"Where's Lord Elliott?" Harrison asked. "Has he come downstairs yet today, or is he working in the library?"
"I'm not certain where he is at the moment, mi'lord. He wasn't expecting you until late this afternoon. Would you like to go upstairs and wait in the library while I search for him?"
Harrison shook his head. "It's too fine a day to stay inside. We'll go on out back and wait in the garden."
He pulled Mary Rose along after him. They went through another gigantic room she thought was probably called a salon or a parlor. There were two large sitting areas with settees facing each other, a gigantic marble-faced fireplace, and several round-backed chairs and small wooden tables with glass tops.
The fabric on all of the furniture was a rich ivory brocade. Mary Rose stopped to admire the room. She didn't believe she'd ever seen anything so extravagant.
Harrison watched her. "What are you thinking? You look puzzled about something," he remarked.
"It isn't practical," she whispered so she wouldn't be overheard by the staff. "A day's worth of dust coming in through the windows would ruin the cloth. Who would put white on their chairs?"
"Do you like it?"
"Oh, yes, but I would't dare sit on such fine chairs. I might put a smudge on one of them."
Harrison suddenly wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her. She was so wonderfully unspoiled.
"Shall we go on outside?" He took hold of her hand again and pulled her along to a pair of French doors. There was a wide stone courtyard beyond, surrounded by a three-foot-high brick wall. The courtyard overlooked a garden to rival all the pictures she'd seen of gardens owned by kings.
Harrison pushed the doors open and followed her outside. "Your father likes flowers," he remarked. "He told me once that when he has a particular puzzle to solve, he goes outside and pulls weeds. He's figured out how to win many a legal case while he was down on his knees. Your father surrounds himself with riches, but it's the simple things in life he most enjoys."
Mary Rose nodded, but didn't comment on Harrison 's explanation. He directed her to a cluster of chairs with yellow cushions and suggested she sit down and relax while he went to help Russell locate her father.
"Shouldn't we take our luggage upstairs and unpack our clothes? My dresses are going to be wrinkled if I don't hang them up right away."
"Staff will take care of our luggage."
She sat down and folded her hands in her lap. "Yes, of course," she agreed.
She'd forgotten about all the servants Lord Elliott employed. Harrison had rattled off at least a dozen names of men and women who worked for her father. She couldn't imagine having so many people attending to her needs. She was used to doing for herself, and she wasn't at all certain she would be able to adapt to the change very well.
Harrison leaned down and kissed her brow before going back inside. She was too nervous to sit still long. She didn't have the faintest idea what she would say to her father when she finally came face to face with him, and it had become extremely important to her that she find just the right words. She didn't want to disappoint him. He had searched for her most of her life, and a simple "Nice to meet you" didn't seem appropriate.
Mary Rose decided to walk along the stone path that led throughout the garden, hoping the leisurely stroll would help her calm her racing heartbeat and organize her thoughts.
She turned the first corner and was suddenly surrounded by the fragrance of summer. There were flowers all around her. The mingling of the scents reminded her of her valley back home, and though it didn't make much sense to her, she could feel herself begin to relax a little. She took a deep breath, clasped her hands behind her back, and continued on. She stopped several times to lean down and examine more closely a flower she didn't recognize. One she found most curious. The flower had red and pink petals that reminded her of a rose, yet when she bent down to inhale the scent, she was surprised by the heavy aroma of lilacs.
Being alone in the beautiful garden soothed her. She was pleased to know Lord Elliott liked the outdoors, and she thought that the two of them had something in common after all to talk about. She could tell him about her garden back home, and he could name all the flowers in his backyard paradise for her.
She straightened up and continued on along the path, and when she turned the next corner, she spotted an elderly man, bent down on one knee, carefully examining a flower. The man wasn't dressed like a gardener, for he wore dark Sunday pants and a sparkling white shirt. He'd rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. Mary Rose couldn't see his face because he wore a straw hat with a wide brim pulled down low on his forehead.
She thought he might be her father, but she couldn't be certain, of course, and she didn't know quite how to proceed. She almost turned around to hurry back to the courtyard, then changed her mind and continued forward.
Elliott heard the rustle of skirts behind him and assumed one of the maids had come outside to see if she could be of assistance. He reached over to his side, pulled the basket he'd already filled with flowers, and lifted it up for the maid to take.
"My daughter might like to have more than one vase of fresh flowers in her room," he explained.
He still hadn't looked up at her. Mary Rose took hold of the handle of the basket in her left hand, looped it over her arm, and continued to stand there, feeling completely tongue-tied and foolish.
Elliott didn't seem to notice she hadn't immediately taken the flowers inside. She patiently waited for him to look up at her. She thought she would probably begin the conversation by introducing herself, and, Lord, how she prayed her voice wouldn't betray her nervousness.
"I wonder if my Victoria likes flowers," he remarked.
She took a deep breath. "I like them very much, Father."
Elliott went completely still for what seemed an eternity to her, and then he slowly turned to look up.
His breath got trapped in the back of his throat and his heart felt as though it were going to explode into a thousand fragments. The first sight of his Victoria proved to be too much for him. Sunlight surrounded her golden head, giving her a mystical appearance, and for a brief moment, he thought his beloved Agatha had come down from heaven to be with him again.
She was her mother's daughter. Victoria had finally come home. Elliott couldn't catch his breath or his balance. He felt himself reeling to the side and would have fallen to the ground had she not reached down to offer him her hand.
He grasped hold of it as if it were a lifeline and held tight. And still he continued to stare up at her with a look of wonder in his gaze.
She smiled at him, a soft, beckoning smile so very like her mother's, and then she began to blur in his vision, and he realized he was weeping silent tears.
Mary Rose helped him stand up. She wanted to put her arm around his waist to steady him, but he wouldn't let go of her hand long enough to allow her to assist him.
His straw hat had fallen to the ground. She stared up at her father and thought to herself that he was indeed a handsome man, given his advanced age. In the sunlight his hair sparkled silver. He had high cheekbones and a nice, straight nose. The way he stood, so noble and proud, like a statesman or an orator, reminded her of her brother Adam, and she thought that if their skin color were more similar in tone, people would mistake them for relatives. Her brother had the blood of his chieftain ancestors coursing through his veins, and that was why he stood so proud. Did Lord Elliott come from such fine ancestors too? She would have to remember to ask him one day. Now it didn't seem appropriate.
Father and daughter continued to stare at one another for several more seconds. Elliott was valiantly trying to compose himself. He extracted a linen handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tears away from his face.