by Bold, Diana
“Sit down,” Madame Zeta said in a hushed voice. “I feel that there is more I need to impart to you. Let me read the leaves.”
Unsettled, Rebecca sank back down in the chair, her gaze drawn to the medallion that hung from a chain around the woman’s neck. She pointed at it, intrigued. “What is that?”
The woman smiled and touched the intricate gold pattern lovingly. “It symbolizes the Path of Life.”
“The Path of Life?” Rebecca mused, liking the sound of it.
“We are all on a journey,” the woman said. “Every twist and turn in the path has meaning.” She gazed off into the distance for a moment, and Rebecca had a sudden urge to ask the woman about her own path. She certainly seemed to be searching for something. But then Madame Zeta drew Rebecca’s teacup toward her, staring down at it for a few endless moments, and the moment was lost.
“Beware the suitor who returns from war,” Madame Zeta whispered at last, her voice dropping to a husky rasp that sent a shiver up Rebecca’s spine. “He will seem a stranger to you, but he is the one you were meant to find. Look with your heart, not your eyes.”
Rebecca swallowed, disturbed at the way the fortune-teller’s tone had changed. When Rebecca had sat down, the woman had seemed at ease, amused even. But now it seemed as though she actually had seen or felt something. Her words were very cryptic, and Rebecca had no idea what to make of them. The advice of choosing her own happiness had made far more sense to her. Perhaps that was what she’d been meant to hear today, and she tried to shake away the feeling that the gypsy had called forth some actual magic.
Madame Zeta blinked and gave her a wistful smile. “Stay here for just a moment longer. I have something for you.” She pushed gracefully to her feet and opened the back of her wagon, revealing a glimpse of colorful fabrics and gleaming wood. She opened one of the many cupboards and picked through some items in a small bowl.
Rebecca glanced away, looking through her reticule once more and placing a few shillings on the table. When she glanced up, Madame Zeta had returned. Her gaze seemed to pierce through Rebecca’s soul as she pressed a small talisman into her palm. Rebecca looked down, unsettled. It was the size of a coin, with something resembling the Roman number two etched into it.
“What’s this?” Rebecca asked, wondering if she really wanted to know.
“Gemini. It represents duality. The twins. Perhaps it will help you to see both sides of the issue.”
“What issue?” Rebecca whispered.
“The one you are soon to face, my child. Do not worry, for some day, you will understand that the twins will be nothing but a blessing to you.”
The talisman seemed too expensive and old to just be given to her, but Madame Zeta shook her head when Rebecca tried to give it back.
“Keep it,” the gypsy whispered, a deep sadness in those striking eyes. “I hope you find the happiness you seek.”
Rebecca nodded and turned swiftly away, chiding herself for having been so foolish in the first place. A fortune-teller? She wasn’t a child to be taken in by such silliness. Still, the woman’s words were ones to ponder. Perhaps she had been simply drifting along, waiting for her life to start for far too long. She needed to stop looking to the future and start living for today.
“What did you buy, Becca?” Sabrina asked, coming up alongside her and jarring her out of her thoughts.
Rebecca glanced down at the talisman again, then clenched her fist around it, shoving it into her reticule. “It’s nothing. Just something the gypsy gave me.”
“A gypsy!” Sabrina cried, looking around with excitement. Though her cousin was nearly five years older than her and was currently serving in the capacity of Rebecca’s chaperone, she’d always had a childlike exuberance. Sabrina certainly wasn’t waiting for her life to start, even though she was firmly on the shelf. “I want to talk to the gypsy!”
Rebecca shook her head, pulling her along. “I have a bit of a megrim, and we’ve been here far too long already. May we head home? Please?”
Sabrina’s pretty face fell, but she nodded her blond head. “Of course, dear. Let’s go home.”
They headed back toward their waiting carriage, but right before they reached it, Rebecca glimpsed a sight that made her blood run cold, especially given the conversation she’d just had with Madame Zeta. A man rode down the lane toward Trowbridge Manor, the sun glinting off his black hair, his large body moving gracefully on his fine mount.
He was too far away to call out to, but she’d recognize him anywhere.
Andrew Bradford, her fiancé, had returned.
Chapter Two
Christian’s first glimpse of Trowbridge Manor solidified his conviction that masquerading as Andrew would be worth it. The house sat upon a vast acreage of parkland, a gray stone edifice that seemed a bit rundown, probably due to his half-brother’s lack of concern for it. But the bones of the house looked good, and Christian knew that with a little loving care, Trowbridge Manor could be a marvelous home, more than he’d ever dared hope for in his life.
He dismounted and climbed the steps, a bit startled when the door opened before he could reach it. Theo winked at him, then bowed deeply. “Lord Trowbridge.”
Theo had come ahead, in order to assess the situation at the manor, hire a new cook and housekeeper, and make sure the house was ready for its master’s return.
Christian managed to stop himself from bowing in return, instead lifting his chin and crossing the threshold into a vast echoing hallway with a black and white checkered marble floor, grand columns, and priceless artwork hung upon the fancy flocked wallpaper.
“I’ll give you a tour of the place later, but for now, just follow me to the drawing room, and I’ll have some refreshments brought to you,” Theo instructed under his breath.
Christian nodded and followed his uncle to a fancy room done up in various shades of blue. A few stiff-looking sofas were arranged in front of a marble fireplace, and a grand piano sat in one corner.
Trying not to show how out-of-place he felt, he settled on one of the sofas. “Is everything going well here?”
His uncle smiled. “I’ve made a few changes to the staff, my lord. The place was in terrible condition when I arrived. But I’m sure that the new housekeeper will have things well in hand within a fortnight.”
Christian breathed a silent sigh of relief. Anyone who’d known his brother well was gone, leaving only a new staff who wouldn’t question his identity. People see what they expect to see.
Theo had better manners than most of the ton could ever hope for, and he’d coached Christian incessantly over the past few months. As long as he acted the part of a gentleman, there was no reason for anyone to think that he wasn’t one. At least, that’s what his uncle had tried to convince him and what he’d told himself during the long ride down from London.
Theo placed his hand upon Christian’s uninjured shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “The hard part is over,” he murmured quietly. “You’re in a safe place now.”
Christian nodded, a strange surge of unwanted emotion rising within him. After three years of war and deprivation, the idea of a safe, comfortable home of his own seemed too good to be true. He wanted nothing more than to simply make his way to his bedchamber and sleep for days. The exhaustion he felt was not that of the body but of the soul.
The ride up from London had seemed endless, and he’d never been on horseback for so long. His shoulder still ached, even though he’d sustained the wound months ago now.
He cleared his throat and pushed to his feet. “Show me to my room, please.” He was too tired to try and play the lord this evening. He didn’t want to take his dinner all alone at a table meant for more than a dozen. Lowering his voice, he met his uncle’s concerned gaze. “Tomorrow you can show me around, and we’ll discuss how to make this place profitable. But for now, I just need to rest.”
“WAKE UP.”
Christian fought his way back to consciousness, frowning when he saw Theo
leaning over him, concern etched upon his features. “What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, pushing himself to a sitting position.
Theo produced a crisp white envelope, and Christian immediately saw his brother’s name etched on the front of it.
“What is that?” he asked groggily, his heart still hammering from being woken from such a deep sleep. He glanced toward the window and saw sunlight streaming in, but he was so disorientated he didn’t know whether it was late afternoon or if he’d slept the night through and it was now morning. “What time is it?”
“It’s nine in the morning, and this is an invitation to lunch,” Theo said grimly, and Christian noticed that the envelope had already been opened.
“Who sent it?” Christian asked, still stunned that he’d slept more than twelve hours.
“Lady Rebecca Davenport,” Theo answered, sinking into a chair beside Christian’s bed. “And before you ask, I have no idea who she is.” He handed over the envelope, and Christian took it gingerly.
He pulled out the fancy ivory notecard inside and read the message.
Dearest Andrew,
I saw you riding toward Trowbridge Manor yesterday afternoon. I am so glad that you are finally home. I think we should discuss the understanding between us as soon as possible. Would you please come to lunch at Riverbend Hall?
Yours always,
Rebecca
Christian read the note twice, then blinked up at Theo. “They have an understanding? I thought you said that he wasn’t close to anyone here.”
“Perhaps she’s his mistress.”
“A lady?” Christian knew very little about the upper class, but his idea of innocent society ladies didn’t seem to fit the role of mistress.
“Perhaps she’s a widow,” Theo suggested.
Some of the anxiety swirling in Christian’s stomach eased. “Yes, that makes sense. But what should I do? Surely, his mistress would be able to tell the difference between us if anyone could.”
Theo shrugged, his own obvious panic seeming to ease as well. “It’s been at least three years since they last saw each other. Little details are forgotten. If she asks you anything you’re uncertain about, tell her that you received a head injury in the war. Perhaps you should give her a hefty payment and end the arrangement gently.”
Christian frowned. “I think I’ll just send my regrets. Surely, she’ll understand if I tell her that I’m tired from the trip.”
“What man home after years at war would turn down an invitation from his mistress?” Theo asked, his dark eyes intense. “You need to proceed the way that Andrew would have, and I sincerely doubt that he would have turned down this invitation.”
Scrubbing his face with his hands, Christian sighed. He had no wish to meet with Andrew’s mistress. It seemed far more an invasion of his brother’s life than anything had so far. For the first time, he’d be confronted with someone who’d actually know Andrew well, perhaps even loved him.
Theo shook his head and got to his feet. “What do you want me to do, lad?”
“Send her a note saying I’ll attend,” Christian said, his prior sense of unease returning. “You’re right. I need to break things off with her.”
“I’ll have a bath brought up then,” Theo agreed. “You’ll need to look your best.”
The thought of a hot bath was somewhat heartening after his time on the road, but he dreaded the thought of donning the ridiculously elaborate clothing Theo had insisted he buy and engaging in a conversation with a woman he did not know. However, he’d known that something like this might happen, and he had to deal with it now if he was ever going to be able to continue this charade.
Not for the first time, he wondered if he was making a horrible mistake. Were the benefits of the money and title worth living a lie? Everything had seemed so easy in the beginning, when it had been a question of receiving better medical care, but now that Theo was involved, he felt pressured to continue not just for himself but for his uncle.
“Tell me what I should wear,” he said in resignation. It was going to be a long day.
REBECCA PACED NERVOUSLY in her sitting room as she waited for Andrew’s arrival. Three long years had passed since they’d last seen each other, and she had absolutely no idea what they’d say to each other now. Their engagement had been made from duty, nothing more, and she’d never had any false illusions that he cared for her in the slightest. Truthfully, she didn’t particularly care for him either.
“One would think that you were excited to see him,” Sabrina said teasingly, though she was very aware that Rebecca wasn’t. Since Rebecca had no siblings and her mother had died when she was very young, she treasured her cousin like a sister and told her things she’d never tell anyone else.
Sighing, Rebecca sank into the chair across from her cousin. “I’m nervous,” she admitted. “I want to move forward with wedding plans, but if he felt the same, he would have written to me more often while he was away. How long has he been back in England? Why didn’t he let me know he’d returned?”
Sabrina grimaced and shook her head. “I wish your father had given you a choice when it came to your future. You should have been in London with me the last few years, having your first Season and dancing in sparkling ballrooms until dawn.”
The images Sabrina described filled Rebecca with longing, but she’d long ago accepted that she wouldn’t get to partake in such things as an unmarried girl. One of the main reasons she wanted to go ahead with her marriage was so she could finally head to London as a wife, free to join the endless rounds of entertainment on offer during the Season.
“Well, that’s neither here nor there,” Rebecca said, determined to stay focused on the matter at hand. “Surely, he’ll want to set the wedding as soon as possible? Don’t you think?”
“I don’t know.” Sabrina bit her lip and avoided Rebecca’s gaze. “Having been so long at war, he might want to... sow his wild oats for a while first.”
Rebecca laughed bitterly. “I’d imagine that he’s sown plenty of oats in the past few years. But he’s the last of his line. It’s his duty to settle down and secure an heir.”
“Yes, but he has no one pushing him to do so. Without any parents or siblings left, he may not care much about doing his duty.” Sabrina reached forward and squeezed Rebecca’s hand. “I’m not trying to hurt you, dear. I just want you to be prepared for disappointment.”
Nodding, Rebecca blinked away a sudden burn of tears. Before she could say more, they heard a commotion outside as a guest arrived. The dogs started barking, and her butler opened the front door.
The two women shared a quick glance, and Sabrina squeezed Rebecca’s hand once more before letting her go. “Chin up,” Sabrina whispered. “You’re an amazing woman, and he’d be a fool not to set your wedding as soon as the banns can be read.”
Rebecca gave her cousin a grateful smile, then smoothed her skirts and tried to look as calm and serene as possible. She would not give Andrew the satisfaction of knowing how much his inattention had bothered her.
Long moments passed, but at last, the butler entered the room, followed by her wayward fiancé. Rebecca blinked, taking him in. She’d always thought Andrew was a handsome man, but his years at war had changed him. Andrew Bradford had been a lanky lad when he’d left, but he’d returned a broad-shouldered man with a commanding presence he’d lacked before. His inky black hair was overlong and fell in soft waves around his gorgeous square-jawed face, and his brilliant green eyes seemed to spear right through her.
“Lord Andrew Bradford, Viscount Trowbridge, my lady,” her butler intoned, before bowing and leaving the room.
Silence fell for a moment, as Andrew looked between Rebecca and Sabrina, a slight frown of confusion settling upon his full lips.
Why didn’t I remember how good looking he is?
Giving herself a fierce mental shake, she forced herself to take control of the situation and ignore the strange surge of attraction she’d felt upon first sight of
him. “Lord Trowbridge. Have you met my cousin, Lady Sabrina? She’s here to chaperone me, since my father is in London.”
“Chaperone?” Andrew asked, looking even more confused. He cleared his throat and stepped farther into the room, nodding in Sabrina’s direction. “Forgive me. I was wounded several months ago at Waterloo, and my memory has been spotty ever since. If we’ve met, Lady Sabrina, I’m afraid I can’t remember it.”
“Wounded?” Sabrina cried, gazing at him sympathetically. “We had no idea. Please, do sit down.”
Rebecca frowned, feeling terrible for the simmering anger she’d been harboring for this man who’d been away fighting for their country. No wonder he hadn’t written! The poor man must have suffered horribly.
“I’m so sorry, Andrew,” she murmured, as he took a seat between her and Sabrina. “Were you hurt badly?”
He stretched one of his long legs out in front of him. “I took some shrapnel in the leg.” His gloved hand grazed his right thigh, drawing her gaze to the hard muscle encased in soft buff trousers. Then he winced and sat properly once again. “A saber wound to the shoulder. And, of course, the head injury. I woke up on the hospital ship, on my way home, with no idea how long I’d been unconscious or what had happened to me.”
She stared at him, drinking him in, still a bit stunned by the changes in him. Her memories of Andrew were that he’d always been a bit of a dandy, a peacock of a man, whose voice had grated on her nerves as he droned on about dogs and hunting. But now his clothing, though expensive and well-tailored to fit his muscular frame, was subdued shades of brown, and his deep voice charmed her.
“You’re a hero!” Sabrina declared, obviously charmed as well.
“No,” he said quickly. “Not a hero, my lady. Not at all.”
Again, Rebecca blinked. The Andrew she’d known would have demanded that he be treated like a hero, not ducked his head and denied it.
