She walked straight past the hotel. The doorman ignored her. A few yards further along, she turned decisively and hurried back the way she had come. She could take off her tatty cloak and kept the sable one wrapped well around her. No one would know she was not “Miss Conway”…though why “Miss Conway” should be visiting Mr. Gardyn close to midnight was another cause for scandal.
She walked past again. This time the doorman’s gaze followed her. Half way along the building, she paused, trying to make up her mind once and for all. It was her last chance, but she did not wish to do Gervaise more harm than good.
Besides, what good would it do her to know? This was a bizarre interlude in her real life and it was now over. She was no one and could not influence someone like Julius Gardyn. At least, not by leaving.
Pain clawed at her once more. There really was nothing she could do for Gervaise except go. Pulling forward the hood which had slipped half way down her head, she turned her back on the curious doorman and walked away.
Her skin prickled. Some instinct made her look up at the hotel windows, just as an object hurtled downward. She leapt forward and the object shattered on the road.
“What on earth…?” the doorman exclaimed, hurrying toward her. “Are you hurt, Miss?”
Dawn dragged her gaze from the smashed porcelain to the window it had surely fallen from. A man leaned out. Although the night was dark, the lights in the street and the candles still burning in the room behind, clearly showed her Julius Gardyn.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Dawn said slowly. “It missed me.”
“Did it fall, sir?” the doorman called up to Gardyn. “Is everything well?”
“I have no idea where it came from,” Gardyn said contemptuously. “It certainly wasn’t here. Good night.”
And the window closed again.
“You should charge him for the washing bowl,” Dawn said wryly, and went on her way. She had a long walk ahead.
*
Gervaise stuck his head around the breakfast room door to discover Serena sitting by herself, gazing into her teacup. “Where is Dawn?” he asked.
“I haven’t seen her this morning. She could be in her chamber, though I’m sure she often goes out alone, despite our warnings.”
“I suppose it’s cruel to cage a wild bird! I’m about to ride into Whalen and talk to the gypsy Abraham who might be the man who gave her to Ezra. I thought she might like to come.”
“With me as chaperone?”
“If you’re up to it,” Gervaise said.
Serena wrinkled her nose. “I am enceinte not injured. And since the alternative is Mama, it had better be me! I’ll see if I can find out where she is.”
While he waited. Gervaise poured himself a cup of coffee and drank it down. Then, seizing a piece of toast, he took a bite and walked out.
“Gervaise.” Serena leaned over the upstairs banister, beckoning him.
Gervaise ran up, two and three stairs at a time. “What is it?”
For answer, Serena led him along the passage to Dawn’s open door. He hesitated, casting his sister a quick frown.
“She isn’t there,” Serena said impatiently. “Go in.”
Gervaise obeyed. However, there was not much to see, except a tidy bedchamber with nothing but the guitar in the corner to proclaim it as Dawn’s. Clarry the maid stood nervously by the wardrobe.
“Show him,” Serena commanded.
Clarry opened the door.
“Gowns,” Gervaise said impatiently. “Why am I looking at her gowns?”
“Because they’re all there, Gervaise,” Serena exclaimed. “All! Including that ugly one of Caroline’s. And Clarry did not make her bed today. She hasn’t slept in it.”
Gervaise frowned, his vague unease blooming into profound foreboding. He glanced at the fire, and the rug where he had found her asleep the first night he had brought her home.
“Her blanket,” he said abruptly. “The bright, colorful one she brought with her. Is it here?”
“No, my lord,” Clarry said unhappily. “Nor is the horrible old cloak or the rough clothes she kept hidden at the back of the wardrobe.”
Gervaise scowled. “I hope you’ve kept that to yourself.”
“Of course, my lord,” Clarry said indignantly.
But of course, that was not the real point. Serena put it into words. “She has no other reason to go out in those old clothes. I think she has gone.”
Gervaise, desperately trying not to think the same thing, strode around the room pulling open drawers. In one, he found sheaves of paper in a book where she had been practicing writing. He closed it again, hastily. Fear clawed at his heart.
“I found these, my lord,” Clarry said, picking two folded papers from her apron pocket. “They were on the bed.”
Gervaise almost snatched them from her. He recognized the round, careful writing at once. The top letter bore Serena’s name and he passed it to her without a word.
“Go, Clarry,” he said shortly. “And keep this to yourself for now. It will help Miss Conway.”
Clarry curtseyed and effaced herself.
“She writes like a child,” Serena observed in surprise, unfolding her letter.
“That’s because she couldn’t read or write before she came here.”
Serena’s eyes widened. “Then she learns quickly.”
“She does,” Gervaise said grimly. The letters danced in front of his eyes, forming eventually into the words he did not wish to read.
“I thought she was a little…strange last night,” Serena said sadly. “I thought perhaps Mama had got to her. You know Mama thought it was Dawn whose pregnancy the doctor was attending?”
“That would not have made her leave,” Gervaise said, cramming the letter into his pocket. “But I think it’s time I visited Mama.”
Alarms were sounding in his head. His body clamored to be riding after Dawn, for if she had left during the night, he had already lost too much time. His blood ran cold when he allowed his thoughts to dwell on what could have happened to her. Knowing she could deal with most things the world threw at her did not help.
Striding to his mother’s bedchamber, he lashed himself in his mind. He had known there was something wrong, but hadn’t pushed it, not even when she had pressed his hand to her cheek and he had felt the wetness there. He had assumed she would tell him when she was ready. Instead, she had fled, and he needed to know why before he could guess where.
“Her ladyship is not yet ready to receive visitors,” his mother’s lofty dresser informed him with outrage clear in her eyes.
“Out,” Gervaise snapped. He had no time to pander to the woman’s ridiculous sense of self-importance. Her mouth fell open and she was clearly girding herself up for a fight. Gervaise advanced upon her and she fled.
“Stewart, who is it?” came the countess’s impatient voice from the chamber beyond.
“Me,” Gervaise said ungrammatically and walked in to find his mother in bed, a lace nightcap confining her greying locks. She was just finishing her breakfast from a tray over her knees.
“You are abroad early,” she remarked. “What have you done with Stewart?”
“Sent her away. I need to speak to you. Did you quarrel yesterday with Dawn? Our cousin?”
“Of course not,” his mother said, affronted. And when Gervaise continued to stare at her, she sniffed. “I might have told her a few home truths. Unpalatable perhaps, but things she needed to know. Things that you, or at least Serena, should have told her already.”
“Such as?” Gervaise said, making a strong effort at patience.
The countess set down her cup and shoved the tray further down her bed. “Such as, even if she is Eleanor Gardyn, she is not the stuff of which countesses are made. Such as, you are not nor ever were the same sort of romantic fool as Serena. I know you were trying to be kind, Gervaise, but I believe she actually thought you would marry her.”
“I will marry her,” Gervaise said grimly, and strode o
ut of the room without a backward glance.
“Braithwaite!” his mother all but wailed after him. “Where are you going?”
“To bring her back,” he yelled from the passage.
“But Gervaise, our dinner party is the day after tomorrow!”
Since he had no interest in her party, he did not trouble to reply. He paused only to throw a few things into his bag and scribble a note to Winslow, begging him to keep the gypsy Abraham until he returned. And then he set off for the stables.
Chapter Sixteen
Ezra’s family had not gone far. By asking questions of passersby and riding swiftly in between, Gervaise managed to reach their latest camp on the edge of the Bassenthwaite Lake, just as night began to fall.
The dogs stood up, growling, hackles rising as Gervaise reined in. Jeremiah, walking past the fire with a mug in his hand, paused and stared at him. Matthew, his fiddle idle on his lap, seized it and jumped to his feet.
“Da!” Jeremiah called.
Gervaise dismounted, his heart beating hard because he was about to see her again. His throat ached with all the things he needed to say to her.
Ezra emerged from one of the tents and froze.
“It’s him again,” Jeremiah said, unnecessarily.
Recovering, Ezra walked toward him. “Come, my lord, you are welcome. To what do we owe the honor?”
“My stupidity,” Gervaise said wryly. “May I see her?”
Ezra frowned. “Who?”
“Dawn.” Gervaise strove to maintain his well-cultivated patience.
Ezra’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not here. What have you done?”
Gervaise’s blood ran cold. “Like you, I took her for granted and she bolted. I knew she would come here to you. Damn it, I followed her here. A brewer’s cart dropped her at the crossroads only a couple of miles back. She should have been here by now.”
“At the crossroads?” Ezra repeated. For some reason, his frown had smoothed and his face lightened.
Gervaise had no time to find out the significance of the crossroads. He turned back to the horse and set his foot in the stirrup.
“No, wait. I know where she is. Jerry, you and Matthew go and bring her home. Kindly,” he added, warning clear in his voice.
This was by no means good enough for Gervaise, who mounted anyhow. Ezra grasped the bridle before he could follow Jerry and Matthew, already loping out of the camp as instructed.
“It’s best,” Ezra said sharply. “Consider her pride. She won’t drop in here at night, looking desperate for protection and somewhere to stay. She would rather swan in bright and cheerful with the new day. So, she’s gone to the hut to sleep. We come here every year and when they were little, she and Aurora used to play at keeping house in that hut. We even let them sleep there once with the dogs to guard them.”
All Gervaise’s instincts were to get to her as soon as possible, but something in Ezra’s face and voice stayed him. This man, for all intents and purposes, was Dawn’s father.
“She won’t come home for you,” Ezra said bluntly. “Even if you had not quarreled. And I won’t have you sleep there with her.”
Gervaise couldn’t prevent his jaw from dropping. “You have had her sleep under my roof for weeks.”
“That was different,” Ezra said with dignity. “Your territory, your rules. I knew you’d return her to me as pure as when you found her.”
“No, you didn’t,” Gervaise growled. “And I have no intention of returning her.”
“Well, that’s one of the things we need to discuss. Before she arrives.”
*
Dawn saw the smoke from the camp fires as she had trudged along the road and knew she had been right. Her family was camped in their usual place. She veered off the road, toward the cliff and there, where it had always been, was the tiny shepherd’s hut. When she had been a child, it had seemed the perfect house and had filled her with a strange longing for a different life from the one she knew. The intensity of her game had been such that even Aurora had joined in.
It still looked the same, though on closer inspection, the roof had a hole in it. If it rained, she was in for an even more uncomfortable night. But having walked all of last night and travelled all day in bumpy carts and by foot, she thought she was tired enough to sleep like the dead. And in the morning, she would go home.
She wanted to be with them. She did. She would not think of that other life, only half-glimpsed, half-understood. He wasn’t romantic, according to his mother at least, but she could not help hoping he would think of her sometimes.
Could he really be happy with Miss Farnborough or someone else like her?
Now that she was away from the castle, it was too easy to imagine that his own mother was wrong about him. After all, Lady Brathwaite had her own agenda. It could be that Dawn truly understood him better. At least she could laugh at herself for thinking so. She loved an illusion, not the reality. She had only ever been a distraction to him, but she had those idyllic weeks to sustain her until her own life felt real once more.
One thing would never change. She could not live as Eleanor in the shadow of Braithwaite Castle.
Trying to clear her mind, she carried out the dry wood she had left in the hut on her last visit and built a fire as close to the door as she dared. Then she swept the floor, using the broom that she and Aurora had made years ago. She sat, gazing into the flames for a little, letting the fire warm the hut as far as it could while her eyes kept trying to close. After a while, as darkness fell, she retreated inside, closed the door, and lay down on the floor.
Exhausted, she fell almost instantly asleep.
She woke to the crunch of footsteps outside the hut. Her heart thudding, she sat up, clutching the blanket close. Who would come here in the middle of the night? Was she in danger?
“Dawn?” a voice whispered.
Stupidly, her heart leapt, along with the ridiculous hope that the voice belonged to Gervaise. It couldn’t of course, but still… Whoever it was knew her name. It was, at least, a friend.
She rose and opened the door. The fire had died and gone out, but two men held a lantern, blinding her for a moment, until she recognized her brother. The pain of inevitable disappointment clashed with the pleasure of reunion and she walked with a sob into his outstretched arms.
“What’re you doing here, silly chit?” he said gently. “Come on to the camp with us. We’ll have a party to celebrate. Been looking for an excuse.”
She hiccupped a laugh and gave in without a fight. Fortunately, neither he nor Matthew asked awkward questions, merely brought her up to date on the family’s doings and Aurora’s certainty that the baby had smiled.
“You talk different,” Jerry said once in an accusing sort of voice.
For once she did not rise to the bait, merely smiled. “It will fade in time, like everything else, and all will be as it was before.”
“Then there is hope for me?” Matthew murmured eagerly.
“No,” she said bluntly. “There never was for you and me.”
In no time, it seemed, they had reached the familiar campsite at the edge of the lake. It was beautiful in summer and in winter snow. Even now, surrounded by dirty slush, with hardly any snow left on the ground, the beauty of the long, river-lake and the rising white-topped hills, soothed her wounded heart.
The dogs hurled themselves at her with joy and, laughing, she let herself be pushed to the ground to play with them and be thoroughly licked. Then Ezra stood there, bending to pull her to her feet and into his arms.
Over his shoulder, she saw Aurora and the baby. Her sister wore an enigmatic smile, as she often did around Dawn, but she came toward her with her free arm held out. Sliding free of Ezra, she hugged Aurora and smiled down at the peacefully sleeping baby whose form looked tiny inside his massive, warm wrappings.
“Oh, he’s grown!” Dawn exclaimed.
“Are you well?” Aurora demanded, peering into her face. “Are you strong? Tell me what you
want, for—”
“Dawn,” Ezra interrupted, and Dawn pulled away from her sister, turning back to face her father. Her heart dived into her stomach, for beside him stood the Earl of Braithwaite.
You came, you came, a joyful voice repeated in her head, over and over, while she anxiously scanned his tall, handsome figure for signs of injury or distress. There were none, save for the mud-spatters on his clothes and the turbulence in his eyes which belied the veiled expression of his face.
Aloud, she said carelessly, “What are you doing here? I told you not to look for me.”
“Oh, I didn’t,” he replied. “I came to visit Ezra. He has invited me to a party.”
Their eyes locked. She raised one shaking hand to push the tangled hair from her face. What was happening here?
“Aurora, help her dress,” Ezra said. “Iris will take the baby.”
Still dazed, Dawn allowed herself to be dragged away toward the barn. Once, because she couldn’t help it, she twisted around to look back at Gervaise. He was watching her, too. A smile, at once reassuring and teasing, broke over his face and she wanted to weep. Why did that smile always vanquish her?
The barn was warm and busy. A brazier burned in the middle and lanterns glowed along the walls.
When she was a child, they had often slept there over the summer, while the men had worked for the farmer. Then, the farmer had built a new barn and let them stay there when they wished, in winter, too, with his animals, grain and hay safely stored elsewhere. Her aunts and cousins all came to greet her. The older children who were still awake ran to hug her. Their warmth flooded her with affection and gratitude, and yet there was a strange unreality about this situation. Only last night she had lived in a castle with aristocrats for companions and footmen to serve her. Tonight, she was to dance in a barn with gypsies. She knew which of these situations should seem unreal. But of course, it was the Earl of Braithwaite’s presence which was wrong.
The Wicked Gypsy (Blackhaven Brides Book 8) Page 19