He sat silent for a moment, his expression hidden. When he answered, it was with a sarcastic drawl. “And what should I be happy for? For your brother? It certainly seems as if he and your cousin shall work something out about his inheritance, but I would not wish the legal nonsense he will have to face on even my worst enemy.
“Or should I be happy that I managed to wrestle a pistol loose from a man’s hand tonight just before he dropped dead at my feet. Oh, yes, that was a rare treat.
“Or perhaps I should simply be happy that you have within your reach your respectable cottage in your respectable village. Well, I am far too selfish a person to be happy for any of those reasons.”
Exhausted as she was, annoyance flickered inside Glynis. Ah, but this gaujo never made anything easy—not even the truth.
“Selfish? Yes, that is what you want me to think. What you want everyone to think. You want to ruin the good in what you did tonight by twisting it until it breaks, and then you can say to yourself that you knew all along that is how the world is—hard and cruel. But you cannot erase that you saved my brother’s life tonight. I owe you more than—”
“Will you stop acting as if I am some dim-witted hero? You owe me nothing.”
Her mouth tightened. She would have him admit what she knew, no matter what it cost her. With her body aching, Glynis moved so she now sat next to him in the carriage.
St. Albans stiffened, wary about this new tact of hers, disliking that she seemed intent on forcing some ridiculous notion she had about him onto him. But her hand only sought his and covered it.
“Bah, much you know about anything, gaujo! We Romany know a debt when we see one. Christo and I both owe you.”
He glanced down at her. She leaned back against the upholstery, and now raised her free hand to hide a yawn.
Shifting, he moved his hand out from under her touch and settled it over her shoulders. She did not resist as he pulled her against him. He smiled and relaxed. About bloody well time she softened towards him.
“Perhaps I do not,” he told her, leaning closer to her, the scent of woods and summer roses in her hair. Its dark softness brushed his cheek. “Perhaps I have been wrong, and there is something to this fate that you believe in. Perhaps this is how the design was always meant to be woven. Perhaps we were meant to be this way together—do you believe that?”
Deep, even breaths answered him.
She had fallen asleep in his arms.
For a moment, he could only stare at her, frustrated and annoyed. Then he gave it up.
His arm tightened around her.
Fate. It had to be cursed fate, right enough. Here she was at last in his arms, willing—and insensible. He could wake her. With kisses and soft touches, and he would have her in his bed by dawn. But he had seen her face in the light at Nevin House, how drawn it was with dark smudges under her eyes. He would not begrudge her sleep now. And he could not resist running a thumb across her closed eyelid now, as if he could rub away her exhaustion.
She made a small sound and burrowed closer to him, one hand stealing up to his chest.
Oh, blazes, what did he do with her now? He had dealt with reluctant ladies, prudish ladies, shrews, and ladies who were that in name only. However, he had not the faintest clue as to what to do with a woman who slept in his arms, trusting and vulnerable. He’d never had such a thing.
His body had demands of its own, but he found himself curiously reluctant to exploit this opportunity.
The devil of it was he’d actually been pleased by her gratitude. And so very tempted by that belief she wanted to foist onto him that she thought good of him.
As if he had done anything.
She had been the one to prove him wrong. She had found her respectability, and he found he had not the heart to take it from her.
“You will tire of it, you know,” he told her, and she gave a soft sigh as if she had heard him.
“We are two of a kind, you and I, and not made for the laws that bind others. But I suppose you must learn that for yourself, if you do learn it that is.”
The carriage slowed to a halt, and a footman opened the door. St. Albans gave a curt order, the door closed and the carriage moved forward.
“It has to be madness,” he told his sleeping gypsy, his hand closing over hers. “A passing madness. And God help us both if it is not.”
* * *
Glynis woke to brilliant sunlight that stung open her eyes, and a gathering humidity that stuck the sheets to her legs and arms. Sitting up, she stared around her. She did not recognize the room.
Nor did she remember how she came to be here.
Memories began to drift back to her, like images from a dream. The long, hard ride. That nightmare in Nevin House, with Frances Dawes dead. The carriage ride to...
To where?
Throwing back the covers, she realized she wore only her shift and corset. Someone had undressed her. She had vague memories of strong arms lifting her, carrying her—had it been St. Albans? But this was not Winters House, or it was at least not any room she had seen before—it was not her room. So where was she?
Throwing off the bedding, she rose and padded to the window. Below seemed to be a bustling street, not the quiet green of Grosvenor Square. Where was she?
Quickly, she turned and started looking for her clothes.
The green traveling dress hung in an otherwise empty wardrobe. She blinked at it and pulled it out. Not a stain lay upon it, not a smudge of dust, not a wrinkle. Clean, pressed, it smelled now of rose water.
With a frown, she scrambled into it.
She had just sat down to lace up her boots when a soft knock sounded on the door.
St. Albans, she thought, frowning. Ah, but that gaujo had to stop learning to think he could send her where he pleased, and keep her where he liked. She would have words with him about that—as well as about a few other things.
With her boot laces half done, she strode to the door, her heart quick and light. But a stab of disappointment caught at her when she saw only her brother at the door, scowling at her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
She tried to summons a wide smile. “Christo!”
He strode into the room, frowning. “He is not here?”
“Who is not?”
“Who? Who else. That earl of yours. I thought...” He thrust a note at her.
She scanned the lines, recognizing St. Albans dramatic slanted hand, and read aloud, “Gypsy, I have left your sister at Dorant’s Hotel, not much compromised but in need of gowns. I will send your mother to her there.”
Glynis looked up from the note. “What does he mean send Dej to us?”
“I was more interested in the not much compromised—what did he do to you?”
Glynis glowered at him. “That is my business, but if you must know, he did—”
A knock interrupted. Christo opened the door. With the flash of a wide grin, he swept up a dark-clad figure into a hug.
“Dej!” Glynis shouted, running to enfold her mother and brother in a hug.
It took hours for everyone to tell their stories to everyone else.
Their mother had left the camp in Bado’s care when St. Albans’s coach had arrived for her—the Earl of St. Albans’s had had men following their mother’s whereabouts for some time it seemed, keeping a discreet eye upon her. Glynis warmed at the idea that he had taken some effort to look after the safety of her mother, but she was not sure that was his true reason. St. Albans might just have wanted to know where he could find her if she’d run back to her mother.
Her mother seemed to think little enough of it. “Clumsy Gadje,” their mother said, as if she had known about them all the time. “But what of your story? I’ve only heard that I must come to meet up with the new Lord Nevin. What is this?”
Glynis and Christo took turns telling, and by the time they finished, the day was already fading and Glynis could think only of her growling stomach.
They found that the hotel served
meals in a room downstairs, and Glynis regarded the hotel staff’s warm welcome with uneasiness until it became clear that St. Albans had charmed—and had most likely paid—for the best service possible.
When food began to arrive, she forgot everything else.
They dined like royalty in a private room, with endless wine and laughter and stories and delicacies so rich that Glynis stuffed herself.
Afterwards, Christo had to tell the whole story again to their mother, but Glynis fell silent as he talked. She kept looking from the doorway to the ticking clock on the mantle.
Why had he not come?
Christo pulled her attention away from her waiting. He insisted she add her own parts of the story again, and so she did.
It was not until late at night that Glynis had time alone with her mother. They sat in Glynis’s room again, near the open window. Glynis lay her head on her mother’s lap. Christo had gone out to meet their cousin, and to talk with him of the legalities that must begin.
“Everything changes tomorrow, does it not?” Glynis said, as her mother stroked her hair.
“Everything always changes. Ah, but this city smells of smoke and horses. How do these Gadje stand it?”
Glynis smiled. “It is not so bad at Winters House. St. Albans has a garden there, at the back, and roses that the servants bring inside every day.”
“Does he? Tell me about his house.”
Glynis did, describing its elegance, and poor Gascoyne, who had to jump to perform St. Albans’s ever whim.
Anne listened to her daughter talk. She heard far more than was said, but she only listened, and stroked her daughter’s hair. At last, she said, “I think you will like living in London.”
Glynis straightened. “You will, too.”
Anne shook her head and smiled. “I told Bado I would be back by midsummer’s eve. We are going to travel north for a time. And perhaps marry.”
“Marry? But I thought...but...well, what of father?”
Anne chuckled and took her daughters face in her hands. Such a beautiful face, she thought, even thought she could see it only with her fingers. It was time, at last. Time for her to find her own path, however difficult it was to walk.
Cradling her daughter’s face, she said, “Your father’s love was the most precious gift. And his loss broke my heart. But hearts mend—eventually. If you allow them time. And you should always think long and hard before you turn away from any love—it will open parts of you, sometimes painfully. But, ah, it makes life so much richer. It is like sleeping under a million stars, like turning your face up to the first rain of spring, like dancing in dawn mists. And I would be a silly woman if I were to turn away from what Bado offers to me. He knew I had to wait for you and Christo to be grown, to be set upon your path. And so he waited. That is how much he cares. Now that you are started right, it is time for me to go on with my life.”
“But you cannot want to keep traveling.”
“I cannot? But that is all I have ever wanted. Your father knew that, and he chose to come with me rather than to lose me to the road. You and Christo are like him. You need a place with roots. You have always needed that, and I had to make certain you would have all you need.”
Tears stung Glynis’s eyes. Her throat tightened. She buried her face in her mother’s lap. Ah, but everything was changing too fast, too much again.
“You won’t leave yet. Not yet.”
Her mother stroked her hair. “No. Not yet. Not yet. But soon, my daughter.”
* * *
The next two weeks became endless papers, and meetings with solicitors, and trips with their cousin, Bryn.
At his request, they moved from the hotel to Nevin House. He wore black in respect for his father, but he refused to decorate the house for morning, and he had the funeral held privately at Dawes Manor in the countryside.
Glynis was glad of that, and she only wished she could do something in return for her cousin, for she noticed how silent he fell at times. And then he would talk too much to make up for it, and she could almost wish him melancholy again.
In truth, the real work fell on Christo, who had to sign everything, and who had to bear with skeptical questions and disdainful glances and begrudging acknowledgement of his rights. Even dead, Francis Dawes carried influence, and without their cousin’s assistance everything to gain their rightful places would have taken months or years. But at last, it seemed, all those who must be satisfied were convinced of the truth; the courts began to take action, although the solicitor warned it would be months before Christo would be called by Parliament to claim his seat and title.
All this time, he never came to her.
Ah, what was that gaujo earl’s doing? What plan of his was this to leave her too much to herself and to a London without him?
She watched for him. The sound of a carriage rattling past drew her to the window. In the evening, she sat with a book open on her lap and listened for the front knocker. She almost asked Christo to take her to the opera, or the theater, but feared she might see him with another woman.
Her mother caught her looking out the window one day, at a coach halted opposite Nevin House. Glynis dropped the curtain at once, with the uneasy feeling her mother glimpsed more than a woman with sight could ever see.
With a cane to feel her way, her mother came into the room. “Waiting is the hardest thing we learn.”
“Oh, I am not waiting. I simply thought...well, yes, I am waiting. Oh, Dej, what am I doing? When he wanted me, I wanted nothing to do with him, and now I ache just to glimpse him. Just to hear his voice. Only I should not.”
“Why should you not?”
Glynis sighed. “Because he does not want what I want. He wants me for a short time—for only until he tires of me and finds the next thing he cannot have. Because once he has me it will be over between us. Because I am respectable now, and there is no place in his world for such a thing, even if he wanted me there, and because...oh, because I am in love with this devil of a gaujo, and what am I to do?”
Her mother found a chair, sat, and said, “Come here.”
Glynis obeyed, coming up to her mother. The old woman took Glynis’s hand and put it on her chest, where Glynis could feel the steady rhythm of her mother’s heart.
“How do you think you and Christo achieved what you did—finding those papers, and your place in the world. With luck? No, it was with this—with your hearts. God never gives you a desire without giving you the means to achieve it. You have to believe that. You have to follow this beating in your heart, and you have to follow your dreams even if they take you on uncomfortable journeys. It is such an empty road without them.”
Glynis glanced down at her mother. Ah, but she wanted to believe. She wanted so much—too much, perhaps.
She heard another carriage—horse hooves clattering, leather harness jingling, wheels rolling over cobblestones.
It stopped.
Glynis’s heart skipped. Moving away from her mother, she went to the window.
The sight of the golden crest on the door froze her hand on the curtain. No one stepped from the coach, but a groom jumped off the back and ran up the steps to Nevin House.
A moment later, a soft knock sounded on the door and the butler carried in a note on a silver tray. He gave it to Glynis with a bow and left.
Hands shaking, Glynis tore open the note. And she glared at it.
“I am invited to tea!” she said, disgust in her voice. “Tea! And he signs it with an ‘S’—nothing more!”
“You never know, the tea leaves might tell your future.”
Glynis glanced at her mother. Her first impulse had been to tear up his note—if he could not even be bothered to come to see her, she would not be summoned to him like some lackey! But now she stopped and thought. She wanted to see him, if only to tell him to his face that if he thought she enjoyed his neglect, he was wrong.
She paused only to kiss her mother’s cheek, and strode for the door.
Anne let out a sigh as her daughter left. Ah, but love could be so hard at times. And it was harder still with a child to trust that all would work out as it was meant to.
* * *
Glynis sat stiff in the back of the coach rehearsing various greetings for St. Albans. She longed to give him a reserved, but gracious, nod. A true lady’s greeting. But she knew the limitations of her own skills and temper. Coldly angry was far more likely to come out of her as soon as she glimpsed him. But what if he took that wrong and stayed away from her forever this time.
Eventually, she grew bored of wondering how she should act when next they met. She began to glance outside the windows.
She had not noticed when city had given way to countryside, but now she realized the roads had been much rougher for a good long time. The sun was still in the sky, so it could not have been more than an hour or two that she had been in the carriage, could it? She began to fidget now with the buttons of the upholstery.
She had just decided to let down the glass window and call out to the coachman to demand to know where they were going, when the horses slowed from a brisk trot to a walk, and the carriage turned down a wooded lane.
The woods fell back, and Glynis leaned forward in her seat to see where they were. There, at the end of a circular, graveled drive, stood the house.
Her house.
Just as in her dream. A tidy garden. White front, picket gate. Two stories with gleaming windows that welcomed, and white roses bloomed over the entrance, spilling snowy petals.
She kept staring, even after the carriage stopped and the grooms let down the steps and waited for her to alight.
How could he have found it? Or even known?
And then she remembered.
She had told him once what she wanted. That night when she’d had that terrible dream. He, it seemed, had remembered. And he had found her this place.
Dazed, she climbed from the carriage. Slowly, afraid almost that she would wake from this moment, she went to the gate. She reached out and touched it.
Solid wood lay under her glove.
With a smile, she pushed open the gate and walked up the path to the main door.
A Much Compromised Lady Page 19