Edenbrooke by Julianne Donaldson Page B

stubborn to give in—”
    Philip raised an eyebrow.
    I laughed. “Yes, it’s one of my faults of which I have never been cured. Well, I refused to come down, and she refused to leave, so I sat up in that tree for most of the day. I finally had to come down because I had eaten so many apples that I had a horrible stomachache and couldn’t hold myself up any longer.
    “My governess thought she had won our little contest of wills, and had a terribly smug look on her face as she marched me into the house. But my mother took one look at me doubled over in pain and gave her such a severe scolding that she packed her bags and left the next day. I felt terrible about that, and apologized to my mother for my stubbornness. Of course, I still received a scolding for my actions, but only once we were alone. That was one thing I always liked about my mother. She never scolded me when other people were there to witness my shame.”
    “You’re like her in that way. I can understand why you would appreciate that quality so much.”
    I was puzzled for a moment.
    “You rescued me last night from a scolding as well, remember?”
    “Oh, that was nothing,” I said.
    He shook his head. “Not to me.”
    I looked away from the sincerity in his eyes, not knowing what to say in response.
    “I’m sorry I never met your mother,” he said. “What was she like?”
    I wished for my locket, so that I might show him her picture, so he would not think I exaggerated. But words would have to suffice. “She was exquisitely beautiful, with striking blue eyes and skin like porcelain. Her hair was so light it was almost white. When I was a little girl, and she came into my room at night to tuck me in, I thought her hair looked just like moonlight.” I paused, remembering her beauty. “My sister Cecily looks very much like her. I . . . do not.” I smiled in a gesture for pardon. “I’m afraid I’m quite plain in comparison.”
    Philip shook his head. “I think you are taking modesty too far. I couldn’t disagree with you more.”
    I immediately regretted that I had brought up the subject of beauty with Philip, who had already proven himself to be an incorrigible flirt. He was undoubtedly only saying what he thought I wanted to hear.
    “I am not too modest,” I said, hot with embarrassment. “And I didn’t say that in the hope that you would contradict me. I simply stated a fact in response to your question.”
    Philip’s lips twitched. “Forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t realize a compliment would offend you so. I will try not to do it again.”
    I struggled to press my own lips into a firm line. The amusement in Philip’s eyes was too infectious to resist, though, and I laughed reluctantly. “I’m sorry I reacted that way.”
    “Don’t apologize,” he said, stretching his arms and folding them behind his head. “It is so refreshing to be treated with contempt.”
    I laughed again. “It is not.”
    “Yes, it is,” he insisted. “I can’t tell you how much I enjoy it.” He grinned as if he really did enjoy it.
    “Now you’re being absurd.”
    “Actually, I am quite serious. But knowing your stubborn streak . . .” I cast him a dark look and he chuckled. “I’ll let it drop for now. Tell me—besides your beauty, what else have you inherited from your mother?”
    I chose to ignore the first part. “She taught me how to paint. She was a talented artist, much more talented than I am. And she loved to ride. She took me riding nearly every day, early in the morning, and she was such a bounding rider that she would take any jump fearlessly, no matter how high it looked—” I flinched at the words I had spoken, surprised that they had escaped me.
    “Is that how she died?” Philip asked, his tone respectful.
    I looked out the window. I nodded, keeping my gaze on the orchard, imagining I was safely encircled there right now.
    “Were you with her?”
    I cleared my throat to speak past the lump that was suddenly there.