“All the more reason for an assignation tonight.” She rested her palms on his chest. “You are quite addicting, Captain.”
“That’s good to hear.” Peregrine took one of her hands, brought it to his lips. “Isabella.” His heart raced as if he’d run all the way to Buckinghamshire from London. “Since the day I met you, my world hasn’t been the same.”
“Oh, I quite agree.” She slid her free hand up his chest to wrap around his neck. Her fingers in his hair had the power to distract him. “It’s been wonderful and exceeded my curiosity.”
He nodded. Nerves crawled through his gut. There was every possibility this could go horribly wrong and spoil what he did have with her. I have to risk it. I need her. “What say you to making what we currently share legal and honest?”
Wariness shadowed her eyes. “Oh, don’t say it.”
“Why not?”
The delicate tendons of her throat worked with a heavy swallow. “Please don’t spoil this night.”
Was it a warning? He put the thought from his mind, for the risk far outweighed a few moments of discomfort by them both. “What I mean to say is this. Marry me. Since the night you slapped me, I’ve loved you.” He tightened his hold on her hand. “Now I want you to be my wife and grow old with me.”
“Oh, Peregrine, you’ve not listened to a word I’ve said this whole time, have you?”
“What do you mean?” Of all the things she could have said, that certainly wasn’t it.
“Marriage isn’t for me. I never wanted forever.” The trembling in her hand transferred to him, and he froze in confusion, still expecting an agreement. Then Isabella backed away. “Why did you have to ruin a good thing? Did we not have a jolly time together?”
“We did—we are—but I—”
“I was happy, content.”
Annoyance stabbed at his chest. “With only an affair, then? That you meant to drop me once you returned to London as if I never mattered one whit beyond pleasuring you?” He struggled to keep his voice low. It wouldn’t do to further compromise her. “I didn’t think you’d be so heartless, after everything I told you.”
“I’m not, but I’m… so confused.” Tears sprang into her eyes, making the indigo depths luminous and magnified, eyes that had reflected joy and something deeper during their intimate times together, eyes that had gleamed with affection when he’d read to her, made her laugh with his stories. “I cannot marry you. I won’t, in fact, and now you’ve ruined everything!”
A few crystalline drops fell to her cheeks, and she turned so quickly that her skirts slapped against her ankles. She fled into the house, leaving him alone and feeling all the more desolate for it.
Peregrine pressed a hand to his chest over his heart, but that didn’t stem the hurt, the abject agony cutting through him, for without a doubt he knew. He would never see her again. She’d see to that.
And that made the situation all the more desolate, for he’d lost the most precious thing he’d ever had, merely by professing his love.
Bowing his head, he closed his eyes as his heart ravaged his chest. My initial assessment was correct: women should be avoided at all costs.
He’d learned the lesson too late, and this time, he wouldn’t recover.
Chapter Fifteen
June 11, 1818
The day dawned with a heavy covering of fat, gray clouds. By the time Isabella set out for the gypsy fair, the rain had started, and she heartily regretted the trip. At least she’d had the presence of mind to take her father’s cabriolet, and now that the rain beat down upon the top, she struggled to handle the traces as she urged the horse into a brisk trot over the roads that would soon go to mud if the rain continued. She’d told no one in her family where she was going. In fact, she’d simply rose from her bed, let Molly help her dress and then she’d marched herself out of the house, passing the breakfast room that was, thankfully, empty, for her family had enjoyed themselves heartily last night at the fête.
But she couldn’t remember the events of the evening before—even the good ones—without stupid tears filling her eyes.
Her head hurt; her chest hurt. Her heart was breaking, and all over a handful of simple words uttered with feeling on a romance-laden terrace beneath a wealth of twinkling stars. Peregrine loved her. How was that possible? They barely knew each other. Eleven days ago, she’d not known Captain Peregrine St. John had ever existed. Nine days ago, she’d been blissfully happy embroiled into the most delicious, torrid affair she could have ever imagined.
Now?
That whole bubble of happiness had burst and she’d panicked, run from the man who’d somehow snuck beneath her skin and had thrown her whole world off-kilter. How could she contemplate a future without him in it no matter what capacity?
I need to know what exactly that fortune meant.
As she crested a hill that overlooked the grounds where the gypsy fair had been set up, a groan escaped her. No longer were the colorful wagons arranged in pleasant half-moon formations. All the cheerful tents had been removed and packed away. In fact, the company prepared to leave Buckinghamshire, no doubt for their next location several counties away to entertain countless other people in need of hope and a few words of positivity.
“No, no, no!” Isabella slapped the reins against the horse’s wet back and urged the animal into a faster run. “They cannot leave now, not when I need to find Madame Zeta.”
She careened into the now-empty fairgrounds with the haste of a desperate woman. It was sheer foolishness on her part, for a rut or a rock could easily break a wheel and turn over the carriage, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore, not after she’d broken Peregrine’s heart and seen the hurt on his face. The devastation in his stormy eyes would forever haunt her. And for what? She wanted a guarantee from life when there was none?
No, it was greater than that, and the reality of it terrified her.
The cabriolet slid to a rather ungraceful stop near the tail end of the gypsy caravan. All the wagons were shuttered, their doors closed tightly against the rain, the drivers hunkered down beneath hat brims turned down and coat collars flipped up. Not caring about the rain and the mud, Isabella hopped down, her feet landing square in a puddle that immediately drenched her yellow satin slippers. The hem of her jonquil gown was quickly saturated and without a bonnet, so was her hair.
Creature comforts didn’t matter, not when her life was crumbling around her ears.
“Madame Zeta!” The driving rain stole away her cry. “Please, someone, tell me where I can find Madame Zeta. It’s rather urgent that I see her.”
“The fair is over, my lady,” the first driver she came to said with a wave of his hand. “We’re leaving. Should have come yesterday.”
“I didn’t know I needed to see her then!” Isabella hurried on to the next wagon, but received a reception much the same. The driver of the third wagon didn’t bother to look at her or listen to her inquiries.
At the fourth, she recognized the paint and design of the wagon. It was hers. She just knew it. “Madame Zeta. Is she within?” she asked of the swarthy driver as she stepped in front of the two horses pulling it.
The man tugged on the reins, bringing the wagon to a halt. The others behind him were forced to do the same. “She is, miss, but the fair is over.”
“I know that, but I’m desperate to see her.” Disregarding the man’s look of speculation, Isabella ran through the rain and muddy puddles to the rear of the wagon. She pounded a fist on the door with the queer rounded top, rapped her knuckles on the wet wood between a sprig of white-painted flowers. “Madame Zeta, please, please, please open up.”
After everything, would the gypsy refuse to see her?
“Please.” Tears pricked her eyes and then slid to her cheeks.
Finally, the panel swung outward and Madame Zeta herself stood stooped in the open doorway, her colorful skirts rippling in the breeze, a knitted shawl pulled across her shoulders, an ordinary scarf wrapped about h
er curly brown hair.
“Is there something amiss, my lady?” she asked in the lyrical tones Isabella recognized from the last time.
“Yes. Everything!” She came around the painted door. “I need my fortune explained.”
A soft smile curved the other woman’s lips. “I’m afraid such things don’t work that way. When I give someone a fortune, it is for them to decide how to interpret it.”
“What does that mean?” Isabella quelled the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. “I am not a diviner of the future.”
“Neither am I, miss.” Her eyes twinkled. “What was your fortune?”
Isabella blew out a breath. “A dark-haired man will not arrive by traditional means, and he will have a mark only you will recognize. Heed me, girl: he is dangerous. You must make a choice.”
“What is it that you don’t understand about your fortune?” A slight frown marred the gypsy’s smooth countenance.
“The man you warned me about did indeed arrive by untraditional means.” Oh, she’d been so angry when he’d landed in a heap in the mud at her feet, but from the first word that had come out of his mouth, he’d made her feel alive. “And he has a tattoo that looks exactly like the brooch you gave me.”
“Then that is a good thing, is it not?”
“Yes. No!” Every beat of her heart pained her. They’d been fated to meet, her and Peregrine. Now everything had fallen apart, simply because he labored under the delusion that he loved her. It wasn’t love or even romance they’d shared; it was passion and desire, wasn’t it? “The dangerous part. Why did you say he was that?”
“Why not?” The gypsy shrugged and her easy smile was back in place. “Any man worth his salt will prove dangerous to a lady’s peace of mind as well as her previous existence.” She peered closer at Isabella. “Have you found a romance since the last time we met?”
“No.” Yet heat fired in her cheeks. “I found… happiness, and I was pleased with it. Things were going so well.”
“Until?”
Isabella wiped the rain from her face, but of course it persisted. “Until…” She cleared her throat. “Until he asked for my hand.” Until I began falling in love with him.
“How wonderful!” The gypsy beamed. “I’m glad I could help.” When she went to pull the door to the wagon closed, Isabella slammed a palm against the wet wood.
“Why did you say I must make a choice?” The whole of this conversation wasn’t helping.
“Everyone must make choices every day. It is not unheard of to do while in a romance.” Then she frowned. “Shouldn’t you look more… joyful? It’s not every day a woman finds love with a man who fancies her.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” Isabella said in a whisper. “How can I possibly find happiness in marriage?”
“I rather think the man makes the difference, don’t you?”
Isabella rolled her eyes. “Except the man in question wants forever and I do not.” She sighed and once more wiped at the moisture on her face. “Why does everything have to change?”
“Shift your thinking, miss. The right man can change everything.”
Was Peregrine the right man, though? Clearly, they wished for different things. “I’m not certain—”
“Perhaps the choice that you fear will unlock the happiness you try to hide from.” The gypsy laid a hand on Isabella’s shoulders. “Trust your instincts. Deep down inside, you know what you want.”
“But what if I don’t?” Panic rose in her chest. “Or worse yet, what if I make the wrong choice? I’ll be trapped.” A man who fell into love so fast could easily fall out of it, couldn’t he?
“Why don’t you ask your man for insight?”
Another round of tears threatened. “I’m rather afraid that bridge has burned.”
“Has it?” She flicked her gaze past Isabella’s shoulder. “Perhaps what you shared was made of sterner stuff,” she said in a quiet voice.
With both dread and anticipation warring for control in her stomach, Isabella slowly turned. “Peregrine.” Sitting astride Ares, the captain looked at her, his expression a mix of sadness and hope.
“Isabella, we need to talk.”
“Go on, miss.” Madame Zeta gave her shoulder a tiny shove. “Meet your destiny.” When Isabella hesitated, the gypsy spoke one last time. “Before I leave you to your path, do you know of a family by the name of Elliott, or at the very least, a young woman by that name?”
She tilted her head to one side, struggling with the change in conversation. “I’m sorry, no. That doesn’t sound familiar.”
“I didn’t think it might. Perhaps I’ll have better luck in the next village.” Then she said something to her driver in a language Isabella didn’t understand and just as quickly closed the wagon’s door. Seconds later, the driver clicked the reins and the caravan resumed its forward movement. The clack of the wheels and the jingle of harnesses filled the air.
Having no other recourse, Isabella stood alone in the rain while Peregrine dismounted. “How did you find me? I told no one where I’d be, not even my maid.”
“Because I know you, Isabella. You wish to understand, to make sense of the feelings swamping you.” He came forward until two feet of space separated them. “The one thing you had to fall back on was the fortune, and when it appeared to ring true, you panicked.”
How could he possibly know that? “And you know that why?”
“I went through the same thought processes.”
“But?”
“I accepted it as a fate that I wanted to align myself with.”
“Yet you are confident you know why I’d come here. Why?” Was she so easy to read?
“You wore the daffodil-colored dress you did when we first met, which means you were unconsciously thinking about me, which means the words you said to me last night were uttered out of fear.”
Of course she didn’t dispute that. She had donned the dress because it had reminded her of their first meeting. “I’m not certain that’s true.”
“Fair enough.” He nodded. “Did you wish to call me all the names you’d hurled at me from our first meeting then? What were they again?” The captain tapped a finger to his chin.
Heat infused her cheeks. “I called you a swag bellied, maggot pie, boat-licker.” None of which were true. “That was unfortunate.” Even soaking wet, he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Her heart skipped a beat before she squelched her reaction.
“Indeed it was, and by the by, many happy returns of the day.”
“I beg your pardon?” What was the man on about? Couldn’t he see she wanted to dissolve into tears and curse the heavens for the blight her life had currently fallen into?
“When we first met, it was your birthday, and since our meeting was volatile, I didn’t wish you a happy one.”
“Oh.” Why did he insist on being charming? It confused her even more. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “Now, back to the task at hand and why I knew you’d be here. How did you feel on your way over here, when you were desperate to reach Madame Zeta?”
“What difference does it make?”
“All the difference, actually.” Peregrine grabbed one of her hands, and when she attempted to wrench it away, he kept a tight hold. “What did you feel?”
“Panic. Sadness. Heart break.”
“Because?”
She wouldn’t say it, refused to say it. Yet he kept looking at her through the rain with a slightly crooked grin and her resolve wavered. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.” He squeezed her fingers. “And when you saw me just now, what did you feel?”
“Dread. Anticipation.” She pressed her lips together and tasted the rain. “Panic again.” Elation. Hope.
“I completely understand.”
“Why?”
“Why? I put my heart on my sleeve when I asked you to marry me, and I did so even knowing that there was the capacity for rejection.”
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her middle knuckle. “I suppose there’s a first time for everything, this being rejected so soundly, except it wasn’t the first time in my life a woman has spurned me. At least you didn’t slap me, or unleash a string of curses.” He chuckled, and despite the emotions roiling through her, she offered a smile.
“I was distracted by the collapse of what we shared.” The admission was pulled from her and a knowing glint appeared in his eyes.
“There’s the heart of the matter.” He held her gaze through the pouring rain. “It’s rather poetic, don’t you think, us being here in a situation similar to where we started.” When she remained quiet, he continued. “I’m afraid I fumbled my address last night.”
“You are of one mind while I am of another. Whatever we had is now lost in the face of that proposal.” This time she succeeded in pulling from his grasp. If she didn’t put space between them, she’d lose all decorum and pride and throw herself into his arms.
“I rather doubt that. Allow me to expand my thought of the night before.”
“Oh, Peregrine, please stop.” Unable to look at him, she turned about. “I cannot bear anymore.” She took a shuddering breath. “Why did you ruin what we had? I was perfectly content.”
“Because I want so much more with you, darling, and when you really think about it, you want the same.”
The endearment sent fresh tears into her eyes. Never had she been called that and, drat the man, it sounded so right coming from him. Isabella concentrated on the sound of the rain, the earthy scent of the mud, the dreary gray of the world around her, miserable like the state of her heart. “No.”
“Yes.” He came closer, squelching the few steps, and when he laid a hand on her shoulder, she gasped. Oh, how she’d missed his touch, spent a sleepless night wishing he’d never spoken or alternately that she’d never declined. “Now let me rectify my question of the night before.”
“Peregrine…”
He continued on as if she’d never spoken. “When I asked you to marry me, I meant every word.” A moment of silence followed, but she didn’t turn around to look at him. “I know you detest the marriage state on the assumption that it will become a prison of sorts. I can guarantee you that won’t be the case with me, for I respect you, value you, adore you too much to ever clip your wings.”
Lady Isabella's Splendid Folly: a Fortune's of Fate story (Fortunes of Fate Book 7) Page 16
