"Does the lady require assistance?" A deep, manly voice came from behind her.
Anne gasped, and her ankles gave way. Like a potato sack, she dropped, her back hitting the pine cone. Anne swallowed the pain and sealed her eyes shut. In a heartbeat, she had lost her hold on the tree and her dignity. A wave of heat climbed to her face, no doubt leaving her fair skin a patchwork of carmine blotches. If only the daisies' stems were long enough to cover her mortification.
"What have I done?" Tony said, his clammy palms cradling Anne's face.
Anne opened a slit in her left eye. After spotting a red coat and golden epaulets adorning very tall, very male shoulders, she closed her eyes again. Who had misplaced a handsome stranger in Vesuvio's garden? What would she do? Ladies didn't hang from trees, not even to teach Greek to truant boys.
She should say something. But while she could be quite eloquent inside her head, when she spoke to strangers, especially of the dashing variety, the words would bore a nun. Perhaps... perhaps she would just open her eyes and greet him with a sheepish smile.
"Is she dead?" Tony’s concern doused her musings.
"I think she fainted," the stranger said in a cultured, slightly amused voice. "If you sprinkle water on her face, she will revive."
That was her cue. The instant a few drops fell on her person, she would flutter her eyelashes and pretend confusion. Holding her breath, she heard a lid being unscrewed and counted her heartbeats.
A gelid torrent splashed her face and chest. Where did the stranger collect this water? The alps? Anne sputtered and scrambled to a seated position.
Dropping the canteen he had used to drown her, Tony attached himself to her neck. "Aninha, I'm so sorry. Are you hurt? Please don’t tell my mother."
Anne sifted her fingers through his silky curls and comforted him. When Tony calmed, Anne stood. Avoiding the stranger’s curious gaze, she shook her day dress into a semblance of order.
The officer cleared his throat. "Antonio, it is the gentleman's duty to climb the tree while the beautiful lady observes from the ground."
Anne's cheeks flushed at the compliment, but with her tongue pasted inside her mouth, she had a better chance of turning into a grapevine than coming up with a witty phrase.
"Tony, won't you introduce me?" He was leaner than her brother and a tad younger too, high twenties at most. A beard shaded his square face, adding a touch of roughness that suited him.
"Aninha, this is Mr. Gabriel Fontes. I met him yesterday in the village. He is staying at Quinta da Esperança. Mr. Gabriel, this is my new aunt, Miss Anne Maxwell."
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance." Anne curtsied and admired the medals lining his chest.
"You are famous, Miss Aninha Maxwell."
Startled at her nickname's casual use, Anne tilted her head. "How so?"
"Mrs. Maxwell sang all your praises. She just told me how you decided against a season to help her. Your effort is commendable." Taking her hand in his, he smiled, his brown eyes exuding warmth and admiration.
At once, she felt a kindred connection, as if they had traced similar steps in life. "It's no sacrifice. My sister-in-law was gracious to receive me, and I cannot be thankful enough for how happy she makes my brother."
It seemed like a long time had passed. Had he been looking at her all this time? Tony tugged at Mr. Gabriel Fontes’s sword, breaking the spell. "Have you been to the Indies?"
Mr. Fontes ruffled Tony's hair. "Only to Africa. Does it count?"
Tony made rapid-fire questions about the army and the duties of a soldier. Mr. Gabriel Fontes answered them all with patience.
"I'm here on an important mission. As the head of the king's guard, I must prepare for his majesty's visit to the Douro."
Her family talked of nothing else, as the king had promised to include Vesuvio in the tour. Phylloxera killed all the grapevines last year, and without Julia and Griffin's cure, the wine industry would have been devastated. Their effort had granted them a baronetcy.
Tony bounced with excitement. "Will you fight criminals, then? Spies?"
"Always." After a wink that could melt the alps — perhaps it explained where he got the water — he checked his timepiece and frowned. "I must go. May I visit you, Antonio?" Mr. Fontes’s eyes shifted to Anne for a second and then back to Tony.
"That will be grand. Griffin is teaching me fencing. You can join our practice, too. He has some brilliant moves, for an Englishman, of course."
After tipping his hat, Mr. Gabriel mounted his dignified chestnut horse and cantered away, his posture straight. Anne's gaze followed him until he crossed the courtyard's iron gate.
"Aninha?" Tony yanked her hand.
