“I—I don’t know what to do,” she stuttered, suddenly agitated.
“If you go to him, everyone will see you and think the worse of you. They would shun you if you let him touch you. But I can see that you think only of him—and he has found us and come all this way for you. Perhaps there is some way…”
They stood silent, Talaitha’s heart pounding in her ears as the footman, in blue livery, climbed down from his place beside the coachman, opened the door, and pulled down the steps. Then he nodded, perhaps agreeing to an instruction. He replaced the step, closed the door, and climbed back up. The coachman shouted to the horses and the carriage rumbled away.
“Wait… He is leaving! But why, if he followed us all the way to this town, why would he go now?” Delilah cried.
Talaitha shrugged, refusing to show how much this hurt her, and turned away. The fire that had started in her belly with the sight of his carriage turned to ice. Head held high, she walked across the field away from the others, aware that their eyes were following her, aware that they had seen the carriage come and go. She knew they were all wondering why and watching her reaction.
She stumbled over one of the little hills that surrounded the field and down to a stream that ran on the other side of it. No one could see her here. She crouched in the darkness beside the water. From her bodice she pulled one of the lace-edged handkerchiefs and proceeded to soak it with her tears.
***
Harry had had a devil of a time finding out where the Gypsies had gone and then had driven out to Hadley in the dark and much faster than prudence would allow.
As he approached, he saw the campfires and the guitar player on the makeshift stage. Then he made out two figures in the middle of the field—the flirtatious woman, and her, the singer. His heart beat faster at the sight of her, and he felt the heat rise ferociously within him.
Was he moonstruck? He didn’t even know her name, and yet he’d been unable to sleep for wanting to see her again. He’d risked his own life as well as those of his coachman and footman to get here, hurrying over the poor roads, urging the driver to go ever faster even after nightfall, even when the moon hid her dim light behind clouds. They stopped only to change horses. But now he hesitated to get out and join the group of men and women who stood watching the guitar player. And it would be unseemly to go directly to where she stood—and besides, his courage was failing him. He felt like a fool.
Her disinterest—no, her repugnance—had been perfectly clear. He had insulted her, assuming his money and his prestige would make her willing to allow him to seduce her. How could he have behaved so badly to her? How bitterly he regretted it.
She found him repulsive. His friend John had told him that over and over, and he had not listened; he had wanted her, lusted for her too much to be sensible. But it was more than mere lust. He had never felt like this about any woman. It was a kind of madness.
The fire of the passion that had tormented him since he had first heard her sing was starting to become dampened by the cold water of reason. But though the flames were lower now, they still licked at him. There must be something he could do, some way he could show her that he valued her, that he wanted her in every way a man could want a woman, that his life was barren without her. That he would do anything for her.
No, John, was right. He had insulted her past enduring. There was no way she could forgive him.
So he remained in the carriage, and in a low voice he told the footman to tell the coachman to return to Beresford Hall.
Chapter Five
It was midday and Talaitha sat on a blanket by her sister Naomi’s vardo helping feed the children when the carriage with the perfectly matched horses approached. It stopped about hundred yards from the encampment and the Gadjo lord stepped down and walked briskly toward them. Cambio went to meet him. Talaitha realized that all eyes were on her, so she squared her shoulders and pretended he was of no interest to her. Instead, she picked up the baby, held him against her shoulder, and began to rock him back and forth.
Cambio spoke with the Gadjo a short while and then led him to tree where several men sat mending a wagon wheel while a couple of the bigger children ran over to watch. Talaitha’s father got to his feet, the lord tipped his hat, and the two men walked away from the others with the children following closely behind.
“What can that mean?” Naomi looked at her.
Delilah, who had joined them, said, “I think he is trying to buy Talaitha.”
“Ha!” said Naomi. “Dadro would kill him before he would allow a Gadjo to touch Talaitha or any of us, no matter how many gold guineas he has.”
Everyone watched silently. The children crept closer to the two men. Finally, the lord tipped his hat to Talaitha’s father again and, looking neither to the right nor the left, strode back to his carriage. The footman lifted the steps, closed the door, and climbed onto the box beside the coachman and they sped off.
The children came running pell-mell to Talaitha. “He asked puro dad if he could court you in a proper manner!” they shouted, and they danced around her shouting, “He wants to court you, court you, court you.”
***
Baba Florica, Talaitha’s father, and the rom baro—the clan leader—sat under an old oak tree talking quietly, apart from everyone else, their faces solemn.
“They are trying to decide whether to allow him to court you,” Delilah whispered in Talaitha’s ear. “The handkerchief,” she said, giggling. Even she was mildly uncomfortable discussing such things. “You gave him the handkerchief after you had wiped your face with it. Perhaps that bound him to you.”
“Prikaza,” Talaitha muttered. “Perhaps it was bad luck.”
“It is honorable for the Gadjo to seek to court you,” said Naomi, her face earnest.
“Perhaps the handkerchief will bring you good luck,” Delilah said.
“There are men and women in other clans who have married Gadje,” Naomi said.
“Yes,” said Talaitha, “and no one ever saw them again and no one will even speak of them.”
“I could not bear it, sister,” Naomi said, “if you were to be gone like that.”
“Nor could I,” Talaitha said softly. Her body and her heart told her she would accept the Gadjo lord should he ask for her, but then, alas, she would become an outcast from her people. She would live in a completely different world. One with jewels and pretty clothes to be sure, but one in which she would neither see her family nor enjoy the pleasures of the open road. This, her heart murmured to her, would hurt her grievously. She wondered for a moment if Baba Florica knew how to undo this spell she was under. She shook her head. She wanted to be with the Gadjo lord.
After he and the rom baro stood up, Talaitha’s father helped Baba Florica to her feet. He strode past Talaitha and the other women without speaking to them. He called to one of the teenage boys and whispered something to him.
“Your father is angry,” Baba Florica said, taking Talaitha’s hands in her own. “He does not want this Gadjo lord to court you. As for the rom baro, he says that this lord could protect us from those who hate the Romanichal. He says this lord is a very powerful Gadjo. He worries that it may be prikaza and bring harm on you, but he also thinks that if you are honorably courted and wed that may not be so.”
“What do you think, Baba Florica?”
“I see in your eyes that you could deny him nothing, that this Gadjo is the man you dream of at night. I think that if he wants to make you his whore; that is prikaza. The reason we moved away from his town was to protect you from that. Even when he followed us—and I sense it was at great cost to himself—I was not completely sure of his intentions. But we know, and he knows, that he could simply take you and do what he chooses with you. We Romanichal have no power against the Gadje—especially such a powerful lord as he. It is not for nothing that your father watches with a knife at his side every night when the Gadje come to be entertained by our people. We have no lawful defense against them—especially the highborn.�
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“But now this lord comes humbly, as an ordinary man. He begs permission to court you and, if you agree, to marry you in honorable fashion. He asks for nothing more. I see no prikaza in that. But your father fears for you, he thinks you could never be happy in that world. In that world there is little dancing, little singing. There is no joy of the open road.”
“I have seen how this Gadjo looks at you, and I have studied his palm. I see Gadji in his past, but none in his future. I do not fear that he would set you aside for some highborn lady. But I do not want to lose you. And if you marry this lord and become a great rawni, you will be lost to us.”
“What did they decide?” Talaitha squeezed the old woman’s hands.
“The rom baro gives him permission to court you.” She pointed to the horse and rider galloping up the hillside. “See, Tobar rides to the inn where the Gadjo is staying to tell him our answer. Your lord will return in a few hours and speak with you then.”
“Will you read my palm, Baba Florica? Tell me what the future holds for me. Tell me, what I should do?”
The old woman shrugged. “I do not like to read the palms of those close to me.” She pulled her hands out of Talaitha’s grip. “You must decide.”
A few minutes later, Talaitha still stood as though rooted to the spot, clasping her hands. She thought her heart might beat its way out of her ribcage. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. The lord wanted to marry her. The thought had never even crossed her mind. She ran back to the vardo and climbed inside. She found the tiny mirror that had been her mother’s and studied her face in it. Serious, dark eyes stared back. Her black hair curled about her flushed face. She saw nothing there that would make a great Gadjo lord to want to marry her. She bit her lips. Could she make them redder? She ran fingers through her hair. Gadji ladies wore their hair in complicated ways she’d never thought of doing for herself. She wondered if Delilah had pins to hold it up. Would she or her sister help her put it up? She put the mirror down and trailed her fingers through her hair again. Would he do that? Her fingers followed the curve of her neck down to the hollow at its base. She sighed. Would he touch her like that? She took her fingers lower, running gently across the swell of her breasts above her dress.
Then she brought her hands to her waist and slowly up toward her breasts. She wore no corset. Gadji wore corsets. Would he despise her for wearing none? If she married him—her heart seemed to flip over at the thought—would she have to wear a corset? She had noticed that they pushed up the breasts of the fine ladies who wore them. She used her hands to push her breasts toward her chin. Then she burst into laughter. She was being ridiculous—and she was ridiculously, wildly happy.
Suddenly, she remembered that she would be leaving her family, the vardo, and life on the road forever, and she burst into tears. But then she thought about being with the Gadjo lord and laughed again. This is absurd! I don’t even know his name.
Chapter Six
In his quarters at the Hadley Inn, Harry sang happily to himself. So this is what being in love feels like, he thought. I am madly, hopelessly, completely in love with a most beautiful, talented, and virtuous woman. He threw back his head and laughed. And I don’t care a farthing if everyone considers her quite socially unsuitable. She suits me perfectly. And now I shall court her as a gentleman should court the woman he adores.
He paused occasionally in his song to issue often contradictory orders. He knew he was driving his manservant to distraction, but seemed unable to stop himself. First he’d wanted the gray breeches and the darker gray coat, but no hat was right. And the stock, the neck cloth—no matter how it was tied, it looked wrong. And the fawn trousers weren’t right, either.
And perhaps he should not arrive in the carriage. He’d never thought about it before but it might be best to appear more humble. He’d come by horseback—but he had no fine riding horse here. He’d dispatched a man to Beresford to get his finest hunter, although he knew perfectly well that he could never be back in time. And five minutes later, he thought perhaps the gray mare would be more pleasing, and he paid the stable man at the inn to ride after the first and tell him of the change.
And then back to the matter of the clothes. He glanced in the mirror—his hair, he should have had it trimmed. He looked again. People said he was handsome. He’d never really thought about it before but now he wondered, was it only flattery because of his rank? What did she think–the beautiful Talaitha Grey? The boy who came with a message from the Gypsy camp had told him her name, and since then he was sure he’d uttered it to himself a thousand times.
Talaitha Grey—she who had found him so repulsive. He groaned softly as he remembered how he had offered her a guinea to sleep with him. And he groaned louder when he remembered that he had offered to make her his mistress. Twice he had thought a poor Gypsy lass could be pleased with an offer of money, of material wealth. Instead she had been disgusted.
He sat down and put his head in his hands. Was he being foolish to even try to woo her after what he had done? Perhaps there could be no way of making amends. True, at first he had been sure that she had wanted him—or perhaps she had only pretended to. After all, she was a performer. But surely she had sung to him when last he stood in her audience. He would have sworn she was singing to him and him alone. Yes, he was sure of it. And the way she had held him and kissed him. She must feel something like he did. But no, she was only doing her job. Only trying to please him so he would put more money in the pot. Best he forget this whole mad enterprise. After all the idiotic things he had done, she could not possibly care for him. It was painful, but he would not play the besotted fool again. He would not bother her further.
He summoned his valet and told him to order a horse from the inn. He pulled on his old riding breeches and then his riding boots. He tore the cloth from his neck and stormed out of the room and down the stairs.
The horse was a sorry-looking beast, but he mounted her and rode off at a furious gallop. He would ride until he was exhausted and then arrange to return to Beresford Hall and forget—if he could—this whole mad adventure.
***
Delilah put the finishing touches on Talaitha’s hair. She had cut the ribbons off her cousin’s tambourine, murmuring that Talaitha would no longer be using it, and threaded them carefully through her hair. The last ribbon—the least worn—she tied around Talaitha’s neck, and then pinched her cheeks.
“Why so pale? Soon you will be a great rawni.”
“I don’t know yet what to do. I do not want to leave you all.”
“Don’t be silly, you will have plenty to eat always,” Delilah said. “Meat every day and cakes whenever you want.”
“And you will have silks to wear and servants to dress you every morning,” Naomi added.
“And to undress you at night to get you ready for his Lordship.” said Delilah, shameless as usual.
Talaitha felt the blood rushing to her cheeks and the fire in her belly overcame the cold knot of nervousness and anxiety that had taken up residence there since she had learned that the Gadjo lord wanted to court her.
“Here,” said Naomi, removing the ragged wrapping from a green dress, “this was Mother’s. I think it will fit you well, and the patches aren’t as easily seen as the ones on your dress.” She held up a grass-green dress embroidered with bright flowers. She stroked one of the flowers. “Mother did these herself. I hope this dress will bring you good luck, sister.” She held it out to Talaitha.
Naomi and Delilah helped her out of her deep yellow dress, and tut-tutted at the condition of her shift. Naomi insisted on trading shifts, hers being less patched and frayed than Talaitha’s own. Both women pulled off their gold bangles and put them on Talaitha’s wrists and Naomi tied her gold coin necklace around her sister’s neck.
“You look very beautiful, ves’tacha, my beloved.” Baba Florica said as she entered the vardo. “Here, wear mine as well.” She pulled off the five bangles that her husband had given her on
her wedding day and the gold earrings she had inherited from her own grandmother and handed them to Talaitha.
“There!” Naomi said. “With all that gold, he will think you are as rich as himself!”
***
Harry rode hard around the countryside trying to not think about Talaitha Grey—why could he not stop murmuring her name to himself? Why could he not stop thinking about her?
When the shadows grew longer and his horse grew tired, he decided to return to the inn and prepare to depart first thing in the morning. Why was that thought so painful? Why could he not get the Gypsy singer out of his mind? Talaitha. He would say her name aloud one last time and then think of her no more. He whispered it to himself, and then cursed aloud as his blood ran hotter.
The Gypsies had granted him permission to court her. Why on earth had he decided not to? Every time he thought of her, his heart raced, the fire in his belly flared and he felt… He couldn’t quite put it into words. It was more than mere affection, much more than that. He loved Talaitha. He wanted her—needed her—to be part of his life.
He cursed himself for having decided otherwise. Instead of returning to the inn, he persuaded the tired horse to gallop toward the gypsy encampment. He would speak with Talaitha.
If she will allow me, I shall tell her that I love her beyond all reasoning.
***
The encampment lay in a little dip in a fallow field between gentle hills. He rode slowly around the top of the rise, thinking about what he might say, about what she might say, and if she did what he would say then. So unlike himself, but he had never felt so unsure of a woman—of anyone or anything—as he felt about her. Nor had he ever cared as much. “Talaitha,” he murmured. Her name was honey on his tongue.
For Love of a Gypsy Lass Page 3