“The thing of it is,” Maitland said with a laugh, “you care too much what others think. I get the sense that you consider the responses of those around you before you make the least little step. I’ve learned to live my life without giving a damn. And I’ve managed well enough so far.”
“Yes,” Quill argued, “but you’ve had no one to answer to but your mother since you were in short coats. Having a father with a sharp tongue and a cane at the ready will make a man learn to think before he acts.”
“From what I’ve heard, my father was just as headstrong as I am,” the duke said cheerfully. “So it’s doubtful he’d have been the steadying influence you think. Like Lady Daphne and Miss Hastings on the subject of fortune tellers, however, I suspect we will never reconcile our opinions on the matter, so let us dispense with this talk of fathers and discipline.”
“With pleasure,” Quill said, taking his hat from Greaves. “Though I will add that I plan on striking out for Oxford this evening and I would ask that you keep a watchful eye over Miss Wareham. She has proved to be levelheaded thus far, but the quest for Lady Celeste’s poisoner may prod her into acting rashly in my absence.”
“You think there’s danger afoot, then?” Maitland asked, frowning. “I thought poisoners were generally too timid to strike out physically.”
“I suspect that’s the case,” Quill agreed, grateful that he could speak openly about Celeste’s murder with at least one member of his family, since he’d yet to inform Serena about the real cause of their aunt’s demise. “But I cannot think that the questions we’ve been asking will go unnoticed. And if I’m gone, that will leave Ivy alone.”
Maitland had only the chance to nod before they were joined by the ladies filing down the stairs, having added hats and coats for the cross-country walk.
Chapter 23
“I missed you this morning,” Ivy said in a low voice as she and Quill walked behind the others along the path leading to the field where Elsie had claimed to find the gypsy fortune teller. “Though I suppose it would not have done for Polly to find you in my bed.”
It had come as a shock to her how painful his absence had been to her. Whether it was because of the vulnerability she felt after giving herself to him so fully, or simply because she was beginning to want him with her whatever the circumstances, she didn’t know. The stark reality had been that she woke alone in her bed, and hadn’t liked it one bit.
“Not that we haven’t created enough scandal in the household to last a year’s time,” Quill said with a grin, “but, yes I did not risk having your maid find me. It may take only a day or two for the news from the Northman’s dinner party to travel to the staff at Beauchamp House, but by that time, I hope to have settled things with your father and have a special license in hand.”
“So you will travel to Oxford?” she asked, her stomach twisting at the notion of how her father would response to Quill’s arrival. Alton Wareham might have been born as the son of the Duke of Ware, but he had little respect for the aristocracy, an institution he declared an affront to the common people. He didn’t use his courtesy title, and he would greet the news that Ivy was to marry a marquess as nothing short of a disaster.
His response would be more cheerful if she announced she were to marry a bootblack.
“Is that strictly necessary?” she asked Quill, not quite knowing how to bring up the subject of her father’s feelings about the peerage. “After all, isn’t it customary to use the special license, then announce the marriage to the family?”
Quill frowned. “I’m not sure it’s wise to use the word ‘customary’ when it comes to situations like ours. I rather think it changes from circumstance to circumstance.” He searched her face. “Is there some reason why you would rather I not speak with your father? I must admit it is not something I am looking forward to, but I assumed that was part of my penance.”
“Penance?” Ivy asked frowning.
“For ruining you,” he said simply.
Of course he thought in those terms, Ivy fumed.
“I am not a side of beef or a keg of small beer to be ruined,” she said through clenched teeth. “And I will thank you for not speaking of me as if I am.”
A flicker of impatience crossed his handsome face. “I do not think of you like that,” he said. “But it is how the rest of the world will speak of it. Especially if they learn about what happened in Northman’s hall last night. I understand your dislike of the way the world discusses such things, but it is pointless to argue about wording when we must focus on practicalities.”
“My opinion on the subject,” Ivy said coldly, “is not pointless. Words like ‘ruined,’ and ‘compromised’ reinforce the idea that ladies are commodities, and I ask that you do not use them around me. Or at all, if we are being frank. It only perpetuates these archaic notions, and the sooner men in power—men like you, as a peer of the realm—begin changing how you speak of it, the sooner such things will cease to matter.”
“But they do matter, Ivy,” he argued. “I understand why you object to the terms, but you would sooner force the moon to go round the sun than convince a father that his daughter’s innocence is worth nothing. It’s why there are dowries and laws of succession for God’s sake.”
Understanding dawned in Ivy. “So it’s because you think my father will offer a dowry that you wish to see him?” she asked, aghast.
“Don’t be absurd,” Quill said dismissively. “I don’t need your father’s money. But if you wish to have a widow’s portion or provisions for our children, it would do some good for us to sit down and make some decisions. Not that I don’t mean to speak to my man of business about that regardless. But it would be good for you to have a man there to look out for your interests besides me.”
“Well, excuse me for forgetting who I’m dealing with,” Ivy snapped. “I forgot to whom I was speaking. Of course you have no need of my father’s money. But he will likely accept whatever bride price you choose to pay him. He might reject the notion of the peerage in theory but he is not above taking their money. Even when it means giving it to the man who ‘ruined’ his daughter.”
“Ivy,” Quill said, thrusting a hand through his hair, “be reasonable. If you do not wish me to meet with your father before the marriage, then I will not do so. But I don’t understand why you are so angry about this. So far as I can tell, my sin is that I used a word you do not like—which you just used by the way—and I dared suggest that your father might ask for a settlement on hearing of our impending marriage. Is that the whole of it?”
“That was sarcasm you silly man,” she hissed. “And stop making me sound like the one at fault here.”
He shrugged as if to say “but you are,” and Ivy wanted to shriek. Why were men so obtuse?
“I’m going to go up ahead and speak with the other ladies,” she said curtly. “We will finish discussing this later.”
Not caring what his response to that would be, she hurried up to join the others, leaving Quill to stare after her.
* * *
“That looked unpleasant,” said Maitland, who had lingered so that Quill could catch up with him. “In your lady’s black books already?”
“Nothing so dire,” Quill responded thoughtfully. I hope, he added silently to himself. He wasn’t quite sure where Ivy’s ire had sprung from, but he had little doubt it stemmed from her feelings about her father. As a man whose relationship with his own father had been strained at best, he could relate. But he’d been unable to even mention it thanks to her tirade about commodities, and kegs of beer, and all that rot.
“Maitland,” he asked now, watching as the four women up ahead leaned their heads together and spoke in low voices—doubtless talking about the perfidy of men and plotting for ways to have him roasted on a spit before nightfall, “have you ever considered that by calling a lady ‘ruined’ when she’s been…” He searched for a word that conveyed the meaning of ruined but could come up with nothing that worked so well as it did.
“Breached?” his cousin asked, eyebrows raised. “Sullied? Tupped? Prematurely drunk?”
“Compromised,” Quill said tightly. He should have known better than to ask Maitland’s opinion. He lacked the gravitas necessary for such a conversation. Though to be fair, he suspected most men would make the same sorts of quips. Men simply didn’t take the matter as seriously as women did. But he pressed on because he had to talk to someone about it. “Did you ever consider that by using those terms, it unfairly places ladies in the same light as beef and corn and other commodities?”
“I’m not sure how unfair it is,” Maitland said with a shrug, “but if you ask any man who’s been forced to pay through the nose for the honor of marrying the lady he’s … compromised, then I suspect he’d say it’s accurate enough.” He glanced at his cousin with a frown. “Why, has Miss Wareham been smarting over the fact that she’s no longer … ah … as she once was?”
“She just flew into a rage because I mentioned my intention of speaking to her father before I get the special license,” Quill said pettishly. “As if the man didn’t have the right to at least hear it from my own mouth that I took her innocence. Not in so many words of course. I don’t have a death wish. But you would have thought I told her I was going to bring the bloody sheets as you said earlier. She was livid at the idea there was anything to tell beyond that we’re marrying. As if a father hasn’t got a right to know.”
“Not to mention the effect it might have on her sisters’ chances,” Maitland said practically. “Though that’s something her mama is more likely to cut up rough about.”
“Right,” Quill said, feeling a much-needed sense of vindication. Perhaps Maitland wasn’t the wrong man to speak to about this after all. “I thought it was perfectly natural that I would explain to Mr. Wareham what I intended to do right by her despite the fact that we’d anticipated the vows, and instead I was met with fury and recriminations. Then when I brought up the dowry. Well, you can guess how well that was received.”
“I am sorry old chap,” Maitland said, clapping him on the back. “I thought Miss Wareham was a sensible creature, but you can never tell with bluestockings. They get their backs up about the queerest things. Lady Daphne ripped up at me last night because I confused Pythagoras and that other maths chappie. You know the one, the Greek one who’s not Pythagoras?”
“Euclid?” Quill asked, amused despite himself.
“That’s the one.” Maitland beamed. “You would have thought I’d said up was down, day was night, and the moon was made of Christmas pudding to see Lady Daphne’s reaction. I thought she’d never speak to me again.”
“But she did?” Quill guessed.
“Of course,” Maitland said with a shrug, and a gesture from his head to his toes, as if to say, “Who could resist this?”
What must it be like to live such a charmed life, Quill thought wryly. If he didn’t realize just how seriously his cousin took his ducal responsibilities despite his savoir-faire, he’d be green with envy. Though there was the fact that he and not Maitland had won Ivy. Despite their spat, he was as infatuated with her as ever. And despite the ease with which they’d got along so far, it was not unexpected that they’d disagree about something. Couples bickered. It was the way they solved their disagreements that mattered.
They’d reached the edge of a clearing by now, and beyond the four ladies who walked ahead of them he could see a colorful gypsy caravan in a little copse of trees.
So much for a gypsy encampment.
This appeared to be a gypsy camper.
Singular.
The ladies waited for them near a horse chestnut tree that was sporting a few bursts of green in honor of the chilly spring.
“It’s much smaller than I expected,” Sophia said with a pout as Quill and Maitland reached them. “I was hoping for a carnival at the very least.”
“Or some handsome gypsy men,” Lady Daphne said with a frown. “Since the fortune teller will be useless for anything practical.”
“I wish to get the recipe she used in Lady Celeste’s tisanes,” Ivy reminded her with a roll of her eyes, which to Quill’s relief, she shared with him. Like a joke that only they shared.
“I know,” Daphne said with a wave of her hand. “But that seems just as foolish as seeking your fortune.”
“You would not say so, I think, Lady Daphne,” Quill said, happy when Ivy slipped her arm through his, “if you suffered from the same headaches my aunt did. And indeed that Miss Wareham does.”
They had agreed upon the fiction that Ivy needed the recipe for her own personal use. Since she’d known the other ladies for a couple of days, they could hardly dispute the matter.
“Poor Ivy,” said Gemma with a sympathetic smile. “I know how horrid they can be. I suffer from them myself at times. So I’m just as eager for the recipe. Even if I do agree with Daphne about the fortune telling.”
“Well none of you will make me ashamed to ask her for my fortune,” Sophia said with a dignified sniff. “For I wish to know what’s to come even if the rest of you don’t.”
“And I’ll join you, Miss Hastings,” said Maitland with a grin as he took her arm.
Quill couldn’t help but note that Lady Daphne’s eyes narrowed at the way his cousin was making so free with Sophia’s arm. If they weren’t careful, Maitland would have the two ladies fighting over him. Though if he didn’t mistake his guess, Miss Hastings was only being friendly. She had a romantic nature, but there seemed to be nothing beyond friendship in her manner with the duke.
They approached the caravan and soon saw that an old woman sat in a little chair just outside the red-and-green-and-yellow-painted house on wheels, laddered steps leading into the interior just behind her.
“What brings you to Madame Albinia?” she asked, rising with some difficulty as they approached. “A fortune for the ladies? A tonic for the gentlemen?”
As they got closer, Quill saw that she was older than he’d first thought. Her wizened face had seen many years in the sun, and her fingers were twisted with arthritis. But her black eyes were bright enough, and if he didn’t miss his guess she’d not failed to notice that Sophia at least was eager to have her fortune told.
“We were told by the maid at one of the manor houses nearby that you have a tonic for the headache,” Ivy said with a smile as she stepped closer to the woman. “I was wondering if I might speak to you about what goes into it?”
“That is valuable knowledge, lady,” said the old woman with a wave of her hand. “Some pay me well to give them the secrets of my years of potion-making and physicking.”
Wordlessly, Quill flipped a half crown in the woman’s direction, which she caught with an agility that belied her age. “The ladies would like to have their fortunes told as well,” he said with a nod that indicated the coin included that as well.
After biting the coin to ensure its value, the woman nodded. “Fortunes first, then tonic.”
Resuming her seat by the fire, she had the young ladies approach her one by one—even Daphne, who despite her earlier derision appeared to be just as eager as Sophia had been—and told them things that Quill suspected were calculated to be both probable and vague. Daphne would soon search for a very valuable thing, but to find it she would risk her greatest love. Sophia would meet a handsome stranger who would make her choose between love and happiness. And Gemma would go on a great quest where she would best a strong man.
Each of the ladies heard her fortune with what looked to Quill like genuine excitement. And there was something otherworldly about the way the old woman held each girl’s hand in hers and closed her eyes as if summoning some invisible spirits to her side, who then whispered each fortune in her ear.
When Gemma stepped back and Ivy stepped forward, however, the woman raised her hand and stood.
“You wished for the tonic, yes?” she said with a nod, as if answering her own question. “You will come into the vardo.” As if the matter were settled, she t
urned and began to make her way slowly up the steps leading into the colorful wagon.
“No,” Quill said, staying Ivy with a hand on her arm. They had no notion of who had poisoned his aunt yet. For all they knew the tonic had been poisoned when the old woman had given it to Elsie for her mistress. “She can bring it out here.”
But Ivy waved away his concern. “You’re right here. It’s not as if she’s taking me across the sea. And if it will make you easier, I promise not to ingest anything while I’m inside.”
She made sense, but he still felt a pang of uneasiness at the idea.
“Do you come, lady?” the old woman asked from the doorway of the caravan where she stood waiting.
Ivy squeezed his hand then stepped forward to carefully climb the laddered stairs.
Chapter 24
The inside of the caravan, or vardo as the old woman had called it, was just as colorful as the outside, with gilded scrollwork and decoration on every surface. There was a neatly made bed on a platform at the back and shelves on either of the long walls that Ivy could see were stacked with all sorts of things, including what looked like herbs and various powders.
She expected the old woman to take out a bottle of the tonic before giving her the same sort of vague fortune as she’d given the others. But instead, almost as soon as she stepped inside, Madame Albinia took her hand and scowled down at it.
“Is there something amiss?” Ivy asked after a few minutes passed during which Madame Albinia muttered words in what Ivy guessed was the Romani language.
As if she were being brought out of trance, the old woman looked up, blinking, her eyes still lit from within. Finally, shaking like a dog after being caught in the rain, she said in a fervent voice, “You are in great danger, lady. Great danger. You must leave this place at once. Take your man and go. Do not come back.”
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