But when Francis heard the veiled woman’s sudden indrawn breath, his smile faded and he leaned closer, peering into the shadowy darkness of the coach.
“Are you ill, madam?” he inquired in growing concern as he saw her press a shaking hand to her breast.
“No, I’m quite all right,” the woman replied jerkily, her words hardly more than a whisper. “’Twas a twinge, nothing more. Perhaps ’twas something I supped on at luncheon. You know what the food can be like in some of those ghastly inns,” she said, her voice growing stronger with each word.
“If you are quite certain, madam,” Francis said politely. He doubted her words, though, since she was obviously still agitated.
Kate returned the young gentleman’s stare from the safe anonymity of her veil and mask, her pale blue eyes feasting on Lucien Dominick’s son. For this boy could only be a Dominick, Kate thought, swallowing painfully as she gazed into a face that reminded her not only of Lucien but of Percy as well. The eyes were different, not sherry colored like Percy’s and Lucien’s, nor as pale a blue as her own, but there was no mistaking the hawkish features that branded him a Dominick.
Kate glanced out of the coach window to where the other riders were standing, her eyes narrowing as she caught sight of a rather bedraggled young girl holding a strange-looking package. Kate’s knuckles whitened inside her gloves, for she could swear that the girl was yet another Dominick. Oddly enough, the girl’s incredible loveliness seemed enhanced by her dishevelment, for her unbound hair fell to her hips in glorious golden waves and framed a face that could rival the painted sweetness of a Renaissance angel. Kate sighed, for many years ago she had possessed a beauty as untouched and ethereal as that young girl’s. Kate’s glance moved on to the other three riders, noting the red hair on two of them and the dark brown curls of the older boy. They were not Dominicks; she instinctively sensed this in her own Dominick blood—of course, as far as she knew, no Dominick had ever been born with red hair. Kate’s pale eyes returned to Francis, the Fletcher cousins dismissed from her mind as insignificant. And for Kate, in that instant, they ceased to exist. The only people that filled her world were named Dominick. And here were two of them.
“Are you, perhaps, having some difficulties?” Kate asked now, her tone politely curious as she gestured toward the dismounted riders. “The young girl seems to have taken a fall. She isn’t injured, is she? Rocco,” Kate said. And before Francis could explain the situation, or put in a word to contradict her, she said something in Italian to her footman.
“Please, there is no need, madam,” Francis said hurriedly when he caught sight of the hulking figure heading toward his sister and cousins. “My sister Rhea did fall,” he began, trying to explain her extraordinary appearance, “but that was a while back. The reason we are blocking the road, and I am afraid I must apologize for the inconvenience, is that Rhea found some half-drowned puppies and came to their rescue.” Francis grinned wryly and reminded Kate so much of Percy that she almost reached out and caressed Francis Dominick’s cheek.
“I see. How very noble of her,” Kate replied. “You must live hereabouts to be out riding in such inclement weather,” she remarked casually, making a concerted effort to control the excitement she could feel pulsing through her veins. “Since there is only one estate near here that I have knowledge of, and that is Camareigh, you therefore must be…” Kate allowed her voice to trail away questioningly, leaving the young gentleman no other choice but to properly introduce himself.
“I am Francis Dominick, and that is my sister Rhea Claire, and those fellows are my cousins Ewan, George, and James Fletcher,” Francis said very modestly, never mentioning titles.
“Of course,” Kate murmured, “you are the Marquis of Chardinall, and heir to Camareigh.”
Francis Dominick raised a surprised brow. “You have knowledge, madam, of our family?” he inquired in a cool tone of voice. “You are, perhaps, a friend of my parents?”
“A friend?” When Kate tried the word, it sounded strange on her tongue. “No, I am more of an old acquaintance. Yes,” she repeated, liking the sound of it, “I am an acquaintance from long, long ago.”
“I see,” Francis said. “Will you be visiting Camareigh? Perhaps you’ve come for the ball?”
Kate gave a negative shake of her head. “No, I’m just passing through the valley, but I have enjoyed meeting Lucien’s son,” she replied graciously, her thoughts racing ahead. “Now where is that Rocco? Sometimes he can be most tiresome,” she complained, leaning out of the coach window and seeing her footman grinning like some kind of country bumpkin over a litter of pups.
Rhea Claire Dominick was smiling up encouragingly at the hesitant footman. She had been slightly startled at first, for when she’d heard the approaching footsteps she had glanced up to see a pair of sad, dark eyes staring down at her almost beseechingly. But she hadn’t drawn back as had so many people when suddenly confronted with the large, slow-witted footman. Instead she had smiled, and she thought she had seen a flicker of response, or perhaps surprise, in the big man’s broad-featured face.
“Surprisingly enough,” Rhea was now saying softly to the footman as he hovered over her, “they are still alive.”
Rocco continued to stare in fascination at Rhea’s heart-shaped face and the golden hair tumbling over her shoulders. Something sluggish moved in his mind as he felt the genuine warmth of her smile reaching out to him. His dark, almost childishly innocent-looking eyes followed to where her outstretched hand was pointing, and he saw the furry puppies, whose pink tongues were licking Rhea’s hand ecstatically as she cuddled them. Rocco slowly held out his hand, stopping midway to look to Rhea for permission, or denial, which was the usual response. Instead, though, she reached out, her small hand clasping his as she drew it toward the puppies and placed one of the squirming pups in his palm.
“’Tis all right,” Rhea said gently, patting his arm when she saw with surprised wonder the tears in his eyes as he held the puppy with almost breathless reverence. “I’m going to take them to someone who will take care of them,” she tried to explain. “He loves dogs, and has the healing touch.”
But all that penetrated Rocco’s mind was that here was this golden-haired creature being kind to him, to Rocco, the slow one, the one who had been spurned and ridiculed by the villagers, and even by his own family. Rocco frowned, for the vague memories of a past dream were stirring in his mind, and he was once again seeing a gentle face such as this surrounded by flowing hair. The sweetly sad smile had beckoned to him, while her open arms had reached out to him as he’d knelt below her in supplication. He could remember shaking in terror and fear of the unknown when his mother had taken him into the big stone house. It had been so cold inside, and the walls had been so high that they had seemed to touch the heavens. He had been bad, he knew that, although he didn’t understand how, and now he was to be punished, his mother had said. She had taken him away from his home and the village and left him there all alone in the cold darkness of the cathedral.
He was supposed to ask for forgiveness, but the silent robed figures swaying in and out of the shadows had frightened him, and he had looked up toward the light. Instead, he had seen only hideous, tortured faces gazing down on him. How could he ask forgiveness from faces that were so unforgiving, that damned him with their sightless eyes? He had cowered away from the stone faces, whimpering like a beaten dog until his eyes had met the eyes of the Madonna and angels. She had smiled down at him, welcomed him into her world and touched his heart with a warmth that was lacking in the cathedral’s awe-inspiring chambers. But then it all had been snatched away from him, and he’d been driven out into the cold, the warmth of the Madonna’s smile fading into the blackness of night as the doors of the great church were closed against him. He had never seen his Madonna again—at least, not until this day in the English countryside.
“Rocco! Answer me, you fool!” Rocco heard the st
rident voice shattering the peace that he’d once again found in a smile. “What are you doing? Is he bothering you, my dear?” Kate demanded as she tried in vain to attract her footman’s attention.
“No, he isn’t bothering me at all,” Rhea reassured the woman. “In fact, he is being very helpful,” she stated firmly, not caring for the tone of voice the woman had used on her footman.
“What are we going to do with them, Rhea?” James asked, wondering how they could possibly manage the puppies while on horseback.
“I thought we could take them to the elder Mr. Taber at Stone House-on-the-Hill,” Rhea suggested, thinking of the old man and the barn full of sick animals that he cared for. “Since his son took over the farm, he hasn’t that much to do except care for strays and sick animals people have brought him. Mother says ’tis a gift, his way with animals. She’s always sending Butterick for advice when we’ve a sick animal in the stables.”
“We’d better hurry, then,” Ewan advised, glancing up and feeling raindrops falling on his face.
“Stone House-on-the-Hill is on the way to the inn where I am staying,” Kate said, opening the door of the coach as she spoke. “Why don’t you ride with me, my dear? I understand you have already fallen once today, so ’twould be much easier on you, and the puppies, not to get a soaking, which I fear the others shall,” she added solicitously.
“Oh, I really couldn’t,” Rhea protested. “I’m not decent to sit with you in your carriage,” she added, wrinkling her nose. “I’m afraid the puppies are a bit worse for wear and are not too fragrant right now.”
“Nonsense, I insist you ride with me.” Quickly, Kate overrode Rhea’s objections. “Believe me, I have smelled far worse odors rising out of the canals in Venice to be offended by anything now.”
“Well…” Rhea began hesitantly, her muscles and bruised flesh already beginning to ache from her fall.
“Go on, Rhea,” Francis urged, thinking it’d save them a lot of precious time if she carried the puppies in the carriage. It would, as well, keep her from a soaking and him from a scolding if their father caught sight of her, for although he was a year younger than his sister, he always felt responsible for her well-being.
“Thank you then, madam,” Rhea responded gratefully. “I will accept your kind offer.” She hurried to the coach, with Rocco just a step behind, his dark eyes never leaving her small figure.
“I’ll bring Skylark,” Francis called out to her. “We’ll be right alongside the carriage.”
“No, you mustn’t delay your own progress,” Kate told them, pulling her skirts out of the way as Rocco slammed the carriage door shut on Rhea’s figure. “You will get soaked, for it is already beginning to rain. Please, go on ahead, and we’ll meet you at Stone House-on-the-Hill. It isn’t far, but far enough for you to catch your death of cold if you delay,” she said persuasively.
The rain was falling steadily now, running in rivulets down Francis’s face and seeping uncomfortably beneath his coat. “Very well, madam, we shall meet you there,” he agreed. But his words fell as silently as the rain, for the carriage had already started to roll down the road. The footman had hardly climbed aboard and settled himself beside the coachman before the man had cracked his whip.
Francis stared after the disappearing coach with a slight frown of puzzlement on his usually smooth brow.
“Well? Come on, Francis,” George urged his cousin as he mounted his horse and trotted across the road to where Francis was standing in what seemed to be a dazed state. “They’ll be there before us at this rate.”
Francis gave a shrill whistle and El Cid came trotting across. He vaulted quickly onto the chestnut’s back and sent him, hooves pounding, down the road after the carriage. The rain was falling in earnest now, blowing against them in cold, wet sheets as they raced up the road toward Stone House-on-the-Hill.
“What’s troubling you, Francis?” Ewan asked as he rode beside his cousin, sensing something was amiss.
Francis laughed shortly. Even though he felt a trifle embarrassed, he answered honestly, “I really don’t know, Ewan. It is just a feeling I have, nothing substantial about it at all. But there is something strange about that woman.”
“Hey, if anyone should be having feelings,” Ewan complained good-naturedly, “then it should be me. After all, ’tis my mother with the gift of second sight, not yours.”
“’Tisn’t that kind of feeling I have, Ewan. ’Tis silly, I suppose, but I feel uneasy, and I don’t know why I should. Although it does seem rather strange that she should know as much as she does about my family. She knew my title, and I never even mentioned it.”
Ewan seemed unimpressed. “The Dominick family is quite well known around these parts. And maybe she has a daughter she’s heading in your direction,” Ewan added with a grin. “Titles can make for strange bedfellows.”
“Thank you for warning me, as if I weren’t already treading very carefully. Those matchmaking mamas are already onto my scent, and I’m hardly out of swaddling,” Francis joked.
“Well, I’m more fortunate than you in that respect,” Ewan commented, thinking about his own situation in life, “for I’ve no titles, nor great estates to inherit someday. So when I choose a wife she’ll be choosing me, not my fortune.”
“Thanks a lot for your faith in my charm and good looks,” Francis retorted, slightly miffed that his cousin thought his inheritance was all he had to offer a woman.
“You know I didn’t mean it that way, Francis,” Ewan protested, then adroitly changed the subject. “Did I hear that woman say that she was an old friend of your family?”
“So she said,” Francis told him, still feeling uneasy about the whole incident. “I wonder how she knew about Stone House-on-the-Hill. Not many people would know it was not far from here.”
Ewan remained silent for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, it isn’t exactly a common name for a farm. She may well have heard the tale about the two brothers who fought over their land, one building a stone house on the hill, the other building a stone house in the dale. It makes for interesting gossip that they didn’t speak for the rest of their lives, nor their children for generations afterwards. The Tabers of today are the first to speak to one another, aren’t they?”
“Yes, that’s true, I suppose,” Francis agreed, not sounding totally convinced.
“Maybe she’s having one of those secret assignations,” George contributed, riding up beside them and overhearing their conversation.
“Could be,” Ewan agreed. “We’ve got the setting, that’s for sure: a mysterious veiled woman, a hulking foreign footman, and a damsel in distress. It all adds up to certain death on a lonely country lane,” he said, holding his hand dramatically to his chest as if he’d just been wounded in a duel. “This could turn out to be quite exciting.”
“As long as it isn’t my demise we’re talking about,” Francis said with a wry grin. Then, giving El Cid a gentle nudge, he sent the big chestnut ahead of his cousin’s mount. “Let’s hope Rhea can find some clues to our mystery lady. Race you to the bend!” he called out challengingly as he lengthened the distance between them.
* * *
“Lady Rhea Claire Dominick,” Kate was saying softly, savoring the girl’s name while she stared at Lucien’s daughter sitting not more than an arm’s length from her. “’Tis an uncommon name,” she commented.
“Yes, I suppose so, although I was named Claire after my great-grandmother. She was French,” Rhea explained, her hand comforting the puppies in her lap.
“Oh, I see. It is a very lovely name,” Kate complimented her, dabbing a rose-scented handkerchief delicately against her nose.
Rhea bit her lip in growing embarrassment. “I’m afraid I must apologize for the odor.”
“No, ’tisn’t that. I just happen to like the scent of roses. It somehow comforts me, especially when I’m in strange surroun
dings. Roses have always brought me fond memories of my home.” Kate spoke dreamily, a sad note in her voice.
“You are English, madam?” Rhea asked, curious about the woman who seemed to fit into two worlds, for although she spoke English without an accent, her clothes and mannerisms bespoke another country.
Kate nodded. “Yes, I am English, but I can see you are puzzled. I have not lived in England for many years. In fact, this is my first visit home in over fifteen years. I have been away for a long time, too long, I fear. But now I have returned, and I shall set things right. We should have come back a long time ago, Percy and I, but we were frightened of him, and of his power. But no longer are we afraid,” Kate whispered, her words barely audible beneath her heavy veiling.
Rhea stared through the gloom of the carriage at this strange woman and felt a sudden pity for her. She seemed so utterly alone and bereft not only of friends but of hope as well. Rhea could sense the great loss in her. And the woman’s grief seemed to go beyond the grave and the loved one buried there—as if she were long accustomed to wearing the black of mourning. Rhea’s eyes narrowed as she sought to see beneath the veiling, but the fine gauze was so thick that she could see only an indistinct shape. Her heart gave a sudden jerk as her eyes met those of the woman, the pale blue gaze shining strangely bright behind the black shading of the veil.
For an instant Kate’s teeth showed white as she smiled. She knew the girl was trying to see her face, and she knew she had fooled her. In Venice she would not have attracted notice by wearing her mask, but here in the English countryside it would have caused a sensation. And for once in her life, Kate wanted to move about in complete anonymity, which was why she had devised a new disguise. She had wrapped a pale piece of fine gauze over her face; the eyes, nose, and mouth were cunningly cut to appear almost without seam, and through the opaqueness of her veil, her face looked petal smooth and gloriously unmarred. Even she—in an instant of lost time while she’d stared into her looking glass—had been fooled into forgetting that…
Chance the Winds of Fortune Page 12