“You should tell him your choice,” Violet said, keeping the mysterious note in her voice. “He needs to know.”
“I will. Yes, I will.” The young woman’s eyes glowed. “Thank you.”
“Now me.” Lady Victoria slid herself into the seat, forcing her pleased friend out of it. “I want to know if I have a handsome husband in my future too.” Her look turned sly. “Someone Scottish, perhaps?”
The French girl giggled. “She wishes you to tell her she will marry the Scottish man Daniel Mackenzie. She is, as the English say, gone on him.”
Violet’s mouth went dry. Lady Victoria smiled a knowing smile, waiting for Violet to tell her what she wanted to hear. Violet had only to touch the girl’s palm and say that yes, her husband would be tall, handsome, and Scottish. Lady Victoria would go away feeling smug and leave Violet alone.
But another glimpse of Daniel made Violet’s heart pound. He was in the hall again, speaking to the hostess. Being gallant and charming, no doubt, excelling at it. He could charm paint off the walls.
Violet’s anger surged. She traced the lines on Lady Victoria’s palm with a light finger. “I can tell you only what I see.”
Lady Victoria leaned forward, eager, and in the background, Daniel laughed, the sound warm and smooth.
“You will not find love where you assume,” Violet said, trying to shut out the laughter. “It might take you a long while to find love at all, and you might have to go far. You might think it hard, but from this hardship will come strength.”
Lady Victoria’s blond brows slammed together, and she snatched her hand away. “I don’t like that fortune.”
Violet shrugged, trying to look indifferent. “That is your destiny.” She truly had seen that in the girl’s palm—the lines read exactly as the Romany woman had taught her. “What we like or do not like is not of interest to Fate.”
Lady Victoria got huffily to her feet. “It’s all nonsense anyway. Fortune-telling is lies. I’ll wager you’re not even a real Gypsy.”
Violet drew herself up with all the dignity of her Romany teacher. “I was born in a field in eastern Romania. My mother was Romany. My father . . . who knows? That is my lineage.”
Lady Victoria had a mean light in her eyes that her dark-haired English friend didn’t notice, but the comtesse’s daughter did. As Lady Victoria strode away, the comtesse’s daughter dropped two coins into Violet’s bowl and thanked her. Lady Victoria hadn’t bothered to leave a tip.
When they’d gone, Violet balled her fists in her lap and drew long breaths. She heard Daniel laugh again. She both wanted to push the sound away and grab it and wrap it around her.
No one approached the corner for a moment, so Violet took the opportunity to close her eyes and try to compose herself. There was no use being upset. The world wouldn’t change for Violet because she had one nice day out in a balloon.
The soft young ladies who were now clustered together like a clump of butterflies were the sort of ladies Daniel would marry, and that was the way of it. The titled classes intermarried, striving to keep money and property circulating amongst themselves. A business arrangement. The debutantes might believe this man or that in love with them, but what the gentleman usually saw was a deb’s dowry or title, or perhaps the influence of her family.
When a debutante followed her heart with a man not of her privileged world, scandal and ruin ensued. Likewise, when a highborn gentleman married below his class, that wife was never truly welcome in the family. She could be ridiculed and shunned. And a stern father could banish a son who didn’t marry to his pleasure.
Violet had seen such things time and again while doing performances in the big houses. Theirs was a closed world. Transgressors were harshly dealt with.
But witnessing Daniel in this setting, especially when she saw the comtesse stop him and introduce the three girls to him, made Violet want to be sick.
If she could get through this night, she’d do her best to come to her senses, return to being Princess Ivanova until the end of the month, and then decide where she and her mother should go. Violet would have the memory of two lovely days to savor, and then they’d be gone, lost in the mists of might-have-been.
She opened her eyes as two eager young men approached her, and smiled at them, forcing herself into her role again.
“We’ve practically known each other forever, do you not think?” Lady Victoria Garfield said over the orchestra as Daniel whirled her in the waltz. “We have so many mutual acquaintances, people I’ve known and you’ve known for all our lives, even if this is the first time of us meeting.”
Daniel had hoped that spinning Lady Vic around fast enough would stop her talking, but it wasn’t to be. This young lady could chatter over a barrage of artillery fire.
He should feel sorry for her, really. The comtesse had told Ainsley that Lady Victoria hadn’t taken in her first two Seasons, so her mother had sent her to France to try her luck. Seeing the rather mad ruthlessness in Lady Vic’s eyes, Daniel couldn’t blame the English aristos for fleeing the other way. In a few years, Lady Vic would be a redoubtable matron, commanding her husband with the firm hand of a determined sergeant major.
A man needs to see a little warmth in a smile, Daniel wanted to advise her. Not an obvious calculation of what she hopes to gain for herself.
Contrasting Lady Vic’s predatory stalking to Violet’s open-eyed excitement was unfair to poor little Lady Vic, but Daniel couldn’t help himself.
How long could he stay before his departure wouldn’t be considered rude? He didn’t want to embarrass Ainsley, but he needed to go. He’d make his way back down to town, knock on the door of a boardinghouse, and take Violet out anywhere she wanted to go—a restaurant, a cabaret, a theatre. Hell, they could walk down to the strand and watch street performers; he wasn’t bothered.
“And the comtesse brought in the most marvelous fortune-teller,” Lady Vic was saying. She squeezed Daniel’s shoulder. “Do you want to guess what she said? About me? And maybe about you?”
Daniel’s scattered thoughts roared together. “Fortune-teller, you say?”
“Yes, a Gypsy lady. Very proud of herself, she is. But guess what she said about me.”
“That you’ll travel far and marry a handsome man?” Daniel said distractedly.
“How did you know? Not only a handsome man, but a handsome Scottish man.”
Could the dear girl be any less subtle? “Where is this fortune-teller?”
“In the drawing room.” Lady Victoria’s smile widened. When the waltz ended, she latched her fingers tightly on to Daniel’s arm and all but dragged him out of the ballroom to the drawing room.
The fortune-teller had skin the color of milk-laden tea, wore a voluminous blouse held in place with a black corsetlike bodice, and had covered her head in a closely tied red scarf. Gold rings decorated her slim fingers, and a necklace of coins clinked around her neck.
Her eyes were the same dark blue as when she’d first looked up at Daniel in the house in London, her hands the same gentle ones that had lit the candles.
Violet saw Daniel, took in Lady Vic hanging on his arm, and didn’t miss a beat. She smiled the dark, mysterious smile of a Romany woman, and gestured to the chairs. “Would you like to know your future?” she asked. Her voice was dusky, low. “For but a coin in my bowl, I can reveal all.”
Chapter 15
Daniel’s eyes sparkled with mirth, but he kept his face straight. Lady Victoria plopped herself into a chair and tugged Daniel into another.
He was here, where Violet could reach out and touch him. In spite of Lady Victoria’s presence, Violet saw only Daniel, the chatter of the debutante like the buzz of an annoying insect.
“He wants to know all about his future,” Lady Victoria said. “Especially in regard to his married future.”
The sparkle in Daniel’s eyes turned mischievous. “Aye, tell me something that will put my poor old dad’s mind at ease.”
Violet noted that hi
s accent had become different, less Highland and more working-class Glaswegian. She was good at accents, and Daniel, it seemed, was too.
Violet pushed her bowl toward him. “You must gift me with silver first.”
“How about gold?” Daniel reached into his pocket and dropped a gold sovereign to the top of the lesser coins in the bowl. “That way you’ll give me a very guid fortune.”
“That is English money, my lord,” Violet said. “This is France.”
“A bank will change it for you. And I’m not a lord. Never will be. Just plain Mr. Mackenzie is me.”
He tugged off his glove and laid his hand, palm up, on the table. No soft dandy was Daniel. As Violet had seen on their adventure, he had no qualms about stripping off his gloves and working with his hands. His palms and fingers bore plenty of calluses. Violet recalled how his blunt fingertips had felt when he’d caressed her in the bed, touching her with such gentleness.
Violet rested her finger on the pad below Daniel’s forefinger. Bare skin to bare skin. She could hardly breathe. Even this contact, so small, made her blood run hot.
She couldn’t do this. If she continued touching him, she’d make a complete fool of herself. And possibly she might not care.
Violet let out her breath and lifted her hand from Daniel’s. She pulled the heavy crystal in its stand between them, and Daniel leaned forward, interested.
“What do you do with this?” He touched the sphere. “Test frequencies?”
“For such a deep fortune, I must look into the crystal,” Violet said. “But I must warn you, it does not always tell you what you wish to hear.”
“I’m willing to risk it.”
Still Daniel didn’t smile, but the wickedness in his eyes made Violet want to laugh. He was doing it again, putting Violet into his full focus, making her forget he trained that focus on anyone else.
“You’ll like it,” Lady Victoria said. “You’ll see.” Gone was the girl’s conviction that Violet was a fake. And if she clung to Daniel’s arm any harder, he was in danger of her peeling off his skin right through his coat.
Violet moved her hands over the crystal as she’d been taught, making her movements languid. She peered into the depth of the clear quartz, frowning a little as though she saw something besides the heart of the stone. “Hmm.”
She looked a while longer, making her expression so troubled that Lady Victoria leaned forward worriedly. “Good heavens, what is it?”
Violet gave a dramatic shiver. She made a sign against evil to the crystal, then sat up and rested her hands on the table.
“I’m afraid it is not good, Mr. Mackenzie.”
Daniel’s brows went up. “No? Shall I buy my da a mourning suit? Give my stepma a lock of me hair for a mourning brooch?”
“No, indeed.” The thought, even though he was playacting, made Violet grow cold. She’d thought him dead in London, and that had upset her, but things were different now. Now she knew Daniel. He’d carved his way into her life, and losing him would be hard, too hard.
“What then?” Daniel asked in genuine curiosity.
Violet looked into the crystal again and shook her head. “I see poverty, I’m afraid, Mr. Mackenzie. Bone deep. You shivering in tiny rooms, a fire barely going. There’s a man—you owe him money. He’s beaten you and left you alone. But . . . ah . . . here is a woman. Your helpmeet, I think, though she is dressed in rags. Yes, she holds you, she weeps over you. You try to comfort her, but know you cannot. She is very pretty, this wife. Or once was. Her hair is blond . . .” Violet trailed off, moving her hand over the crystal as though trying to wave away the mists inside.
Lady Victoria had gone pale. “That’s not a true vision. Mr. Mackenzie is ever so rich, and so is his father.”
“Lost,” Violet said, making her voice dramatically low. “Everything lost. And his father casting him out.”
“Aye.” Daniel sat back, shaking his head, the Glaswegian accent growing with every word. “It could come true. My gambling habit most like. I can’t get a bit of coin between me fingers I don’t want to toss on a horse or a turn of cards. I thought if I married a rich lady, it might help. But if your vision is real . . .”
Lady Victoria made a pained noise and let go of Daniel’s arm. “Of course it isn’t real. She’s a fake. I said so.”
Daniel looked bewildered. “No, ye said she was the real thing. But she’s likely right. I’d run through me poor wife’s fortune like it was wa’er.”
“Honestly.” Lady Victoria rose to her feet, and Daniel, ever the gentleman, rose with her. Lady Victoria glared at Violet. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. You don’t know anything. Excuse me, Mr. Mackenzie, I must attend my hostess.”
She glided away, head high, but her feet moved quickly. Daniel saved his laughter until she’d gone out the door and into the bright hall.
“You’re a wicked, mischievous minx, you are,” Daniel said, sitting down again. His smile was the warmest thing Violet had felt all night. “What am I to do with you?”
She kept up her Romany persona. “I must speak what I see.”
Daniel chuckled. “Do you know what I see?”
Violet dropped the Romany accent and spoke in haughty, blue-blooded English tones. “I cannot imagine, Mr. Mackenzie.”
Daniel slid the crystal on its stand toward him and peered into it with an expression so like that of the woman who’d taught Violet, she couldn’t stop her laughter.
“I see a young woman wrapped in crimson scarves, meeting with a young man. He seems to be wearing a kilt, he does. And they’re . . . on a terrace. Interesting. When the clock strikes the half hour.”
Violet’s voice was tight. “You can see that far ahead, can you?”
Daniel took a watch from his pocket, opened it, and nodded. “The half hour. Eighteen minutes from now. Let’s see if the fortune comes true, shall we?”
He slid the watch back into his waistcoat, winked, rose, and strolled away, leaving Violet alone and breathless.
Daniel watched Violet step out of the house to the terrace on the half hour exactly, and something tight eased in him. She’d bundled up in a big shawl over her costume, smart girl. The wind was icy.
Daniel blessed his good fortune. He hadn’t thought she’d come.
He’d had to waltz with a few more debutantes before he could break away. He’d excused himself to smoke, and he’d heard the comtesse praise his good manners to Ainsley as he walked away.
Daniel had quickly passed the room set aside for gentlemen with cigars and whiskey, and emerged onto the terrace. Because it was frigidly cold, he was the only one of the party who’d dared the out-of-doors. He’d lit a cigar for verisimilitude and sucked its smoke while waiting.
Daniel said nothing as Violet scanned the terrace then turned her steps toward him. Closer and closer, the moonlight in the clear sky touching her face and the red of her kerchief. She’d put something on her face to make her skin darker, but Violet’s eyes were just as blue behind the outline of kohl.
“I think you lost me a potential wife in there,” Daniel said lightly when he reached her. “Who’s going to help me in me old age now?”
Violet raised a brow. “Are you disparaging my ability to predict the future? The husband I saw for Lady Victoria was English, thin, and balding, with nothing to say but yes, dear, a hundred times a day.”
Daniel burst out laughing. “I think you’ve hit on it. She’ll be happy as a lark.” He held his cigar out of the way and slid his arm around her waist. “Hell, Violet, you are ten times the woman of any here. Why do you do this?”
Violet looked up at him, she utterly confident, strong, and unflinching, this wonderful lady. “To make a living, of course.”
“You don’t need to, not like this. Putting up with insipid lords and ladies begging you to tell them that their perfect little lives will go on being perfect. Stop doing it, Vi. They don’t deserve you. Promise me no more fortune-telling.”
Violet didn’t look impres
sed. “The comtesse has paid me a rather large fee. Plus I have all my tips.”
“Why do you need the money so badly? What did you do with the wad you stole from me? Spend it at the horse races?”
Now Violet blinked. She flushed behind her makeup. “I did take a little of the money you had in your pocket. About a hundred pounds in all, enough to get us away from England and settled here. I planned to pay you back, or your family, once I’d saved enough. And Mr. Mortimer his rent.”
Daniel laughed again. “You’re precious, lass. So, you had me unconscious on your floor with about two thousand quid on me, and you peeled off a hundred and left the rest?”
“I’d have picked a nicer boardinghouse if I’d taken more.”
“You’re mad, you are. Why not take the lot?”
Violet shrugged, looking troubled. “I’d hurt you—I didn’t know whether I’d killed you. It would look bad for me if I had robbed you too, and I thought your family should have the money.”
“My family. Oh, God, you really believe that, don’t you? My family doesn’t give a horse’s balls about the money. Doesn’t matter—some light-fingered thief took the rest when I was a-lying out in the dark. You should have waited until I came to. I would have handed it over, anything to get you away from Mortimer. How the devil did I get to where the constable found me anyway?”
The troubled look turned to one of pain, and shame. “A handcart. I dressed like a peasant and hid you under a few sacks of coal.”
Daniel whooped. He tossed down his cigar, dragged Violet against him, and whirled her around. And around.
“Vi, I think I love you. A cart? Sacks of coal? Oh, that is priceless.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s horrible.”
Around again. Wind tugged at Violet’s scarf, her body warm against Daniel in the cold. “No other woman in the world would think about carrying my body through the streets under sacks of coal and dumping it—and then leaving a great thick roll of banknotes for a street person to steal. Or maybe the constable took them. They don’t earn much, poor lads.”
The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie hp-6 Page 17
