Chapter 5 #2
“Edible chocolate has been in existence for centuries,” he corrected. “The Ancient Aztecs made it into wafers for their warriors, who consumed it for strength and endurance during their long marches and battles.”
“It tastes too good to be medicinal,” she quipped.
“Medicine can come in many guises.” Rafael handed her the rest of the confections.
“The art of edible chocolate was more recently perfected by a Frenchman named Sulpice Debauve. He was pharmacist to King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. When the queen complained about the taste of her medicines, he concocted chocolate pistoles such as these to disguise it. Her favorite flavor was said to be almond milk.”
She broke off another bite. “You know such fascinating stories.”
“Chocolate is an endlessly fascinating subject.”
“Lady Kyra,” murmured her maid.
“Yes, yes, I am coming.” She polished off the rest of the pistole and put the others in the pocket of her pelisse. “I feel well fortified for the journey, though I am glad not to be tackling tropical jungles or towering mountains.”
“We shall soon have you ready to conquer any obstacle, Lady Kyra,” said Rafael softly.
“Let us not go that far. But thank you.” She took back her satchel. “For everything, sir.”
“That’s a nice gentleman, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Anna said, as they made their way up to where George was waiting with the hamper and blankets. “He seems ever so kind and considerate.”
“Yes,” mused Kyra. “He is very nice.”
The trouble was, she didn’t know whether that made her want to smile or sob.
Rafael climbed down from his carriage, but despite the mizzling rain and chill mists teasing at the upturned collar of his coat, he was in no hurry to return to the manor house.
Instead, he chose walk along the bridle path leading up to the high meadow overlooking the lake.
On the other side of the water, the valley stretched off to the faraway hills, their fuzzed shapes deepening to shades of purple and indigo in the fading light.
The Duke of Pierpont’s lands lay to the left of the thick stand of ancient oaks.
Over the lofty treetops, he could just make out the boundary walls of mossy stone edging the wheat fields.
Was Kyra home by now? Was she eating more than a sparrow-like peck of nourishment?
Damn the cowardly cur who had brought such a look of sadness to her luminous green eyes. Not for the first time, he found himself reflecting on the unfairness of the rules governing men and women.
“Lord knows, I have no claims to being a saint,” he muttered. During the years he had spent fighting in Portugal and Spain, there had been several senoras who had shared his bed, but for a man, such dalliances only earned the respect of his peers, not their revulsion.
“I am lauded for my seduction skills.” His partners were never innocents, of course, but worldly widows or women whose marriages were naught but matches of convenience.
They were experienced enough to know how to play the game without suffering any consequences.
“But seduction,” he whispered, “is a two-edged sword for females.”
Rafael blew out a gusty sigh. When an innocent young lady succumbed to the charms of a gentleman, Society considered her ruined for life.
One mistake.
His hands tightened on the reins as he thought about her erstwhile fiancé, who had callously abandoned her when rumors began to fly.
He knew little about their courtship, or the events that led to the terrible tragedy of that fateful night’s horse race.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something havey-cavey about the matter.
He shifted in his saddle as the shadows lengthened over the landscape, long-fingered shapes that seemed to squeeze the light from the surroundings.
But why, he wondered, was he taking the matter so much to heart? There was an old English adage that his mother had often repeated to him when he was a child. Whatever bed you make, you must sleep in it. He barely knew Lady Kyra Sterling.
But Jack had.
The memories had come back slowly, perhaps because a shroud of pain still clouded his mind when he tried to think about his cousin.
Yet he had forced himself to recall the good times, the laughter and the bonds of friendship, as well as those last awful moments in the heat of battle.
And that was when the realization struck him.
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 loved her, not romantically, but as a sister.
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.