by Kate Pearce
“I’ve matters to attend to.” With that, he turned and marched back down the corridor in the direction he had come.
His mother sniffed. “A lady should always have an escort.”
When his mother straightened her spine and lifted her chin as she’d just done, Anthony knew that she’d not let him be until he gave in. “Very well, but may I at least freshen up first?”
She smiled serenely. “Why, of course, dear, but don’t be long.”
Chapter 2
“I haven’t visited Gypsies since I was a boy.” There was a bounce of enthusiasm in Oliver’s step as they walked from Castle Keyvnor.
Holly had never visited one, nor had she experienced the desire to do so previously. “Why did you visit a Gypsy camp?”
“Village fair. They often parked on the outskirts and offered entertainment such as singing, dancing, and fortune-telling.”
Except, the Gypsies weren’t attending a village fair right now, but settled in for winter. Was it right to go to their home uninvited? “We’ll stroll by first. I don’t wish to intrude.”
“The housekeeper already assured us that they were open to visitors, and welcomed them even,” Oliver reminded her. “Besides, no Gypsy will turn away the chance to earn some blunt.”
There was that, she supposed. It was how Gypsies earned a living. She never believed that nonsense of them being thieves. If there was any truth to the rumor, the lot of them would be sitting in Newgate.
“Very well,” Holly sighed as the brightly colored vardos came into sight. She’d never seen a Gypsy camp before and the idea of visiting something so foreign was rather exciting.
Several small fires burned, each outside colorfully painted wagons. They were quite cheerful in their appearance from the bright red one, sitting apart from the others, to the green, yellow and blue wagons, bright against the afternoon sun. Happiness blossomed just at the sight of such a cheery setting.
Several women were about and she was drawn to their style of dress. As with the vardos, the skirts were bright and colorful, but not at all in the current fashion with the full skirts and loose tops. Dark hair flowed freely, or it was tied away from their faces with vibrant scarves. Though such a style would never do for London Society, Holly would embrace wearing something quite similar once she returned home, for the comfort of the clothing alone. Besides, color made her happy and she had long grown tired of the pastels she was forced to wear being a miss of only one and twenty. What she wouldn’t give to wear a deep sapphire gown, or perhaps a jeweled emerald one.
An older woman sat at a table outside of the red vardo, toying with stones or gems, and she glanced up as Holly and Oliver made their approach. Others in the camp eyed them skeptically, but without any ill-will. As they drew closer, an older man moved toward the woman, but she held up a hand as if to dismiss him.
“How might I help you?” The ancient woman asked, her face deeply lined, skin loose about her neck, and a back so severely bent that she was unable to straighten when she stood.
“I need a protection spell, or charm, or anything that you might have.”
The old woman frowned, deepening what may have once been laugh lines. “It is not for you?”
“No.”
“Nor is it the ghosts?” she countered curiously, staring so intently that Holly was fairly certain the woman could see into her soul.
“The ghosts are harmless,” Holly dismissed, though she wouldn’t be surprised if other guests came here hoping for a charm to protect them. Really, some of the conversations she’d heard were quite ridiculous and half of the wedding guests, at least those who had arrived as early as she, were quite certain they would be murdered in their sleep.
“Ghosts.” Oliver snorted and shook his head, earning a glare from the old Gypsy.
“He doesn’t believe,” Holly explained.
“Yet you do not fear.” The older Gypsy woman took Holly’s hand in her gnarled, practically crippled one. “I sense no danger around you. What do you need protection from?”
“Oh, it is not for me,” Holly assured her. “But for my guardian, the Duke of Westbury.”
The Gypsy narrowed her eyes, as if to peer even deeper into her soul. It was all rather disconcerting.
“His name brings no alarm. I do not understand.”
With that, Holly explained her need to protect Ethan from unhappiness and that all she wished for him was to find love with a lady who would love him and not his title.
“And you don’t want him for yourself?”
She grasped Holly’s hand so tightly that she was more amazed at the strength than the pain.
“Are you sure this is not for selfish purposes?”
Holly took a step back. “Goodness, no. Ethan is my guardian. He was my brother’s best friend and took me in when I was sixteen. We would certainly never suit.”
The old gypsy once again stared at her for the longest time. “Pure intention and pure of heart,” she finally murmured. “Come inside. I shall create a talisman for him, but it will only work if he has it on his person.”
“Thank you.” Though how she was going to convince Ethan to keep it with him was another matter entirely. He’d tired of her interference on his behalf, and had threatened that if she did not cease her machinations he’d not allow her another season and might just marry her off. Not that Holly believed Ethan would do either of those things, but she would need to go about this carefully if she were to get him to agree to carry the talisman.
Pink papered walls and white lace curtains, along with delicate furniture better suited for a girl much younger than Miss Miranda, greeted Anthony when he stepped into the chamber.
“But, it’s not in Castle Keyvnor,” he quickly reminded himself. Even the bed was half the size of his own and no more than one person could sleep there comfortably. Not that he had any plans of sharing his bed while at Hollybrook Park, but should the opportunity arise, a large bed was always pleasant to have available. Still, it was far better than even the largest and most comfortable bed at Castle Keyvnor.
“Your mother is waiting,” the footman informed him as he and another footman carried Anthony’s trunk into the room.
“Very well.” He mustn’t make his mother unhappy, or Charlotte either, since he’d just been given possibly the only available, non-haunted chamber in all of Bocka Morrow, and he didn’t wish to lose it.
“Come along, dear,” Mother urged him from the bottom of the staircase.
“Yes, Mother,” Anthony blew out a sigh as he descended the stairs. In the short time that he’d seen to his room, both his mother and sister had donned their cloaks, hats and gloves. A footman stood ready with his outer clothing as well. Lord save him from managing females, but he’d put up with them for the wedding and holiday and then return to his own lodgings in London. Not that he didn’t mind residing at Halesworth Hall in Suffolk, but his mother also lived there. As much as he loved her, Anthony had tired of her concern, worry, and matchmaking whenever the opportunity arose. It was her opinion that it was long past the time that Anthony should have married and begun producing heirs. Of all the matchmaking mamas that would be at the wedding, his was the one he wished to avoid the most.
Of course he knew his duty and frankly, he was not opposed to taking a wife, but it must be on his terms. Not an arrangement.
It was a shame he couldn’t borrow the emerald that Charlotte used when her fate with Lynwood had been decided. As it would probably not work for Anthony, he’d only look like a damned idiot every time he took the thing out to see if it glowed whenever he was introduced to a lady. Unfortunately, he’d have to go about this the old-fashioned way. The only thing he was certain of was that no lady he chose would be one his mother picked out. Her idea of his perfect match had nothing to do with Anthony’s heart, and that would never do.
Anthony paused as they neared the camp. Was that Oliver Dallimore standing outside of Lynwood’s grandmother’s vardo? What the blazes was he doing here?
“Are you here for your fortune?” Anthony greeted the man good-naturedly. Though they weren’t necessarily friends, the two got on well enough.
“Not I, but my cousin’s ward,” Dallimore answered. “She wants a talisman for protection.”
Miss Holly Prescott was now in the vardo? At least that was what Anthony assumed since as far as he knew Dallimore had only one cousin who also had a ward, and that would be the Duke of Westbury, guardian of Miss Holly Prescott.
He hadn’t realized the family had been invited to the wedding festivities, and had he, he might have arrived earlier. “Are you staying at the castle?”
“Why, yes. Drafty place, but intriguing nonetheless.”
Intriguing was one word to describe the castle, Anthony supposed. However, it didn’t sit well with him that Miss Prescott was currently residing amongst the ghosts.
“Has she been bothered by the ghosts?” Hadn’t Dallimore just mentioned protection? What if she was in danger, as Charlotte had been? Alarm shot through him at the very idea of someone as beautiful and kind as Miss Prescott in danger. If anything happened to Miss Prescott…perhaps he should reconsider staying at Hollybrook and request a room at the castle instead. At least there he could protect her, something Anthony was compelled to offer even if she was not for him.
Dallimore snorted. “Not you too, Redgrave. I thought you had more sense than to believe all that nonsense and rumors.”
Anthony shared a concerned looked with Charlotte and his mother, before answering. “Until two months ago, I was of the same mind. After staying at the castle, I very much believe the place is filled to the brim with ghosts.”
Dallimore stared at Anthony as if he was trying to decide if he was jesting. He then looked to Charlotte, who nodded and back to Anthony before he cleared his throat. “Well, if you are saying it’s true, I might be willing to consider the possibility.”
“Do have a care, Dallimore. They are very real and not all are harmless,” Charlotte assured the man.
“After you give this to him,” Lynwood’s grandmother was saying as they stepped out of the vardo, “you must keep your distance.”
Anthony’s pulse picked up when Miss Holly Prescott stepped out into the sun. Her chestnut curls framed her beautiful face from beneath a bonnet, but her blue eyes were clouded with worry. She was undoubtedly the loveliest lady to grace any societal event and though they’d shared dances over the past three seasons and walked at picnics and about the assembly rooms, Anthony had never pressed the courtship he wished. Though his heart might want to belong to Miss Prescott, it was very clear that hers belonged to the Duke of Westbury, her guardian. What wasn’t clear was how the duke felt about his ward. While she was quite attentive to him, even watching from a distance, Westbury showed only indifference to Miss Prescott, other than what one would expect of a guardian.
Then there was Dallimore, who was never far from Miss Prescott’s side. Even here, in a Gypsy camp, and this wouldn’t be the first time that Anthony hadn’t wondered if Dallimore was in love with Miss Prescott but was forced to stand by knowing she loved the duke.
Anthony could well understand if Dallimore was in love. What he couldn’t understand was how Westbrook was not? Unless, he was determined to be honorable since a guardian should not court his ward.
Regardless of who loved whom, Anthony had never pressed his suit since it was unlikely Miss Prescott would have affection for him when she cared so deeply for Westbury.
Miss Prescott leaned down and whispered something in the old woman’s ear, and Anthony wished he could hear. One of the many attributes Anthony appreciated about Miss Prescott was her height. Few women were as tall as she and it was quite pleasant to dance and speak with her without developing a crick in his neck or pain in his lower back from having to bend so often. Yes, he was taller than most gentleman, but it was a damned nuisance when most of the ladies came to barely his chin. However, Miss Prescott was the perfect height, the top of her head was at the level of his eyes and the only time he’d need to bend at all would be to kiss her.
Though he doubted that opportunity would ever arise. Not while she loved Westbury.
Anthony pushed aside his desire for the miss and concentrated on the reason she was here. What kind of charm had the old woman given to Miss Prescott and what was its purpose?
“Of course, you cannot avoid him so much as you live in the same household, but you must not go near him otherwise.”
A charm to work on Westbury? Something to bring him up to scratch?
“But…”
Madam Boswell placed a crooked finger against Miss Prescott’s lips. “You must let the talisman work on its own without any interference from you.” Madam Boswell then took Miss Prescott’s hands in her own. “Go about your business and all will be as it should.”
“Yes. Of course.”
“What, no more lurking in shadows and spying from windows?” Dallimore asked with humor.
Ah, so it was a charm for Westbury. But, how could a love charm work if Miss Prescott was not to be in his presence?
“None,” Madame Boswell insisted.
“Well, this wedding might be enjoyable after all,” Dallimore chuckled.
Anthony shot Dallimore a look. If Miss Prescott was to remain away from her guardian, then Dallimore would practically have Miss Prescott to himself.
The very idea did not sit well with Anthony. Not one bit, but what was he to do? Then again, Dallimore could spend hours with Miss Prescott, but it wouldn’t change how she felt about her guardian.
Or, would it?
Blast! He was going to have to spend time in that damned haunted castle. He was not about to let the opportunity to spend time with Miss Prescott slip by if she was finally going to distance herself from Westbury. And he most certainly was not going to let Dalllimore monopolize all of her time.
If Anthony had witnessed any preference Miss Prescott had for Dallimore, he would step aside, but despite the fact that Dallimore may be in love with her, she had shown no such partiality toward him.
Besides, she might not have had difficulty with the ghosts yet, but that did not mean she’d remain safe, and since Dallimore did not understand the seriousness of what could happen, it was up to Anthony to protect Miss Prescott.
Chapter 3
Oh, how could she just simply hand over the talisman, make Ethan promise to keep it on his person, trust that he would, and then go about her business?
“You must understand, Miss Prescott, you are the interference,” Madam Boswell explained.
Holly gasped. How was that even possible? She had only Ethan’s best interest at heart.
“You must allow him to come to this on his own, and the talisman will guide him.”
“Are you certain it will work?” She had already asked the same question several times and was certain Madam Boswell was becoming quite irritated with her.
“If Madam Boswell says it will work, then it will.”
Holly turned toward the deep voice, and her stomach flipped as her eyes met his emerald ones. “Lord Redgrave.” She quickly offered a curtsey as her pulse pounded in her ears.
He smiled down at her, and Holly’s knees nearly gave way.
She’d not seen Lord Redgrave since the spring, but a day didn’t go by that her thoughts didn’t turn to him at least once. So handsome, so kind, so attentive, but in the three years since she’d made his acquaintance, he’d never once asked to court her, or behaved in any manner to suggested that he might wish to. Oh, she’d hoped he’d call on her, or seek permission from Ethan, but Redgrave’s attention never strayed beyond dances and short strolls.
“Madam Boswell gave my sister two such items only a few months ago. One led her to her husband.”
Lady Charlotte Beck had married? Holly glanced at the lovely blonde woman who gave a quick nod.
“You can trust in Madam Boswell’s wisdom.”
Well, that was a relief. Lord Redgrave was not one to put up with
nonsense. He was perhaps one of the most levelheaded and respectable gentlemen of her acquaintance. If he said it was so, then she would believe him.
“Very well.” Holly turned back to the old Gypsy woman. “I will see that he keeps it with him, and then I will take my leave of his presence when possible.”
“If that will be all,” Dallimore stepped forward. “I will see you back to the castle.”
“Not so quickly,” Madam Boswell interrupted. Lifting her arthritic hand, she pointed to Dallimore with a bent index finger. “You and I will have a word, but not until I’ve spoken with Redgrave.”
The two gentlemen took a step back at the harsh order.
“Me?” Redgrave asked and looked to his mother, the Marchioness of Halesworth, and then his sister, before he narrowed his eyes back on his mother? “What is this about?”
His mother lifted her chin. “It’s for your own good.”
“Mother…”
“Come inside, Redgrave,” the gypsy ordered.
With a sharp inhale and a pointed look at the marchioness, Redgrave climbed into the back of the vardo after the old woman.
“I wonder what she wants with me?” Oliver asked after a moment.
“Whatever it is, Mr. Dallimore, I would not be so quick to dismiss anything that Madam Boswell might say or give to you,” Lady Halesworth insisted.
“Rubbish,” he muttered under his breath, though Holly heard him quite clearly. But, instead of chastising him, she edged closer to the wagon, hoping to hear what the old Gypsy was saying to Redgrave.
Oh, goodness, Lord Redgrave was a handsome, charming gentleman, and the only one who threatened to make her forget to watch out for her guardian. It was always heaven to be near him. His green eyes, so kind, and blond hair that was always in place. Respectable and handsome. Broad shoulders, finely formed, and taller than herself. Not many men were, and perhaps that was why she enjoyed being in his presence as there were few gentlemen she was required to look up to. With most, she was able to look directly into their eyes without even the need to tilt her chin.
