When Robins Appear (Book 3)

Chapter One

Humming a nineties pop song as I pruned the dead flowers off of the lavender bush in Nicholas' front garden, I realised how much I missed listening to music.

Music was everywhere in my time, but here, it was so... quiet.

But I knew if I was going to stay in the year 1870 with Nicholas, I would be giving up a lot. And that's exactly what I did. And so far, I'd had no regrets.

Three weeks had passed since Nicholas proposed, and it had been the best three weeks of my life so far. We had been living in our own little love bubble; barely leaving the house, simply enjoying each other's company and really getting to know each other without the constant fear of looking over our shoulders for Constable Doyle.

In fact, no one even knew we were engaged except for my good friend Rose Davies in Launceston who I had written a letter to a couple of weeks ago.

Nicholas and I had talked about going to the Valentine house several times to share the news, but we couldn't seem to drag ourselves away from our cosy bubble just yet.

Speaking of my fiancé, just as I was getting lost in the chorus, I felt his strong arms wrap around my waist, startling me a little.

"Bloody hell, Nicholas. If it wasn't for the strong odour of oil paints on you, I would have stabbed you with my secateurs."

He chuckled, not in the least bit concerned for his safety. "Good thing I chose painting as a career, then," he breathed into my ear, and I turned in his arms to face him, discarding the secateurs on the ground. "I apologise for startling you, darling," he added, in all seriousness.

"I guess I'm still a little jumpy after the whole being kidnapped thing," I explained.

"That's understandable," he said, tucking a loose lock of hair behind my ear, a favourite gesture of his. "But there's no need to be afraid anymore, my love. When you're with me, I promise you'll be safe."

He lowered his head to kiss my cheek, then continued down to my neck. "I realise that... but I... it was..." What was I trying to say? I had no idea. My mind had turned to mush. God he was good at that. Did I mention we could barely keep our hands off each other for the past three weeks?

My hands slid their way around to the back of his neck, and our bodies snapped together like two magnets.

He lifted his lips away from my skin long enough to say, "You taste like salt and lavender," before resuming his task.

"I-I do?" I stammered.

"Mm-hm," he hummed.

"What are you doing out here, anyway? You should be painting."

"Your humming attracted me. Like a Siren," he explained.

"But I thought we agreed on actually getting some work done today? You haven't picked up a paintbrush since you painted my Christmas present."

He dragged himself away to make eye contact with me. "So you would rather I paint than do that to your neck?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

My lips curled into a smile. "No..." I said slowly. "But if you don't paint, you won't have anything to sell, which means no income."

He exhaled. "I'm just... taking a break, that's all. Recovering after everything that's happened. Enjoying spending quality time with you."

"I understand. Maybe I should ask Mr. Valentine if I can be a governess for his grandchildren again? You know, earn some extra money to help pay for our wedding."

"Matilda, no! I would never expect you to pay for our wedding. And I certainly don't expect my wife to go out and work. It's the husband's responsibility to take care of his family, and that's what I will do."