the nearby walkways. “There is so much to see here.”
“You can always come back another day.”
Much as her fingers itched to take up her brushes and watercolors, she felt butterflies begin to flutter in her stomach for a moment as the carriage door opened and the iron steps were set down. But on seeing a pinch of concern thin her father’s mouth, she made herself descend.
There was nothing to be nervous about, she chided to herself.
None of her acquaintances from Town visited places like this.
They spent their time within the gilded splendor of the grand mansions in Mayfair, gossiping during the long hours of morning calls and then dancing until dawn at the fancy balls.
Strangely enough, she didn’t really miss those things.
“Watch your step, milady, there are several puddles just ahead.” Her maid, Anna, reached out to tuck the trailing fringe of Kyra’s shawl around her shoulder.
“And mind the chill,” added the footman as he caught up to them. “The breeze looks to be freshening.”
She paused in the lee of two tall Lebanon cypress trees. “I appreciate your concern, but truly, I’m not quite the wilting flower that I appear.”
They both looked a little abashed.
“Why don’t the two of you pick out a nice spot for the picnic and arrange all our things, while I make some sketches.”
“But I promised your father.”
“I won’t wander far,” she assured. Seeing Anna’s uncertainty, she added softly, “I appreciate your concern, but you know I prefer to work in solitude, and having the two of you hovering will be a distraction.”
“Very well, milady.” Her maid blew out a sigh that surrendered to a smile. “You go ahead and enjoy yourself. We’ll follow along at a distance. But you have only to signal if you need us.”
“Yes, of course.” Kyra felt a flush of excitement warm her cheeks. For just a few precious hours, she would give herself the freedom to forget about the past and simply explore the present.
The pathways beckoned with all sorts of tantalizing botanical treasures, but as she took her small satchel of painting supplies from the footman, she knew exactly which specimens she wished to find.
A quick question to one of the attendants directed her down a graveled walkway that led toward the Chinese pagoda.
Tucked behind a high hedge of Sumatran yew, halfway down the sloping lawns, was a charming glass-paned conservatory.
After opening the door, Kyra stepped inside and was immediately enveloped in warm, moist air, redolent with the sweetly spiced scent of . . .
“Chocolate,” she whispered to herself, breathing deeply and savoring the heady fragrance.
The colors, ranging from rich coppery oranges to pale lemony yellows, were also a feast for the senses.
She stood for a bit, simply admiring the profusion of pods growing out from the slender trunks of the small trees.
According to the brass plaques placed in the earthen beds, there were three species of Theobroma cacao on display—criolla, forastera and trinitario.
After one last deep inhale, Kyra set to work unwrapping her sketchbook, water jar and paintbox.
Taking a seat on the teak bench set by the stone fountain, she mixed up the first batch of hues, touched her brush to the palette and turned to a blank page.
So lost was she in her art that she wasn’t aware of someone else entering the conservatory until a shadow fell across the paper.
“Oh!” She looked up with a start.
“Forgive me for startling you.” Rafael flashed a tentative smile. “I was trying not to disturb you, but couldn’t resist trying to steal a peek at your paintings.”
“They are just rough sketches,” Kyra replied, trying not to let her gaze linger on the sinuous curl of his lips. She quickly shut her book. “If I am lucky, there will be enough details for me to work up a finished piece.”
“I have a feeling luck has nothing to do with it,” he said. “Might I be allowed a closer look?”
Kyra hesitated.
“I beg your pardon.” His expression squeezed to a wry grimace. “I have no doubt made some terribly rude request. I may be half English, but I seem to be wholly ignorant of the many complex rules of Polite Society.”
A gentleman who could poke fun at himself? His self-deprecating humor was even more attractive than his smile. “Your manners are faultless, sir. Rather it is my own unpolished skills that hold me back. My art is simply for my own enjoyment.”
“I assure you, I would enjoy it too, especially as the subject is one that is near and dear to my heart.” He held out his hand. “Please?”
Had he made some flowery request, full of fulsome flatteries, she would have resisted. But it was impossible to deny his simple, straightforward appeal.
With a wordless nod, Kyra passed it over.
Up close, the sketches were even more exquisite than he had guessed from the quick glance he had gotten before she had shut her book.
There was a grace and fluidity to her brushstrokes that captured the living, growing essence of the cacao trees.
And her eye for color was wonderfully nuanced.
The subtle shadings of the elongated pods were beautifully rendered.
“These are quite marvelous,” Rafael said as he carefully turned back through the pages for second look. “You have a rare talent.”
A slight blush suffused her cheeks, a lovely shade of pale pink, softer and more delicate than a velvety rose petal. “You are too kind, milord.”