“Sit down,” she ordered. “We talk.”
“There’s so much to talk about I don’t know where to begin,” I said, taking one of the chairs. “Tell me about you, Inez. Tell me about you and Rudolpho and everything you’ve been doing.”
Sitting down across the table from me, Inez propped her elbows up and made a face, shrugging her bony shoulders.
“Gypsy life always zee same. We steal chickens. We sell zee trinkets and tell zee fortunes. We move from place to place. Gypsies come and go. Nothing changes. I hear you go to fine school, study dancing.”
I told her about the school in Bath, describing my classes, and when I told her about Aunt Meg’s death, I was unable to conceal my grief. Her face was like carved mahogany as she listened, black eyes glowing. There was a moment of silence after I finished. When Inez spoke, her voice was a harsh growl.
“Zis man. He help you forget your grief?”
“He’s been … marvelous, Inez.”
She grimaced and began to toy with the Tarot cards, turning up first one, then another, her expression fierce. For some reason, she didn’t like Brence, but she undoubtedly still saw me as a child and still had a protective feeling toward me.
“These past twelve days have been the happiest days of my life,” I told her. “We—every afternoon I go to Land’s End, and he meets me there. I’ve taken him to all my favorite places—he’s a stranger to Cornwall, you see. We’ve been to the haunted caves and to the Druid stones. One afternoon we had a picnic on the moors, and another day we went to one of the small fishing villages down the coast. A fisherman showed us how to mend nets and took us out on his boat.”
Inez slapped another card down and again made a face.
“Several times we just rode in the carriage,” I continued, “taking any road we happened to fancy, exploring, talking, getting to know each other and just—just being together.”
“You luff him?”
“With all my heart. I never knew such happiness was possible, never knew I could feel so close to another person. It’s as though I’m truly alive for the first time, as though life before Brence was a kind of dream and I’m only now awake.”
“He luffs you?”
“I think so. He’s so considerate, gentle, attentive. He treats me as though I’m the most important person in the world to him. Sometimes he’s silent and moody, and—sometimes he seems remote, but I think he’s in love with me, Inez. I want him to be. I want it more than anything in the world.”
The flap of the tent flew back, and two giggling young girls in cotton print dresses flounced in, accompanied by a hulking lad with straw-colored hair and an embarrassed expression. Inez pressed her mouth into a thin red line and waved an arm at them, her eyes flashing.
“You wait! I busy now!”
The trio backed cautiously out of the tent. Inez muttered a curse under her breath, and then she looked up sharply.
“You are still virgin?” she asked bluntly.
I was taken aback, and it was a moment before I replied.
“Brence has been … quite gallant and … and casually affectionate,” I said hesitantly, “but he’s never attempted to take any liberties. He’s never even kissed me. He’s been the perfect gentleman.”
“Zut.”
“He respects me. He doesn’t want to rush me or frighten me.”
Inez studied me with shrewd eyes, her lips curling disdainfully. She began to toy with the Tarot cards again, scattering them over the table and placing them face down.
“He knows all about my background, Inez,” I told her. “That doesn’t matter to him. He’s courting me anyway. He’s going into the diplomatic service and he’ll need a proper wife, and … I believe he wants to marry me.”
Inez did not reply. Instead she began to turn the Tarot cards face up, one by one. The purple cloth walls billowed gently, and the candle flame danced, casting soft shadows. I realized that she was reading the cards for me. I sat silently, vaguely apprehensive. After a while she turned up the last card. She studied it for a long time, and then she swept the cards aside abruptly, her eyes dark with worry.
“What did you see, Inez?”
Inez stood up. “Ess nothing. I read zee fortunes. I tell zem what zey want to hear. Ess all a gypsy hoax.”
I got up, too, and Inez glared at me angrily, hands on hips. The flap of the tent flew back again. A plump, nervous farmer’s wife stepped inside, clutching her purse tightly. Seeing the expression on Inez’s face, the poor woman turned pale and hurried back out. Inez sighed. Her anger had vanished, and suddenly she looked very old, very tired.
“My poor Mary Ellen, my little chick who has grown into such a lovely young woman—no longer zee little girl with zee pigtails who wants to become gypsy, too. Already you know such grief when your aunt die. Zhere will be more, my child.”
“But—”
“You will travel, many trips, many countries. You will know many men, and—and zhere will always be zee one. You will have great fame and glory and zhere will be riches, but zhere will be pain as well, such pain. You must endure and go on, and one day—” She hesitated, a frown furrowing her brow. “One day, eff you are strong enough, you will find zee happiness you seek.”
“Will Brence ask me to marry him? Will—”
“Ziz ess all I tell you!” she snapped impatiently. “Zey wait for me! I must make zee money! You go now—and remember what I say. Zee strength is zhere inside. You must draw on it. You will need it, my child.”
VII
When I stepped outside the tent, the sky was blue-black and frosted with stars, but the campfires burned brightly. Leaping flames cast shadows over the caravans, and guitars were strumming. A crowd was already gathering to watch the dances. Brence was leaning against a nearby caravan waiting for me, his arms folded across his chest. Seeing me approach, he straightened up and smiled a warm smile, the way an indulgent parent might smile at a capricious child.
“All finished?” he inquired.
I nodded. “Did Rudolpho show you around the camp?”
“Every inch of it. Fascinating experience,” he added dryly. “Shall we leave now?”
“Not yet,” I protested. “We must see the dances.”
People had formed a wide circle around the clearing in front of the caravans. Clasping my elbow firmly, Brence shoved and nudged until we were standing at the. front of the crowd. Two fires burned, wood crackling as the flames danced, washing the ground with wavering orange patterns. Three gypsies in colorful attire strummed guitars, and another slapped a tambourine. The music was sensual and savage. The crowd was restless, eager for the spectacle to begin.
Brence put his arm around my shoulders and looked down at me with a half smile playing on his lips, but I had the feeling he was preoccupied and only pretending to give me his attention. He sighed and gazed at the fires, and although his arm rested heavily on my shoulders, he might have been completely alone. These moments of remoteness occurred frequently, as did the moody silences, but they never lasted long. He had confessed that this interim period before he began his new career was difficult for him, and I knew that he had a great deal on his mind. I only wished that he would share it with me. My life was an open book to him, but Brence had been extremely reserved about his own life, giving only the briefest of sketches.
Born into the aristocracy, Brence had been a pampered child, but his father had lost the family fortune while Brence was still a boy. As a result, he had always been on the fringes of things, included in all the activities but, because of lack of money, never really able to participate. At Eton and later on at Oxford he felt like an outsider, never able to entertain in his rooms, never able to indulge in boyish larks. His mother died when he was in his teens, and when he was twenty his father succumbed to a heart attack, leaving him alone and penniless. Brence left Oxford and took a commission in the army, departing for India almost immediately.
Was it this early deprivation that explained his consuming ambition,
his determination to make a name for himself in the world? He needed to prove something, and that need was a kind of obsession. Sometimes I felt he was very vulnerable, for all his strength, for all his confidence. I longed to comfort him. I longed to be everything to him. As we stood waiting for the dancers to appear, I wondered how long it would be before he stopped treating me with such respect and casual affection, and started treating me like a woman. Only then could I give him the support and assurance I sensed he needed.
The music built to a crescendo, stopped abruptly, and there was a moment of silence. Castanets began to click. A gypsy girl stepped into the clearing, her long black hair wild and tangled, her sullen mouth blood-red, dark eyes glaring at the crowd with open hostility as she moved around the circle with the grace of a tigress, clicking her castanets all the while. The music began again, the melody slow, matching the movements of her body. She wore a faded green dress with bodice cut low to show off a magnificent bosom. A tarnished gold belt encircled her slender waist, and the rows of silver and gold braid that adorned the full green skirt were tarnished as well. Golden hoops dangled from her earlobes. She swirled around, and the music swirled, too, growing louder, throbbing with passion.
As I watched, I remembered, and my body seemed to vibrate to the music. It was difficult to stand still. The girl swayed back and forth, her arms above her head, the castanets chattering. She threw her head back and hissed, vicious, passionate, a beautiful animal eager to engage in fierce combat with the lover who had not yet appeared. She stamped her heels on the hard-packed earth, looking this way and that, scowling impatiently, and when the gypsy youth stepped into the clearing she hissed again, pretending to despise him.
She whirled around, her back to him, and the youth bared his teeth and flashed dark, dangerous brown eyes, stalking her as a panther might stalk his prey. His tall, slender dancer’s body was clothed in tight black breeches and a white shirt open at the throat, its long full sleeves gathered at the wrist. A vivid red sash was tied around his waist. Perhaps twenty years old, he had shiny black hair that covered his head in a rich cluster of curls, and his features were harsh, dramatic, the mouth a savage pink slash. He circled around the girl, moving to the music in a lithe, muscular stride.
The dancers’ movements brought them near to where Brence and I were standing. When the youth turned and scowled, he saw me, and then he stood still, forgetting the music, forgetting the dance. Those dark eyes stared into mine, and when the girl caught hold of his arm and tried to pull him back, he gave her a hard shove without even looking at her. She stumbled backward and, losing her balance, fell on her backside with jolting impact. She cursed him loudly, but he paid no attention. Mouth turned down at the corners, brows pressed together, he stared at me, and I recognized him. That face had been younger, thinner the last time I had seen it. The surly boy had grown into a savagely handsome man.
“You remember?” he growled.
“I remember,” I whispered.
“The dance? You remember how it ends?”
“I think so. It—it’s all right, Brence,” I said quickly as he began to tense.
Julio seized my wrist and pulled me into the clearing, and I moved to the music, becoming a part of it, my body a supple instrument. I was a gypsy, all fire and fury, caught up in the dance I had learned so many years ago. I whirled around, my dark skirt swirling above my knees, the ruffles fluttering. Julio smiled fiercely, circling me as I swayed. The gypsy girl leaped to her feet, flying toward us with claws unsheathed. Julio caught her and snarled a threat between his teeth, tearing the castanets from her fingers and pushing her aside. She turned away, casting venomous glances at me over her shoulder. I took the castanets from him and fastened them on my fingers, missing not a beat, and the crowd applauded, thinking it all a part of the performance.
The music was fiery and flamboyant, ringing with a sensuous melody that caught me up, became a part of me. Julio backed away from me, and I followed, hips swaying, castanets clicking provocatively. He stopped. He snarled. I threw my head back, hair flying free, spilling over shoulder and cheek, and I stamped and stepped, shaking my skirt, easily recalling each movement. He turned his back to me, folding his arms across his chest, and I circled around him, enticing him, brazen in my beauty, aware of my power. He looked up, nostrils flaring, teeth bared, desire beginning to stir, beginning to burn in his eyes as I smiled and swayed and whirled.
I danced the dance of love, executing each movement as expertly as I had in the past, but now I understood them and each movement took on new meaning. The demure young woman in the sophisticated frock became a seductive creature, for I was dancing for Brence, not Julio, smiling for Brence, telling him in dance what I could not tell him in words. Julio came to me and wrapped his arms around my waist and we swayed together, to and fro. I dipped backwards, supported by those steel-strong arms, my hair brushing the ground, and he swung me in his arms, to the left, to the right, my body limp, liquid, melting to the music. He released me, and I whirled away from him, faster, faster, and he pursued me, crushing me to him in a passionate embrace as the music abruptly ended.
The crowd applauded vigorously. Julio let me go and smiled the old arrogant smile, all male superiority as he looked me up and down.
“You’d make a good gypsy, little sister. The fire is there. With practice you’d make a good gypsy, good partner.”
He strolled over to the musicians and took an old felt hat and began to move around the circle of people, collecting coins, much too superior to engage in further conversation with a mere female. I removed the castanets and gave them to one of the guitarists. He grinned broadly and nodded in approval. Smoothing my hair back and adjusting my bodice, I joined Brence. His expression was noncommittal.
“You were quite good,” he remarked.
“I used to know all the dances.”
“Shall we go now?”
“I suppose so. I’ve seen my friends, and … one can never recapture the past. I’m an outsider here. I suppose I was back then, too, but they were so kind to me—”
I was in a pensive mood as we drove away from the fairgrounds. For a few minutes, caught up in the magic of music and movement, I had been vibrantly alive, but now I felt a curious deflation. Brence was silent and remote, which didn’t help at all. Had he understood the message I conveyed with the dance? Had he been pleased, displeased, shocked? I had no idea. Thousands of distant stars twinkled like diamond chips against the smooth black sky, and the fields on either side of the lonely road were the color of old pewter. As we rode near the edge of the cliffs I could see the ocean and hear the waves slapping the rocks far below.
I thought about what Inez had told me, trying to remember her exact words. There would be many trips to many countries, she had said. As a diplomat Brence would naturally travel a great deal, and as his wife I would naturally accompany him. I would know many men, but there would always be the one. The one would be Brence, of course, and the others—the others would be the diplomats and ambassadors whom I would meet as I performed my duties as official hostess. Fame and glory would come as Brence reached the pinnacle of his career, the riches a part of it. The pain … I supposed she meant there would be a number of setbacks, disappointments, and I would need to be strong, always encouraging him.
Lost in thought, I was surprised when I looked up and saw Graystone Manor ahead. A lamp burned downstairs, making a yellow-gold square in one of the windows. Fanny would be waiting up for me, worried, unable to sleep until I was safely inside. Brence tugged gently on the reins and stopped the carriage in front of the gate. He hadn’t said a single word since we left the fair, and he didn’t speak now. Climbing out of the carriage, he reached up to encircle my waist with strong hands and help me down. The gate creaked noisily when he opened it, echoing in the silence as we walked toward the house together.
When he reached the door Brence turned and gazed at me. His face was all shadow and planes in the moonlight, the cheekbones taut, the lips sl
ightly parted. He was so near, so tall, so handsome. I felt a hollow ache inside as he gazed at me; moments passed, and the ache grew unbearable. Would he finally take me into his arms? Would he finally kiss me, tell me all the things I longed to hear? Leaves rustled in the breeze. Moonlight and shadow made dancing patterns over the ground.
Brence sighed and reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from my cheek.
“You’re incredibly lovely, Mary Ellen. I wonder if you have any idea how lovely you are.”
His voice was soft, melodious, a husky drawl. I stood very still, barely able to breathe, yet I was trembling inside. Brence took hold of my bare shoulders, his fingers squeezing my flesh with a gentle pressure.
“Lovely,” he said, “unspoiled. So innocent and yet so wise, so eager.”
His fingers tightened their grip. He tilted his head slightly and studied me as a connoisseur might study a priceless work of art. I looked up into those dark, gleaming eyes, waiting, wanting to speak, unable to say a word.
“Shall I be the one?” he mused. “The temptation is strong. Shall I be the cad and satisfy my instincts, or shall I be the gentleman I’d like to be and leave now, before it’s too late?”
I held my breath, and the moment that followed seemed to stretch into an eternity. He finally sighed and gave my shoulders a painful squeeze, and then he released me.
“There are things we need to settle, but this is not the night. You must be very tired. I’d better go now.”
I was still unable to speak. Brence smiled.
“Tomorrow, Mary Ellen,” he said.
He spoke lightly in that gentle, husky voice that was so like music, so persuasive. Tomorrow. As I watched him walk back toward the carriage, I wondered if I could bear to wait for tomorrow to come.
Dare to Love Page 5