“During the time I have spent with him of late, he has been cross with me,” Nevara said, unhappy about returning to this subject matter. “I believe I exasperate him.”
“Nonsense. How could anyone find you exasperating? You have been a most delightful guest.”
“Thank you. However, he does not care for my plans to travel to Spain.”
“Spain?” Mr. Preston sat back with a pleased expression. “Have you an interest in Spain? I have visited the Peninsula in my youth, a rugged countryside with picturesque people. Shame about the war. It has made traveling there for pleasure difficult. But now that the war is over, there is no reason why you should not go. Once you marry Mark, he will assuredly take you.”
“Mr. Preston, you mistake the matter. Mr. Alvaro and I are only friends. He has no romantic notions about me.” Nevara paused, remembering Mark’s kiss.
“Ah, hah!” Mr. Preston pointed at her. “I know that besotted look. I have been lucky enough to see it on my wife’s face a time or two.”
His insightful comment overwhelmed her. Nevara stood, and shaking off Hannah’s clinging hold, she strode to the window that overlooked the park. She had hidden her feelings so well from her friends these past few years. How could this stranger have so quickly uncovered her secret longing?
She gazed outside at the multi-colored leaves on the oak and beech trees, at the fountain in the center of the park where children played, and at a couple strolling arm-in-arm. Her conversation with Mr. Preston made her wish for things that were currently out of her reach.
She took a shaky breath. Once she had her emotions under control, she turned and found herself face-to-face with Mr. Preston. He had followed her. Hannah, too, stood close behind him, looking concerned.
“My dear,” he said softly. “I did not mean to upset you. I can see you have deep feelings for the boy. Does he know?”
She searched in her reticule for a handkerchief. Mr. Preston extended his. She silently accepted the offer and used the cloth to wipe her face. “I shall have it cleaned and then return it.”
“Keep it,” Mr. Preston said.
“Sir, what I feel or do not feel for Mr. Alvaro is of little consequence,” she said. “I must know if you intend to publish my story, and if so, what will be the payment?”
Mr. Preston’s face seemed wreathed with regret. “We cannot always obtain that which we seek, Miss Wood. But sometimes, what we do receive may indeed be what we would have wished for all along.” When she would have spoken, he shook his head. “Leave the story. I shall study it in more detail and write to you with my decision. Leave your address with my clerk.”
Deeply disappointed, Nevara curtsied and left the room in a rush, with Hannah hurrying after her. Her tears welled and she avoided the clerk’s curious gaze as she penned her directions. A teardrop splashed, making the ink run. She apologized and wiping her cheeks, wrote the address out again. Then, she hurried out with Hannah, certain that this was one more hope dashed.
“What are we to do now, miss?” Hannah asked as they walked.
“Nothing, Hannah,” Nevara said, exhaustion finally catching up with her. “For tonight, all I wish to do is climb into bed and sleep the night away. Tomorrow, I will ask Lady Roselyn’s permission to go to Piccadilly and purchase a chapbook. That might give me the name of another publisher to approach.”
Nevara returned home dejected. Mr. Preston’s parting comments suggested he had no intention of publishing her story and that she would one day understand and be happy for that failure. She wanted to run up to her room and weep. The moment she and Hannah entered the servant’s door, however, Stony told her that Sir Phillip and Lady Roselyn wished to see her. He carried a package in his hands.
“Oh, and Miss Wood, this arrived for you.” He held out the brown wrapped box which was about a foot wide.
Intrigued, Nevara accepted it. The address indicated that the package had come from her aunt’s solicitor. How odd. The last time she had spoken to a gentleman from that firm, he had told her that her aunt had bequeathed all her worldly goods to the poorhouse. Nevara would have been left destitute if the Alvaros had not helped her.
She hesitated and then gave the package to Hannah. “Would you please leave it in my room?”
“Certainly, miss.”
Nevara hurried to the drawing room where her employers and Mrs. Weatheringham greeted her. Lady Roselyn invited Nevara to sit between her and her elderly companion.
As soon as she took her place, Sir Phillip, who stood beside the fireplace, began the discussion. “We hear you had a fall in the Serpentine this morning, Miss Wood.”
Lady Roselyn touched her hand. “I also received a missive this morning from Lady Terrance. You paid her a visit?”
Had they learned of her betrayal of the alliance’s secrets? Nevara hung her head.
“Miss Wood.” Sir Phillip waited for her to look up. “Lady Terrance did not confide what transpired other than to say that she sensed grave danger for you in Spain.”
“And yesterday,” Mrs. Weatheringham said, “Mr. Alvaro said the Cimaruta was of Spanish gypsy design.”
“It appears your belief that the alliance’s origins lie in Spain may be all too accurate,” Lady Roselyn said.
“Do you understand now why it is important that we travel there?” Nevara asked, hope surging up.
“What troubles us is the fact that this danger seems to be directed at you, my dear,” Lady Roselyn said. “Why is that? And how is Mr. Alvaro connected to our alliance?”
“Mark?” Nevara asked. “There is no connection whatsoever.”
“He, too, is a Spaniard,” Mrs. Weatheringham said, “and he recognized the amulet.”
They sounded as if they suspected Mark of being devious, but that was absurd. Her friends did not understand Mark’s stellar character. “Anyone familiar with Spain’s culture might have recognized the amulet’s connection to that country.”
“Tell us how you met again,” Sir Phillip said.
“I dropped my books and he helped me pick them up.”
“What kind of books?” Lady Roselyn asked.
“I found information at the library about the heavy lidded eye I noted on the Morton portrait. It is the very same sign used by Spanish Gypsies from Seville to indicate the presence of a curse. My aunt said my mother’s family was marked. This could be that mark. An evil eye, if you will. I believe if we travel to Seville, and locate where else in that region this mark is used, we might learn more about the alliance’s origins.”
“So these books were about Spain?” Sir Phillip said.
“Yes,” Nevara said, with caution.
“Does it not seem odd,” Sir Phillip asked gently, “that Mr. Alvaro is suddenly in your life again? I do not mean to offend, Miss Wood, but he has ignored you for years. Yet, the moment he sees you wondering about Spain, he rushes to become better acquainted.”
“He invited me out of politeness, because of our past connection.” She disliked Sir Phillip’s inference. Yet, his suspicions stirred hers. Mark did seem determined to prevent her from traveling. He lost his temper every time she mentioned Spain. Was he somehow involved in the Rue Alliance’s mystery? How?
“There are so many unanswered questions,” Lady Roselyn said. “It is overwhelming.”
“Let us approach this logically, from the beginning,” Sir Phillip said. “Miss Wood, what happened at Hyde Park?”
Nevara took a breath and ordered her thoughts. Then she relayed all the events of that disastrous trip, up to the part about Mark kissing her. She hesitated.
“Go on,” Sir Phillip asked.
Not only did she not wish to speak about the kiss, but how could she admit that the very danger Lady Terrance had warned her about, the evil that supposedly stalked her in Spain, might have been behind the attack h
ere? Her friends did not believe she or the Rue Alliance were cursed. In fact, Lady Roselyn had once even suggested their abilities might be a blessing.
“We cannot help you if you are not completely honest with us, Miss Wood,” Lady Roselyn said. “Whatever you tell us, please believe that we will hold it in utmost confidence.”
“Even if I tell you the truth, you would not believe me.”
Sir Phillip dragged a chair closer. “Tell us exactly what happened, and we will decide what we believe or disbelieve.”
“I did not fall into the water,” Nevara said in a rush. “I was pulled underwater. I know that to be true because once I returned home—” She tenderly touched her waist, which still felt bruised. “—I bathed to rid myself of the dirt. When I checked in the looking glass, I noticed marks encircling my midriff.” A blush heated her cheeks.
“That seems to fit with what Lady Terrance has told us,” Sir Phillip said. “I do believe that something inexplicable is after you, Miss Wood. We must find out why and how to stop it. I wonder what triggered this attack. Have you done anything out of the ordinary? Has this type of thing happened to you before?”
“No, sir.” And that was the honest truth. She took a deep breath and confessed what she had kept to herself since she first joined the Rue Alliance. “But my Aunt Cora was convinced that I am plagued by the devil, as was my mother, Angelina Lovel Wood. She said it was the reason my mother had been alone when she gave birth. Her husband was disgusted to learn that his wife was devil-tainted and had, therefore, avoided her.”
“Oh, the vile woman,” Mrs. Weatheringham said, in affront. “What a terrible story to tell an impressionable child.”
Lady Roselyn gently slipped her arm around Nevara’s shoulders and hugged her close. “Miss Wood, I hope, as an adult, you know better than to believe such folderol.”
“I am not my mother,” Nevara said. She had no intention of trying to win Mark’s heart until after she rid herself of her curse, and she was prepared to take this fight to Hades doorstep, if need be, to do so. She glanced at Sir Phillip. “This morning’s attack proved that something is indeed after me, sir. But only by confronting it can I hope to be free.”
“Agreed,” Sir Phillip said in a grim tone. “But let us not leap ahead. Our next step should be to discover how Mr. Alvaro is connected with the alliance. He may not be the cause of the Hyde Park attack, but he is somehow involved in this mystery. He certainly knows more than he has divulged.” Sir Phillip looked at his wife. “Shall we ask him to dinner tomorrow night, Rose?”
“I shall send him an invitation today,” Lady Roselyn said. “We must discern his role in this game. Do you have any objections to that, Miss Wood?”
“None at all, my lady.” Nevara did not believe Mark had anything to do with the alliance, but she was curious about his enmity toward his home country. Could there be more to it than the fact that Miguel had died there?
“In the meantime, we must be on guard,” Sir Phillip said. “For now, Miss Wood, you are not to travel anywhere in London without the protection of a footman.”
Her independent streak recoiled at once more being shadowed, as she had been after the last attack on the Rue Alliance. Still, she understood Sir Phillip’s caution. “Yes, sir.”
She retired to her room, the weariness of her near death experience catching up with her. Her body ached from head to toe and she yearned to curl under her covers and forget all about the day’s events.
Rays of the setting sun blanketed her bed, highlighting the package that Hannah had brought up. Curiosity about its contents overcame her fatigue and she sat on the bed to undo the wrapping.
Inside, was a carved wooden box, faded and scarred, as if it had passed through many hands. A tiny lock in the front prevented her opening it. Beneath the box, she discovered a sealed note addressed to her from the solicitor. As she unfolded the page, a delicate engraved key fell onto the bed. She held it absently as she read. The note indicated that this box had been left with the law firm two decades ago with orders to release it to Nevara Wood on her eighteenth birthday, by an Angelina Lovel Wood.
Excitement spiraled through Nevara at reading her mother’s name, but also confusion. She had turned eighteen two years ago, so why the delay? She looked at the wrapping and noticed it had been addressed to her aunt’s home in Wiltshire, then re-addressed to a charity establishment in the country. Now she understood.
This must have been sent along with the rest of her aunt’s possessions to that charitable house in Wiltshire. It hurt her to know that her aunt might have been keeping this box from Nevara. Then again, Aunt Cora had considered Angelina Wood a she-devil who had duped her brother, John Wood, into marrying her.
Not wanting to upset her aunt, Nevara had long ago buried her desire to know more about her mother. Now that yearning overwhelmed her. With a trembling hand, she turned the key.
IMMEDIATELY AFTER Nevara left John’s office, Mark re-entered his friend’s study, barely able to contain his ire. “What was that about? You were to talk about her story and see her off, not interrogate her about our relationship.”
John gave Mark a cross look. “It may shock you to realize this, Mark, but I am rather fond of you. As such, I wished to ensure she was worthy of you and not simply looking to further her situation.”
John’s overprotective tone broke through Mark’s irritation, and he relaxed his shoulders. “What was your impression then?”
“I liked her.” John sounded surprised.
“She is admirably likable, if stubborn,” Mark returned lightly, though secretly he was happy with John’s answer.
“She is more than a friend, I take it?”
Mark shook his head. “No, she cannot be more.”
“Why not? I begin to lose faith you will ever settle down.”
Mark shied away from that troublesome topic. There were many things about his relationship with Nevara he could not discuss with his friend. “Thank you for your help, John.”
“Any time,” his friend said with a sigh. “Mark, what is your objection to Miss Wood traveling to Spain?”
“Suffice it to say, she must never step foot there.”
“It is your homeland,” John pressed. “Why the aversion?”
“Simply accept that it must be so. I cannot explain further.”
“I suspect it will take more than your word to convince Miss Wood. She seems as determined as you are to win in this contest of wills. Though knowing your reputation for winning races, I pity her chances of besting you. Still, I do not like deceiving her.” John picked up the pages of her story. “From what little I could glean, this has potential. It is well written and has drama. It would be a shame to let it go.”
Mark hesitated. “I cannot tell you how to run your business, John. All I ask is that, for now, you bury it among the other submissions you have received. In a few months, we can revisit this situation again. If, by then, she has given up her wish to reach Spain, I will have no more objections to you publishing her story.”
“Very well. Will you come for supper tonight?”
“I would love to,” Mark said, glad his friend had decided to side with him on this important matter. They shook hands and parted amicably.
In the waiting room next door, Mark encountered John’s granddaughter, Ariel, in the company of her governess.
“Uncle Mark!” She displayed a delightful gap-filled grin.
Mark’s tension eased and he squatted so Ariel could hug him. “Have you come to visit your grandfather?”
She nodded.
“I am coming to your home for dinner this evening. We can play hide the kitchen ladle again.”
Ariel grinned. “Mrs. Hanson hates that game. She still cannot find her ladle from your last visit.”
“Well, then,” Mark said with a matching grin,
“we will have to find something else of hers to hide, will we not?”
“Yes.” Ariel giggled and ran into the other room in search of her grandfather, obviously thrilled to tell him of their mischievous plans.
Mark left the premises in a better mood for having seen Ariel. She was a charming child. He would love to have a child of his own one day. That reminded him of Nevara and a momentary surge of guilt at deceiving her washed over him. He brushed it away. He knew he was doing what was necessary to keep her safe.
How he wished he had tried harder to stop Miguel from journeying to Spain, too. Not that he could have stopped him. His brother had been as stubborn as Nevara was about the matter, feeling he must try to end the curse on their family by killing the latest descendent of the Spanish witch.
His brother had been certain that, even without his magic, he could win. Perhaps he could have, but the war had ended his life before he had even had a chance to try.
Mark had no intention of being so foolish. He had always believed that as long as they stayed in England, they would all stay alive and well. That belief was now on shaky grounds, for this witch had attacked Nevara here, on Mark’s hunting ground. The memory made his temper flare and he gripped his staff, wanting to strike out. But their enemy was out of his reach. And even if he had succeeded in preventing Nevara from going to Spain, he still needed to ensure the Spanish witch did not find her here.
Chapter Six
AS NEVARA TURNED the key to the box she had unexpectedly received from her aunt’s solicitor, internal pins shifted, aligned and with a soft clink, it unlocked. The lid creaked open. Within she found a letter addressed to Nevara Wood, from her mother. Oddly, beneath her signature, she had written another name, de Rivera. Nevara did not recognize it. She made a mental note to look it up later. For now, she needed light. Evening had fallen like a shroud around the room, making it too dim to read. She took the letter and the box to her writing desk, and, after lighting several candles, she began to read.
My little angel, lying beside me, so tiny and vulnerable. You will need to be fed, cleaned, rocked and loved. I wish to do all these things. I long to see you take your first step, to wobble toward me, trusting me to catch you if you fall. I dream of being there to tend to your hurts, to laugh with you at the joy of touching a doll, tasting a sweet comfit, chasing a butterfly. I want to be there to see you mature and fall in love, as I did. Yet, none of this is possible.
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