by Sahara Kelly
Her smile was sweet, but her eyes were cold. Eventyde clearly saw the emotions within them, and he curled his lip. “Well, he may think he knows everything about you, but he’s wrong.” He took a final swipe at his nose. “How do you think your fancy Count is going to feel when he learns he’s married nothing more than a bastard? A nameless chit whose mother was a whore?”
Madelyne froze, and Viktor’s brows snapped together. “What are you talking about?”
Eventyde chuckled noisily. “Oh yes. It’s quite true you know. She’s no get of mine.”
Madelyne turned to Viktor, a look of puzzlement on her face. Viktor smiled down at her. “Well, thank God for that.”
“How dare you?” Eventyde stood, outraged. “The Eventyde name has been handed down for generations with never a touch of scandal. It’s a proud and ancient heritage, passed through the centuries, which is why…”
“Why you claimed another man’s daughter as your own?”
The cool voice cut through the tension in the room like a knife, and as one all heads turned to the door.
“Mama?” Madelyne blinked uncertainly.
“Fabyan?” Peter and Viktor stared.
“Annabelle?” Eventyde’s voice was outraged.
With a great deal of aplomb, given the circumstances, Fabyan and Annabelle strolled into the room.
*~~*~~*
Madelyne was completely confused. “Mama?” She knew she was repeating herself, but as she stared at the woman walking toward her, it seemed her brain wouldn’t let her say anything else.
“Hello my darling. I’m so very happy to see you.” Annabelle opened her arms and hugged Madelyne as hard as she could.
“Mama…I…”
Viktor stepped to her side. “Lady Eventyde? I’m Viktor Karoly. I’m married to your daughter.”
Ignoring Eventyde snorting noisily behind them, Annabelle smiled up at Viktor. “I know, dear man. Fabyan has told me all about you.” Her grin passed on to Peter and Freddie. “All about you.”
“He has?” Peter raised his eyebrows at Fabyan who grinned back.
“Mama, I’m confused…” Madelyne struggled for breath.
“Darling, I’m sorry.” Annabelle hugged her daughter once more. “Sorry for the years that I haven’t spent with you…”
“You should be damn glad I kept you apart,” snarled Eventyde, interrupting her.
“Shut. Up.” Viktor and Peter turned on him, and he subsided.
“And sorry for all the things I never told you.” Annabelle continued. “The most important of which is that you’re the child of my heart, Madelyne. A child conceived in love. And although I hate to say it, he…” she nodded at Eventyde. “He is right, for once in his miserable life. You’re not his daughter.”
“Well. I can’t say I’m sorry about that part of it,” said Madelyne. “So then who…”
Her eyes turned to Fabyan. Deep blue eyes met deep brown eyes, and somebody in the room gasped as the similarities revealed themselves. Madelyne had no idea who, since her brain was spinning.
“Oh my God…” Viktor breathed the words.
“Madelyne…I’d like you to meet your father. Fabyan…” Annabelle held out her hand. “This is our daughter.”
“Hello.” Fabyan’s deep voice broke the stunned silence, bringing gasps of surprise to both Viktor and Peter.
Madelyne reached out a hand tentatively to this amazingly handsome man. And one of the Gypsies too. “Hello…Papa.”
It was a poignant moment, but Madelyne was blind to the tears falling from Annabelle’s eyes or the fact that Freddie was unashamedly sniffling. All she knew was that the man who had given her life was standing in front of her, looking at her with so much love in his face her heart felt like bursting.
“My daughter…” His voice broke and he took her into his embrace. Madelyne gave up the fight and sobbed.
“Well this is quite sickening.” Eventyde’s exclamation of disgust drew everyone’s attention back to him and away from Madelyne and Fabyan.
Viktor’s eyes narrowed. “Really? More sickening than how you tried to use that child? A man who cares nothing about her wishes, only his own advancement? A man who keeps a girl apart from her mother and tells her nothing about her own life? Her own birth? Not because he cares about her at all but because he sees in her a chance to buy himself a title perhaps?”
“Well…I…housed and fed the brat, didn’t I?”
“Only when it served your purpose.” Madelyne pulled her face from Fabyan’s hug. “You were no father to me. You were a jailer.”
“As he was no husband to me, either, sweetheart,” added Annabelle.
“And as he is now no longer possessor of the Eventyde fortune,” threw in Peter wryly. “He’s finished.”
Eventyde blanched. “Utter rubbish.”
Peter pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “I received this today, Eventyde. It confirms our suspicions. Your shipping company has foundered, if you’ll pardon my pun. You’re ruined. Financially…and therefore also socially.”
He leaned menacingly over the table. “Your name will no longer guarantee your admittance to your clubs. Your creditors are being notified as we speak. Arrangements are being made for several of your vouchers to be called in.” An elegant finger poked Eventyde hard in the chest. “Do I make myself clear? It’s over. You’re finished.”
“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” added the irrepressible Freddie.
Eventyde slumped, staring at the document Peter had spread before him.
Madelyne turned to her father. “I think we should leave. I can take no more of his presence. And I have questions…”
Fabyan’s smile was gentle and loving. “And I have answers, little one.”
Viktor cleared his throat. “Uh…Fabyan? When did you find your voice?”
Fabyan glanced at Annabelle. “When I found my heart.”
Freddie sighed. “Oh, that’s so lovely.”
“Get out. All of you—get out.” Eventyde snarled at them. “Take your simpering sniveling stupidities and get the fuck out.”
It was about the only thing Eventyde could have said that all six people present were willing to do. Within moments they’d left the room. And not one of them glanced back.
Not even when the sound of a single shot followed them through the house to the steps.
*~~*~~*
“I categorically refuse to call you ‘father’.” Viktor’s voice was firm as he stared at Fabyan.
The older man chuckled. “I’d plant you a facer the first time you did.”
“She’s your daughter. I can’t believe it.” Viktor shook his head. “Well, I can, of course…seeing the two of you together. She has such a look of you. I never noticed until now.”
Gyorgy was smiling at them. “And so Fabyan speaks at last. To threaten his new son-in-law.”
Mat and Luk grinned as well.
Peter brooded. “Hell. I’m not related to anyone.”
Luk passed the brandy and Peter cheered up.
The six Gypsies were sprawled around the dining table, having been most properly left at the end of the meal by their women. They were disconsolate, a little drunk, and had quite rightly guessed that the conversation taking place over the teacups was probably about them.
“We’ve come a long way,” mused Viktor, staring at his brandy.
“Hell, yes,” agreed Gyorgy.
“Who would have imagined it?” smiled Luk.
“Not me,” answered Mat.
“Nor me,” added Peter.
Fabyan smiled. He was enjoying the chance to share his opinions with his friends. To finally speak his thoughts. Annabelle had truly given him a most precious gift, in addition to a daughter. “I am not surprised.”
Five heads turned.
He sipped his drink and contemplated them. “You are all men of intelligence. Men of honor. No matter your backgrounds, your secrets, your skills. There are some things that matter more than all the su
perficial trappings of a man’s life.”
“There are?” Peter squinted at him.
“Yes.” Fabyan paused, gathering his thoughts. “Give me a minute or so and I’ll think of them.”
The others laughed. “You’re drunk,” teased Mat.
“A little,” smiled Fabyan. “And are you surprised? I gain a beautiful daughter and a disreputable son-in-law practically all in one day.”
“Not to mention your voice,” chimed in Luk. “Um…Fabyan?” He saluted him with a sloshy swirl of brandy. “It’s damn fine to hear you talking, but do us all a favor. Don’t sing.”
Fabyan nodded through his laughter. “I won’t.”
“Leave that to our Prioshka.” Mat and Luk beamed proudly.
“You should hear her,” said Mat. “An angel couldn’t sound better. A voice like a flute and a nightingale combined.”
“Really?” Viktor’s eyebrows rose.
“Yes really.” Luk raised his chin. “You doubt our word?”
Viktor sighed. “Of course not. Leave it to you two to find the right woman for you both, and it turns out she sings too.”
Fabyan watched the byplay with affection.
His feelings for these men had deepened over time from friendship to a deep and abiding camaraderie. They shared so many fundamental values, their beliefs matched like pieces of a child’s puzzle, and their thoughts echoed one another as their music played counterpoint.
“So…” He tapped his glass lightly with his fingers, interrupting the current exchange of affectionate insults. “Do we all have plans for our future?” He paused. “’T’is much different now than just a few short weeks ago when we left London for a simple country weekend.”
The others nodded in agreement.
“I confess I find myself lacking in enthusiasm for a return to France,” admitted Peter. “Now that I’m getting used to the idea of being Lord Chalmers again…and of course there’s Freddie to consider…”
Good-natured grins answered this comment, and Fabyan realized each man now carried the additional burden of love deep in his heart. They would be no good as warriors working undercover for the cause of freedom anymore.
He said so. “Our jobs are done in France. We’ve helped many, saved a few, and can be proud of what we’ve accomplished. But our paths lie in different directions now. “
“Agreed.” Viktor put his glass down on the table. “I find I enjoy London. There is much to offer here, and even a chance to continue what our work in France began. With Zentaily House, we’ve met a need…I’d like to see it continue.”
“Shall you not return to Karoly?” asked Gyorgy.
“Oh yes, I shall. Definitely. I’d like for Madelyne to see it. But not yet. Things are still too uncertain over there to risk such a trip. And besides, she and Freddie…well, they’re head-over-heels with the whole Zentaily venture.”
Peter nodded. “And God help anyone who gets in their way.” He grinned at Fabyan. “I wonder where Madelyne gets that particular characteristic from?”
Fabyan made a rather ungentlemanly gesture back at Peter.
“Well,” said Luk, interrupting the byplay. “Mat and I are taking Prioshka back to Eger.”
Mat smiled. “We have some plans of our own. Zentaily House might help women in need, but there’s another group of people who also need a lot of assistance.” He looked grave. “The children.”
Faces turned to Mat and Luk.
“We’re going to work on our vineyard. See if we can make it pay. Turn the old winery into an orphanage while we’re at it.” Luk raised his chin, as if waiting for comments or criticism.
He received nothing but smiles and raised glasses.
“We can help, Luk. You’ll need startup capital…” Peter frowned thoughtfully.
“And certainly some local contacts…” added Viktor.
Mat bit his lip. “I…we…”
Fabyan held up his hand. “Don’t say it, Mat. We’re a unit. We work together, as one. Where one has a need, the others meet it. Where another could use our help, he gets it.” He raised his glass. “To your wines and your orphanage. May they both produce the best vintage.”
The toast was drunk enthusiastically.
“And you, Gyorgy?” Viktor looked over at his friend. “Have you made plans yet?”
Gyorgy grinned wickedly. “Oh yes.”
Peter snorted. “He means other than getting Marie-Claire into your bed.”
Gyorgy punched Peter in the shoulder. “I’m marrying her first, you idiot.” A huge smile crossed his face. “As soon as may be arranged, too. After that…” He paused. “I’m not sure. We’ll have to see how this whole Hucknall thing plays out. I know she’s going to want to make sure the Duke of Kirkwood is secure. But then?” He spread his arms wide. “The world awaits.”
“It does indeed,” agreed Fabyan. “It does indeed.”
And as the conversation ranged over the variety of futures that lay ahead of them all, Fabyan sat back and gave some thought to his own situation. And Annabelle.
They’d face it together, he and Annabelle. Of that, there was no question. The suicide of her husband, however, had solved one problem and created another. She was now free to wed, but to do so within days of his death would be unseemly in the extreme. Even Fabyan, in his haste to make her his, knew that.
“Problems, Fabyan?” Peter’s voice interrupted his reverie.
“Not really. Just thinking about…”
“Annabelle?” guessed Gyorgy.
Fabyan smiled. “Always. Always have, always will.”
Viktor ran his hands through his hair. “You’ll marry her, of course?”
“Of course. And also claim Madelyne, privately, as my own. You’ll have no objections?” Fabyan glanced over at Viktor.
His smile was answer enough, but he spoke the words anyway. “I couldn’t be happier. For you both.”
“Eventyde’s suicide does put rather a damper on things, though. Annabelle will have to wait out her mourning…” Fabyan pursed his lips.
“Only here in England, Fabyan,” said Peter. “Take her abroad. Go with Mat, Luk and Prioshka, perhaps. Travel a little. Were you two to quietly wed in Europe, none would be the wiser. By the time you return—if you choose to return—there’ll be something new to talk about. You’ll be old news.”
Fabyan pondered this suggestion. He’d not considered taking Annabelle out of the country yet again. She’d wandered for so long that he’d wanted to settle her, make a home for her and give her some security. And perhaps give himself some as well.
Gyorgy rose. “Well, while we’re thinking about it, I suggest we go and find our women. I, for one, miss them. And God only knows what they’ve been saying about us.”
He grinned and reached over into the shadows, pulling out his violin. “Methinks it’s time this house rang with some music, my friends. We have a lot to celebrate, and what better way is there?”
Amidst much laughter, the men seized their instruments and left the dining room, intent upon claiming their women.
Fabyan shook his head as he followed them. Truthfully, there was no better way to express how full his heart was than through music…
Epilogue
The small church was filled to capacity.
Friends, neighbors and even a relative or two had gathered to celebrate the occasion of the wedding of Marie-Claire, Dowager Duchess of Kirkwood, to Gyorgy Vargas, Hungarian gentleman.
Late afternoon sunlight flooded the nave, and danced across the dresses of the women sitting in the front pews. Countess Madelyne Karoly, sat next to Lady Freddie Chalmers, and giggled.
“I swear Gyorgy’s trembling.”
“Shh. He’ll hear you,” said Freddie chuckling. “But you’re right. He is shaking.”
Peter, on Freddie’s other side, gave her a nudge.
Madelyne couldn’t help smiling. To think that the wild Pyotr was now reminding his wife to behave herself in church.
And there w
as Mat, along with Luk, sitting so tall and handsome, with equally proud smiles on their faces as they glanced down at Prioshka seated between them.
She was a good choice for them, mused Madelyne. Having chosen a brightly colored outfit embellished with stunning embroidery, Prioshka was no longer a little brown mouse, but a small blaze of fire between her men. She was possessed of a great deal of commonsense, a strong will, and more than a dash of passion.
Yes, she’d do very well for Luk and Mat.
Madelyne’s gaze passed on to where Viktor stood next to Gyorgy. Their gazes brushed each other, and Madelyne felt the heat shoot straight to her core. God, how was it possible to love a man so much?
Sometimes it was almost frightening how much she loved him.
Her eyes fell to the hands of the woman seated next to her—her mother. How much worse to love a man like that and then lose him for so many years. To bear him a child he never knew he had, and to suffer under the heel of a brute, all the while knowing that the one and only man she’d ever love had gone from her life.
Her heart swelled with sympathy and affection for her mother. They’d had some interesting talks over the past few days as they’d arranged for Gyorgy’s marriage. And they were growing closer as women—women who loved their Gypsies.
A slight stir at the back of the church heralded the arrival of Marie-Claire, and Madelyne joined the rest of the congregation as they stood with the first chords of the organ.
She suppressed a snicker as Gyorgy nearly tripped over Viktor. Gyorgy was so strong in so many ways, yet one look from Marie-Claire and he had melted.
And how lovely she was. Her cool beauty was set off by a bouquet of blazing red roses, tied with blue ribbons that matched her eyes. There was nothing cool about those eyes today. They danced with happiness and joy and an overwhelming love for the man she was about to wed.
And on her arm? Fabyan. Madelyne’s father, leading Marie-Claire up the aisle—a man of contradictions, quiet strength and boundless emotions.