Fortune's Bride

by VICTORIA MALVEY

  Drawing her brows together, Calla scowled fiercely. "You're far too picky, Alys. If you don't settle upon one gentleman, you'll never marry."

  "Be that as it may."

  An exasperated sigh ripped from Calla as she flopped onto a chair. "I don't understand you. You'll never find yourself a husband with that attitude."

  "I'm not looking for one, angel. If I were, I would have accepted Mr. Meiser's offer."

  "Mr. Meiser?" Calla shivered once. "He was a horrid toad of a man... and I thought that before I discovered he was our cousin's man-of-business. Anyone who would work for the new earl must be nasty as well."

  While Alyssa agreed completely, she refused to comment about the distaste she'd felt when her cousin's agent had called upon her and offered marriage. Never once had she considered it, but now, looking around their shabby room, Alyssa wondered if perhaps she'd made a mistake. It was difficult enough to provide for her and Calla, but actually saving enough money to sponsor a Season for Calla now seemed an impossible dream.

  Unwilling to burden her sister with her dark thoughts, Alyssa smiled softly. "Mr. Meiser seemed most pleasant when he called upon me, but it didn't change my lack of desire for marriage," Alyssa replied evenly as she took a sip of her tea. "Besides, how am I supposed to meet a gentleman? As Madam Zora?" She shook her head. "Trust me, Calla. The young bloods who haunt these parties are seeking entertainment, not a commitment with a woman whose reputation has been tarnished beyond recognition."

  "Your reputation is not—"

  "—something I can ever reclaim," Alyssa finished for her sister. "When I became Madam Zora, I gave up any hope of ever being Lady Alyssa Porter, daughter of the Earl of Tonneson."

  Shaking her head fiercely, Calla scowled at Alyssa. "That is nonsense."

  "Not in the eyes of the ton," Alyssa corrected. "As Madam Zora, I am paid to attend parties, I walk through the streets of London without escort, and I trick notables into believing I am a mystic." She clasped Calla's hand. "But please don't misunderstand me, Calla. Society's misconceptions are perfectly fine with me. Through Madam Zora, I am able to adequately provide for us."

  "I know, Alyssa." Calla's gaze lit up. "But I do admit to wishing we didn't have to eat so many potatoes."

  Alyssa felt another pinch of guilt. "As do I, but I hope our situation changes. In fact, I hope to save enough money to afford a Season for you in a few years."

  "But what about you?"

  "I shall be most content retiring comfortably to our cottage irv Northumberland after seeing you happily married off to a fine young gentleman."

  "That's not a cottage, Alyssa," exclaimed Calla as she wrinkled her nose. "It's more like a hovel."

  While her sister was quite correct, Alyssa tried to focus on the positive. "I'll admit it does need a bit of work, but it is the only home our cousin saw fit to leave us after he inherited the title and estate."

  Calla reached out, running her hand down a large pile of books stacked haphazardly against the wall. "If only Mama and Papa hadn't gone on that last trip to Africa."

  If only, Alyssa agreed silently. Their lives wouldn't have changed at all. She and Calla would still be residing at the Tonneson familial estate, surrounded by caring servants, living a life of ease. But the storm that had dashed her parents' ship against die rocky coast of Africa had destroyed her life as well. "At least we are blessed with lovely memories of them," Alyssa said, hoping to ease the sadness from her sister's expression.

  "My memories are somewhat hazy," Calla admitted quietly. "Mama and Papa weren't home very often."

  Alyssa felt a flicker of resentment, but pushed it away. "No, they were true adventurers," she said in forced gaiety. "Which is how we've come to possess all of these treasures." She pointed to the masks hanging from the walls, the crystals lining the shelves, and the marble chess set resting proudly on its solitary table. "Naturally, my personal favorite is my crystal ball," Alyssa said with a smile, this one real.

  Calla's mood lightened. "Of course, after all, you are the great and wonderful Madam Zora." Giggling, she curtsied to Alyssa. "I honor your great mystical abilities."

  "As well you should," Alyssa pronounced in a grand voice. "If you displease me, I shall have to turn you into a toadstool."

  "Could it be a cat instead?" Calla asked hopefully. "I've always wanted to be a cat."

  Alyssa smiled at her sister's remark. How simple life was at fourteen.

  * * *

  Preparing for the Covingtons' affair, Ian tugged on his cravat until it was a perfect knot at his throat. It was important he look well-set tonight. After all, he had a little Gypsy to impress.

  He smiled into the mirror.

  "What are you so happy aboutr asked Peter as he strolled into Ian's dressing room.

  "Do come in, Peter, and make yourself comfortable," Ian drawled smoothly, lifting an eyebrow at his friend.

  "Don't mind if I do." Grinning, Peter sat in a nearby chair, swinging his leg over the arm. "I didn't wish to miss a moment of tonight's entertainment."

  "Entertainment?"

  "The apology to your Gypsy," Peter murmured with a nod.

  Ah, yes, his sweet imposter, who with her large dark brown eyes, olive skin, and thick chestnut hair could have easily claimed Roma heritage. But once he'd seen the golden streaks in her hair, her slender refined hands, and the innocence in her gaze, he'd had no doubts about her lack of Gypsy blood.

  More than likely, his "Lady" was some down-on-her-luck peasant's daughter born with quick wit, keen powers of observation, and a large dose of unmitigated gall.

  "Surely you haven't forgotten?"

  "Of course not," Ian replied, smoothing his hands down the front of his jacket.

  "You do realize, Ian, that an apology is really not necessary," Peter said, waving his hand in the air. "I'm quite certain that she's heard other skeptics naysaying her abilities."

  "Perhaps she has, but that doesn't make my actions any less reprehensible." Picking a flower from a nearby vase, he tucked it into his lapel. "Who am I to judge her because she chooses to make her life's wages off the pampered ladies of polite society?"

  "Don't ever let a lady hear you refer to her as pampered or you'll find it difficult to claim one as your bride."

  "Please give me more credit than that," Ian remarked. "I'm not about to make a misstep now, not when I've worked so hard to achieve all I have. You know better than most all I've done to position myself to fulfill my goals... all of my goals."

  "Ah, yes, the valiant fight you took over from your father to regain your family's fortune and honor."

  Slowly, Ian turned to face his friend. "Don't make me regret having confided in you."

  "Come now, old boy, don't get your knickers in a knot," reprimanded Peter. "I'm hardly mocking you. In feet, I honestly consider your quest a noble one, but even you must admit that you allow your thirst for retribution to consume you."

  "Well, pardon my single-mindedness, but it takes a bit of concentration to amass a fortune from a pile of debt," Ian retorted.

  "I already told you I find your determination admirable and your idea of acting as an agent between the merchants and the titled gentlemen who have no wish to dirty their hands haggling over money is positively brilliant." Rising from his chair, Peter placed a hand upon Ian's shoulder. "But don't you think it's time to ease up, my friend, and enjoy life a little?"

  "I am," Ian said stiffly. "I've been attending numerous social affairs."

  "Only because it's time for you to add a suitable bride to your list of acquisitions."

  Glaring at his friend, Ian stepped backward. "I foil to see how that has any bearing on the situation. V-d wager half of the men attending these affairs are searching for their bride as well."

  "True enough," conceded Peter, his expression sober, "but I don't know of anyone else who plans on tossing their wife's good breeding into their grandfather's face."

  The point slammed into his gut. "That is not my plan at all," Ian
murmured. No, his plan was to flaunt his wife's good name and his fortune as well.

  "I must tell you, Ian, I don't understand your dislike of your grandfather."

  "Not only did he disinherit my father, but he refused to even acknowledge him as family." Coldness swept through him. "I shall never forget the pain that caused my father."

  "I can understand that you're angry about that, but I believe you should also look at this from your grandfather's point of view. After all, your father did run off with his serving maid and..."

  'That serving maid was my mother," Ian ground out fiercely, "and I will not tolerate any disrespect toward her memory."

  "Now, Ian—"

  "Enough!" Ian lifted both of his hands, cutting Peter off. "I value your friendship very much, Peter, and I am asking you to not speak of this again. What I choose to do with my life is my own business."

  "I know, Ian. It's Just that I worry..." An expression of shock spread across Peter's face. "Dear God! Pm starting to sound like my father!" His hand shook as he rubbed it across his forehead. "Sorry, Ian. For a moment there, I must have lost my head. It won't happen again."

  The tension inside Ian eased. "I'd very much appreciate that," he murmured, slapping a hand on his friend's arm. "What do you say we go find my little Gypsy nowr

  "Most definitely," Peter agreed. "So tell me, my friend, do you see her falling into your lap like a tasty morsel?"

  "Tasty morsel?" Ian repeated with a laugh. "I said I was going to apologize to the girl, not seduce her."

  "Spoilsport."

  "Alas, it's true." Retrieving his gloves, Ian began to walk from the room, leaving Peter to follow. "I fail to see the sport in seducing a poor chit who is merely try-ing to make a living." He paused long enough to toss a grin over his shoulder. "I far prefer lifting the skirts of some of those lovelies parading around as virtuous dames."

  "Now you're speaking my language!" Rubbing his hands together, Peter hurried after Ian. "Oh, happy day!"

  Laughing with his friend, Ian felt a spark of excitement at seeing Madam Zora once more. The evening ahead played out in his mind as he spun a delightful scenario around his little Gypsy. He could easily picture her astonishment, delight, and appreciation as he offered her his apology.

  Naturally, he would accept her thanks and ease his conscience. Then he'd sit back and watch as Fortune's Lady fleeced the darlings of society.

  3

  The coins on Alyssa's shawl chimed gaily as she drew it around her. Settling back into her chair, she released her breath for the first time that evening. Idly, she stroked her fingers along her papa's crystal ball, wondering at the vague feeling of disappointment swirling within her. She should have been relieved at having been spared the odious company of that Ian fellow. Yet, here she sat, feeling disappointed because he hadn't appeared this evening.

  "Is it too late to have my fortune told?" The crystal ball rocked on the table as Alyssa jerked her hand away and she found herself looking into the very handsome face of the man who had occupied for too many of her recent thoughts.

  Scrambling to recover her composure, Alyssa ignored the surge of anticipation as she replied coolly, "I'm not telling fortunes this evening, sir."

  Ian looked pointedly at the crystal ball.

  "Tonight's entertainment was seeking answers to one specific question."

  A grin slashed across his face. "And I imagine your answers were quite imaginative."

  "I only told what I saw in the ball," she replied in frosty tones.

  "Naturally, they were all delightfully vague." Nudging away from the doorjamb, Ian strolled into the room. "You seem quite skilled at your profession," he continued, his voice light with admiration. "Someone with your quick wit is well suited for for-tunetelling."

  Remaining wary, Alyssa watched him come closer, wondering at his game this evening.

  "Indeed, if a lady asked you if she would find true love, naturally you would respond with a resounding 'yes,' giving her the answer she wanted." Dropping into the chair next to her little table, Ian reached out to touch her crystal ball. "And if someone asked a more specific question, such as where had their grand-uncle Horace buried his gold, you could answer with a pat answer like 'all will be revealed in time.'"

  Try as she might to ignore the urge to laugh at his presumptuousness, Alyssa felt a smile tugging up the corners of her mouth. "Are you of Roma blood, sirr

  "Not a drop," he replied with a chuckle. "And, I'll wager, neither are you."

  His assertion sobered her, making her remember the importance of maintaining her charade. Her livelihood depended on it. "You'd lose your bet," she murmured, her hands tightening upon the bottom of the crystal ball.

  The gleam in his blue eyes intensified. "Would I? I highly doubt it.."

  "So you say," she replied smoothly. "But you are forgetting that I am the one with the gift of sight."

  Ian blinked once... then burst out laughing.

  Well, that certainly wasn't the reaction she'd wanted. Alyssa straightened in her seat, praying she didn't look as off-balance as she felt. "I fail to see what is so amusing, sir," she said in a cool tone.

  Reaching out, he tugged on one of her curls. Then you, my sweet Gypsy, need to look into your magic ball and discover how to get a sense of humor."

  "Oh, I assure you I have an active appreciation of entertaining repartee. You simply haven't said anything amusing," she finished briskly.

  "So now you've resorted to insulting me?"

  "One can hardly take offense at the truth."

  His smile broadened as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "You are a clever minx, aren't you?'

  "I do relish a good turn of phrase," she replied, enjoying this clashing of wits.

  "Ah, but in this instance you shouldn't be so eager to challenge me, as you haven't given me a chance to apologize."

  "Apologize?" she murmured, turning the word over in her head. "You want to apologize to me?"

  "Is it that outlandish of an idea?"

  "Well... yes. I wouldn't expect a gentleman to apologize to someone in... in... my position," Alyssa finished with a stutter No one ever apologized to a servant, for Heaven's sake!

  "As an untitled man who makes his living in trade, how am I any different from youT Leaning forward, Ian gently clasped her hand. "Like you, I work to succeed at my chosen craft, plying the ton for their business. So, you see, my Gypsy friend, we are very similar creatures, equals in status and situation."

  Equals? Her astonishment grew at the very notion. Why would he say something like ...

  Suddenly, Alyssa understood what Ian was doing. While she'd once been innocent to the harsh, sometimes cruel ways of society, her recent dealings with her cousin, as well as various members of the ton, had taught her their tricks well. Polite society liked nothing more than to laugh at a person's weaknesses or naïveté. And now, in the truest tradition of a witty gentleman, Ian was trying to make her the joke.

  Indeed, he was simply taunting her once again, yet this time in a far more clever manner than before. Oh, yes, this time he would lure her into believing he considered them equals, seducing her into letting down her guard, only to spring his cruel joke on her, telling everyone that she'd once fancied herself his equal.

  It was all too easy for her to imagine him stepping into the Covingtons' study to join the other men and laugh, over how the foolish Gypsy wench actually believed that he regarded her as his social peer.

  He was mocking her as surely as he had the night she'd first met him at the Hargraves' ball.

  This time, however, she wasn't going to let him upset her and chase her away. No, this time she was going to match him at his game. Slowly, she pulled her hand out of Ian's clasp.

  Tilting back her head, Alyssa looked down her nose at him. "Equals? Hardly. I am of Romany descent. The blood of greatness runs through my veins." She sniffed derisively, before repeating, "Equals? Pah!"

  The easy smile on Ian's face frosted over, mak
ing Alyssa's heart tighten at the loss of his warm regard. If only he hadn't been toying with her ...

  "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps we aren't equals. After all, I present myself honestly to society while you hide behind your Gypsy mask, pretending to be able to see into the future while all you can really see is the money you make off the fools who believe in your tales."

  His sharp retort stung. "What I see is that I give people hope, sir. What do you do for them?"

  "I help them make money." His eyes narrowed. "Which do you think they'd rather have? Hope or financial gain?"

  "Both must go hand in hand," she replied, rising to the challenge she heard in his angry voice. "After all, without hope, a person can't even begin to dream of financial reward."

  "Ah, here we go again with your pretty phrases that are utterly meaningless," Ian replied with a shake of his head. "If only you were as adept at honesty as you are at deceit."

  Her conscience called to her, demanding honesty, but she ignored it. To tell him the truth would be to expose her sister, so she continued boldly onward with her fabrication. "You, sir, wouldn't know the truth if it slapped you in the face," she said briskly.

  Both of his eyebrows shot upward. "I beg to differ, Madam Zora. You are no more able to tell fortunes than I am," he said coldly.

  "My ancestors—"

  "—are undoubtedly as English as mine and I'm quite certain I could prove it with very little effort."

  His arrogant response infuriated her, obliterating the flicker of apprehension. "You delude yourself if you believe that, sir. You could never prove my ancestors weren't Gypsies. Never," she snapped.

  "Never?" A side of his mouth quirked upward, but his eyes remained cool and hard. "Very well, then, my Gypsy lady, I accept your challenge. I shall expose you, laying you bare until all that remains is the untarnished truth."

  Fear scraped inside of her, but she swallowed it back. She'd faced far worse than Ian in the past few months. "You will only look the fool."

  Rising to his feet, he strode from the room, tossing one last remark over his shoulder. "We shall see, Madam Zora. We shall see."