Robina

Robina

  by

  L. C. Cervantes

  Robina

  Copyright © 2016 by L. C. Cervantes

  Cover and interior design by L. C. Cervantes

  First printing through www.lulu.com, 2014 (ISBN 978-1-312-30978-4)

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by photocopying or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without in writing from both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard word of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. With the exception of real historical figures and events that may be referred to, all names, characters, places, and occurrences are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  Other Books by This Author

  Brailee: Book I

  For all those who can appreciate a short and sweet romance

  Author Note

  As recorded in E. G. Withycombe’s The Oxford Dictionary Of English Christian Names, one of the earliest examples of the name Robina being in use was Robina Cromwell, sister to Oliver Cromwell, the Lord Protector of the Commonwealth.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Other Books By This Author

  Dedication

  Author Note

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  One

  England, 1900

  With her usual patience, Victoria Brinkhurst, Dowager Countess of Glenhamond, regarded her granddaughter’s taut position before her dressing table. The girl’s tone was soft yet resolute.

  “I have already told you, Grandmama: I have no wish to meet the new earl or his son. So I really do not see the point of my going down to the ball at all.”

  A silver brow arching high, Victoria watched the girl trace the white cameo of her favorite Wedgwood bottle, her countenance as indifferent as her tone had been.

  After the death of Robina’s parents, Victoria had anticipated the girl’s animosity towards the gentleman who’d gained her late father’s title through his tragic death. That horrible time of pain and loss had been two years ago, and she believed it time her granddaughter began living again, looking to the future. And if her instincts were correct, Robina’s future would be a bright and happy one if she married the new Glenhamond earl’s son.

  When Baron Killifax, the inheritor of the Glenhamond earldom, had come to Hamond Park for the funeral, he’d gently informed Victoria of his desire for her and her granddaughter to continue on at Hamond Park without any interference from him. Although grateful for his generosity, it had been his son Michael who’d truly caught her attention. After a few hours in the young man’s presence, she’d concluded him to be of amiable humor and keen intellect. A mite shy and clumsy he might be as well, but she was positive that, given the chance to get to know one another, he and Robina would get on famously. And what better way to safeguard her granddaughter’s future happiness than by ensuring she wedded the gentleman who would one day hold the title her father had once held? Not only would Robina be the future countess as her mother had been, but there would never be any reason for her to leave her adored Hamond Park, which wedding another would oblige her to do.

  Determined as ever, Victoria approached her granddaughter. She cared little for manipulation. Yet, as she felt the girl’s happiness was weighing in the balance, Victoria had permitted herself to resort to many things short of physical force of late to get the girl to do as she wished.

  Raising a be-ringed hand, she caressed the dark whorls Robina’s abigail had created to lay against her mistress’s swan-like neck. “If sitting up here in your room, all alone, is truly what you want this night, then do so, my dear. For I will never have it said I would deny you, my dearest love, her heart’s desire.” Releasing the dark curls she made for the door. “But I shall miss your company as I strive to accommodate the 220 guests now amassed within our ballroom. I assure you I am up for the task, though it will have been more enjoyable with you at my side.” Opening the door she looked over her shoulder. “Especially as many of them were invited for your benefit alone.”

  Closing the door behind her, Victoria drifted down the hall towards the staircase. If Robina came down for this final ball being held before everyone who was anyone went to Town for the Season, perhaps she could also be persuaded to do so as well. Joining society in London would offer Robina and Michael Killifax an excellent amount of time to get to know one another. After that, everything else would fall into place, Victoria was sure of it.

  An optimistic glitter in her eyes, the dowager went down to rejoin her guests.

  Two

  After her grandmother shut the door behind her, Robina frowned. As the unmarried daughter of the late Earl and Countess of Glenhamond, she was expected, mostly by her grandmother, to attend all social events they held or were invited to that she might display herself before all eligible bachelors in attendance. During her initial London Season, she’d been like any other girl being launched into society—eager and bursting with great expectations. The death of both her parents two years later had smote the most thrilling time of her young life dead. Vibrant, lustrous silk, satin, and gauze had been replaced with dull, plain black crape and bombazine. And all outside socializing with the exception of church services had come to an abrupt halt.

  It had not just been her radiant wardrobe and social schedule that had altered, but her mindset as well. She’d become a creature of small enthusiasm and even less words. Even after the required time of mourning had long since passed, her former great spirit had yet to resurface completely.

  Ruth, Robina’s abigail, returned to the dressing room just then.

  Seeing the distress lines about her mistress’s face, the maid scolded, “You’d best clear those lines, milady. Else you’ll be looking older than your time ‘afore long.”

  Ignoring her abigail’s impertinence, Robina set down the blue jasper perfume bottle. “Ruth, bring the unworn Wroth gown.” When the woman left to do her bidding, Robina rose from the dressing table. From a William and Mary cabinet she retrieved a pair of shears. Gliding over to the vase of white roses in the window, she snipped several of the snowy buds from their stems. Returning to the dressing table, she laid the delicate blooms beside her silver chased hairbrush.

  Catching her maid’s reflection as she came back into the room, the requested gown in her arms, Robina turned around. The gown—a glorious creation of white silk, gauze, and lace, its pale perfection a great example of fashion excellence—had been among those fashioned for her during her last visit with her parents to Paris’ rue de la Paix.

  Yes, Robina resolved as she allowed the maid to dress her, I shall dress and go downstairs. But not to the ballroom. Oh, she would eventually join her grandmother and their guests, but not before she spent some time in the gardens—an activity that never failed to fill her with a goodly measure of forbearance to see her through yet another evening of being ogled and pursued by gentlemen she did not like, fake smiles, and meaningless chatter.

  Three

  Meanwhile, Michael Killifax, the newly styled Baron Killifax, was contemplating how best to evade his father’s
attempts to have him dance with every single female within the Brinkhurst’s ballroom that evening. There was only one young woman he wished to dance with, and she was nowhere in sight.

  Standing near a pillar, Michael was about to take a sip of his champagne when he caught sight of his father leading a young lady over in his direction. Swallowing painfully, he scanned the ballroom, found no one watching him, and slipped around the marble column. With as much dignity as he could, Michael rushed down the nearest corridor, handing his half empty glass to a passing servant, and opened the first door he found unlocked.

  Closing the door as soundless as possible, Michael turned round to discover, to his delight, the room was actually Hamond Park’s library—a find which made his distress ebb at once.

  Michael looked about the two-story rotunda done all in gorgeous rococo-style plasterwork in great admiration. Throughout the entire chamber, upstairs and downstairs, stood tables and stands holding all manner of outstanding models of learning and artistry. Magnificent portraits and amazing landscapes occupied large swathes of creamy wall. And of course, books, books, books everywhere.

  Directly across the room stood a pair of tall doors, each one, and the fanlight above, paned in glass. From those doors Michael could just make out a dimly lit garden beyond.

  Deeply aware of his propensity for ungainliness, Michael kept his hands clasped behind his back as he roamed about the library. He halted to