The small drawing room turned out to be the enormous apartment where Dawn had met Lady Serena. To her disappointment, Lord Braithwaite was not present, though Tamar was. He had a daub of paint on his cheek and one on his left hand, but no one seemed to notice. Dawn could only assume it was a regular occurrence.
A round table had been set with various dishes of dainty food. Dawn’s stomach rumbled.
Lord Tamar stood as she entered the room, though whether it was to acknowledge the young ladies or herself, she had no idea.
The young ladies treated him with affectionate familiarity which he appeared to return, brushing aside their casual greetings to take Dawn’s hand and bow over it. “Miss Conway.”
Dawn regarded him doubtfully, and his eyes twinkled. She began to smile back.
“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Better to look happy than terrified in company.”
“And once you’ve mastered that,” Lady Serena said humorously—at least Dawn hoped it was humor—“we’ll practice languid boredom, which is very advanced. Come, sit down and we’ll make plans.
Since she patted the seat next to her on the sofa, Dawn went to her and sat. She wished Lord Braithwaite were there.
“Your posture is good,” Serena approved, regarding her rigid back, “though you should contrive to look a little more relaxed.”
“Where is Lord Braithwaite?” she blurted.
“Chasing after the gypsies,” Lady Serena replied. “They’d left the camp when he went to speak to your…father, so he’s ridden out to try and catch them on the road.”
Dawn could have told him that was a waste of time. She was sure her father was still close by and would not be found unless he wished to be.
A good looking, young footman brought in a tea tray and set it on the low table by Lady Serena before bowing and departing.
“This is the English tea ritual,” Lady Serena said cheerfully. “I don’t know if you indulge it too…in America,” she added, since, presumably, the footman hadn’t quite shut the door. Once it clicked shut, she added, “It’s one of the things you’ll need to learn to deal with, since we quite often have guests for tea. I shall pour and Maria will pass the cups. The girls will offer you plates as we go on. You must take what you wish, of course. And while we’re eating and drinking, we can discuss what to do with you!”
Dawn regarded her with unease. “I brushed my hair. That is, Clarry brushed it and pinned it.”
“And you look very well,” Serena approved. “However,” she added before Dawn could preen, “We need to work on your complexion. And your poor hands! We must find you gloves. How could I have forgotten that?”
“I have gloves,” Dawn said before she realized Serena meant the fine, soft kid variety that sat in her lap. Dawn closed her mouth once more and drank tea.
“Take these for now,” Serena commanded, placing the gloves in Dawn’s lap instead. “You must wear them everywhere, all the time, and we’ll treat your hands with oatmeal and cream and oil. Lemon juice and honey for your face, I think.”
Dawn frowned. “Am I so ugly?” she asked with genuine distress. Was that the real reason Braithwaite didn’t touch her? Perhaps his lust was the curiously impersonal variety that seemed to affect men.
“Lord, no!” Sounding startled, Lady Serena grasped her free hand and pressed it. “You must know that you are a beautiful girl. It is just that to be a beautiful lady, your skin must be softer and you must not look as if the sun ever touched you.”
She spoke with a genuine warmth for the first time, betraying her kind nature. And the delicate softness of her hand on Dawn’s said far more than words.
“I wash clothes and dishes and children,” Dawn said ruefully. “I live largely outdoors in all weathers. I doubt you will make an English lady of me. Perhaps in America they are not so fussy.”
“I wouldn’t rely on it,” Serena said. “But it might give us a little time. Also, are you a good mimic? You must try your best to talk like us—all the time so that your new accent does not sound forced when you meet other people.”
“Don’t overload the poor girl on her first day with us,” Tamar said.
But it struck Dawn that Serena was doing so deliberately, not so much to be unkind as to show her what lay in store if she pursued this masquerade. She probably hoped Dawn would give up. And it was tempting to do so. Until the earl’s handsome face imposed itself on her mind.
“I will try,” Dawn said in the clipped, superior accent of the gentlefolk.
The girls clapped their hands and Lord Tamar laughed.
After the ordeal of tea, Lady Serena brought lots of delightfully smelling soaps and oils to Dawn’s bedchamber. She was closely followed by Clarry the maid carrying lemons and a bag of oatmeal.
“We’ll have a bath brought up for you in an hour or so,” Serena informed her, “and we can begin.”
Daylight was just beginning to fade by the time they left her alone. Although Dawn had no objection to keeping her father waiting, she didn’t put it past him to come right into the castle and just take whatever he fancied. So, she swung her old cloak around her and drew up the hood before slipping out of her room.
She did not like what she was about to do. Lord Braithwaite had shown her nothing but kindness and was happily turning his entire household upside down in order to help her. He was a man who did the right thing, and she believed his motives had now gone beyond giving Julius Gardyn a fright. He was determined to put Dawn in what he thought was her rightful place. Perhaps it was his wishful thinking, because he wanted to court a lady not a gypsy girl.
Dawn allowed herself a crooked yet tender smile. I do like you Gervaise Braithwaite… And yet she would steal from him to get her family off his back.
Exactly what she would steal remained uncertain until she passed the huge dresser at the back of the entrance hall. As well as several silver platters, it displayed three matching branches of candlesticks in finely wrought silver.
After a quick glance over her shoulder, Dawn opened the door of the dresser cupboard. It contained many candlesticks, both straight and branched, most of silver, some prettier than others. She wrestled out a couple from the back, on the grounds that they were clearly used less and therefore less loved. Closing the door, she thrust the candlesticks under her cloak and hurried toward the front door.
She had a nasty moment when a footman seemed to spring out of nowhere to open the door for her. She had to remind herself that he would certainly not have done such a thing if he had witnessed her purloining the candlesticks. Muttering thanks, she crossed the threshold and forced herself to stroll in the direction of the formal garden. Once there, she swerved aside and walked toward the wood, where she had an assignation with her father.
*
Gervaise had been unable to find any trace of the gypsies on either of the main roads out of Blackhaven or on the lesser tracks. Feeling frustrated, since there was a good deal of information about Dawn’s origins that he wished to extract from her so-called family, he finally turned back across country, meaning to ride a little way along the road to Haven Hall before returning home for dinner.
Darkness was falling, but not so rapidly that he could not make out the female figure strolling along the road. He slowed the horse and walked him closer. Through the trees, he watched her linger, and smiled to himself, for it was undoubtedly Dawn. Occasionally she turned, the cloak wrapped tightly around her, as though looking for someone.
Gervaise dismounted and walked the horse forward, intending to call to her. But he enjoyed just looking too much. Before he got around to speaking, the thicker bushes on the other side of the road jerked aside and two men stepped through in front of Dawn. She made no movement of surprise. This was clearly whom she had come to meet. Ezra Boswell, the man she regarded as her father.
The other man had also been in the gypsy camp last night. Jeremiah Boswell, Ezra’s son.
Gervaise’s heart sank, for he was not a fool. The gypsies had apparen
tly moved on as soon as the christening was over, and yet in reality, they were hiding in the neighborhood to meet Dawn. They were undoubtedly up to something.
Looping the reins around a tree branch, Gervaise abandoned his mount and went on foot. He didn’t set out to conceal himself, merely to confront, but none of the gypsies noticed his approach, and when Ezra said impatiently, “Just show us what you’ve brought,” he paused, stepping behind a tree to observe. For the notion that she would steal from him brought an unpleasant tightness to his chest, an awareness that he had let wishful thinking—and intense attraction—rule his head.
“Can’t be much,” Ezra complained.
“More than you deserve,” Dawn returned with spirit. Her hands emerged from the cloak holding two silver candlesticks. Gervaise didn’t actually recognize them, but he knew they were his. There was nowhere else she could have got them from.
“Is that it?” Ezra expostulated, snatching the candlesticks while his son threw up his hands in disgust. “A night and a whole day in a bloody great castle full of treasure, and all you can bring your father is two measly candlesticks?”
“What d’you expect us to do with them?” the son demanded.
“I can give you a few suggestions,” Dawn retorted, “but you won’t like them.”
“Enough,” Ezra snapped when his son seemed about to retaliate. “But I’ll not deny I’m disappointed, Dawnie.”
Dawn shrugged, clearly not caring. “You’ve already been paid for me. I only brought you these so you’d go away.”
Ezra regarded her with hurt dignity. “I don’t know how I came to raise such an ungrateful little—”
“Who did you buy me from, Ezra?” she demanded. “From someone round here? Some gentleman, perhaps?”
Ezra’s bushy brows lowered alarmingly. “Don’t be daft. Took you from another gypsy at the Appleby horse fair—as a favor to him since his wife died and mine was desperate for another daughter. Don’t make me regret it.”
“But you already do. You sold me to Lord Braithwaite.”
“Oh, stop your complaining girl and hurry up. It’s a long walk to the camp and we’re off first thing in the morning.”
Live and learn, Braithwaite, Gervaise told himself bitterly.
But then, she surprised him again. As her father made to grasp her arm, she drew back out of his reach. “Goodbye, Dad.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” her brother demanded.
“Back to the castle.”
“After swanning off with his lordship’s silver? You’ll find yourself in prison quicker than you can say, Ooh, my lord!”
“I’ll take the chance. He might understand.”
“And he might not,” Ezra said grimly. “Don’t be a fool, Dawn. Bring her, Jerry.”
Jeremiah seized her arm, yanking her to him despite her struggles.
Gervaise stepped out from behind his tree. “I don’t think so,” he said haughtily.
All three of them spun to face him, gaping as he strolled across the road. Dawn recovered first, taking advantage of her brother’s astonishment to pull free. Ezra, who still held the candlesticks, whipped them behind his back.
“My lord,” Ezra managed. “A fine day for a stroll, is it not? I was very glad to run into my girl who has decided to come back to us.”
He glared at Dawn as he spoke, and Dawn gazed back, a defiant little smile on her lips. Gervaise understood that much. They had hurt her, sending her unarmed into the lion’s den—for money. And she was hurting them back.
“No,” she said clearly. “I’ve decided to fulfill your bargain, Dad. And stay with his lordship.”
Ezra said something below his breath, probably in the Romany tongue. Gervaise didn’t catch it, though he grasped the body language well enough. As Ezra bolted, presumably to catch Gervaise’s attention, Jeremiah made another grab for Dawn.
Gervaise stepped between them. He hadn’t taken his attention from Dawn for a moment. Infuriated, Jeremiah swung back his fist.
“Really?” Gervaise said harshly. “Really?”
Gervaise could box with the best of his class. He had once even got in a hit over Gentleman Jackson’s guard. He could tell at once he was the quicker man, and he could have already knocked Dawn’s brother to the ground. He chose not to unless he had to.
Jeremiah’s gaze locked with his, as though surprised Gervaise didn’t simply run away screaming.
Then, the gypsy dropped his fist and ran after his father. “It isn’t over, Dawnie!” he called over his shoulder. “Give your love to Matthew, shall I?”
“No,” Dawn shouted back.
Slowly, Gervaise turned to face her.
Chapter Six
At some point of her own choosing, she had always meant to tell Lord Braithwaite what she had done. However, it had been no part of her plan to be discovered handing the booty over to her father during her first afternoon at the castle.
She had no idea how much he had heard or understood of their conversation, but dismay at the first sound of his voice had overwhelmed her. She had never expected him to intervene on her behalf, to stand up to Jerry’s considerable bulk. And viciousness. She had seen him fight. But Braithwaite didn’t even look nervous. She wanted the ground to open and swallow her.
His eyes veiled, he gazed down at her.
She swallowed. “I’ll get them back for you.”
“I’d rather they were off my land.”
“I mean the candlesticks,” she said, painfully. “Not my family.”
“I’ve never seen them before. I’m unlikely to miss them. What are you up to, Dawn?”
Since she could not bear his scrutiny, she swung away from him and began to stride back along the path to the castle. She assumed he would follow and catch up with her, and then she could try and explain. But after a few moments, she realized she was alone.
Glancing back, she glimpsed his elegant figure vanishing back into the wood, and a lump rose to her throat. She hated to have disappointed him, let him down to such a degree. And yet he’d still defended her. She stopped and leaned against the nearest tree. Should she go after him and try to explain at once? Give him a while to calm down first? Or should she just leave and let him forget the ungrateful gypsy brat he’d tried to help and who had robbed him anyway?
She wanted to weep.
Abruptly, the nearing clop of horses’ hooves on the path penetrated her misery. She jerked up her head.
Lord Braithwaite was leading his horse along the path toward her. He’d merely gone to fetch the animal.
With a laugh that was half sob, she ran back to meet him. “I thought you were too angry to speak to me!”
“I’m not angry.”
“I wish you were. I could deal with that better. I’m sorry, my lord. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I want to explain.”
“You don’t need to. I think I understand.”
“No, you don’t,” she said forlornly.
Unexpectedly, he took her hand and squeezed it. A jolt like lightning shot up her arm, for she had forgotten Lady Serena’s wretched gloves. He said, “Then you didn’t take the candlesticks to fulfill some kind of promise and thus get them away from here?”
She eyed him suspiciously. “I might have.”
“And you refused to go with them, in revenge for their abandoning you to me last night.”
She dashed her hand across her eyes. “You must think me an utter—”
“No. I just see your difficulty.” He came to a halt and turned to her, still holding her hand. Around the next bend they would be in sight of the castle. It was almost dark now, disguising his expression. He caressed her hand with his thumb distractedly, as if he didn’t realize what he did. “You can go back to them now,” he said gently. “You’ve made your point, and I’d never keep you against your will, let alone because I gave your father money.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“You don’t believe in the slightest that you are Elea
nor Gardyn, do you?”
She shook her head.
“Then why did you want to do this?”
She swallowed and blurted out the truth. “I wanted to be near you.”
“Why?” he asked in genuine surprise.
Laughter caught in her throat. “That is why,” she said. “Because you are like no other man I have ever met, and I hope one day you will notice me as more than the gypsy girl who read your fortune and happens to bear a resemblance to your enemy.”
He was silent for so long that from sheer embarrassment, she tried to move on, but he held her back.
“I am…touched,” he said gently. “And I would be a liar if I said I was immune to you. God knows I am not. But I will never do anything about it, not while you are under my protection. I can’t take advantage.”
“Why not? I have taken advantage of you.”
“The candlesticks?” he said with a shrug. Dropping her hand, he began to walk on. “Look on them as a christening gift for your sister’s child. They are hardly to be compared with the gift of yourself.”
“I’m surprised a nobleman would regard that as much of a gift,” she retorted. “From a gypsy at least.”
“I suspect it depends on the nobleman. In any case, I don’t believe you are a gypsy by birth. I believe you are Eleanor Gardyn.”
“But you’ve found nothing to prove that, have you?”
“No, but I heard what your father said. Your mother, Ezra’s wife, didn’t die giving birth to you. I heard you talking.”
She shrugged philosophically. “It was a lie they told me when I was little. Even though I remember her. My father told me she’d never recovered from my birth and that was why she had died.”
“People say all sorts of things in grief,” he said.
She frowned. “Why are you still being kind to me after what I’ve done? Don’t you know you can’t trust me?”
He ignored it. “So, you weren’t born to the woman you called your mother. Do you remember a life before that? Another mother, a nurse?”
She drew in her breath. “I don’t know what is real,” she said. “I see things. Other people’s lives, like dreams. That is my gypsy gift. You see, whoever my birth parents were, I have always been a gypsy. You heard my father? He took me from another Romany.”
The Wicked Gypsy (Blackhaven Brides Book 8) Page 6
