by Brenda Joyce
Amanda hugged her, which only made Ariella wish that she could be entirely honest. It also made tears imminent. “I am worried about you going on to town alone. It is so hot in the summer!” Amanda said. “Why don’t you stay with us at Rose Hill? The ball is next week and we are leaving two days later. You can come home to Windsong with us afterward,” she said, referring to their home in the southwest of Ireland.
She would do nothing at Windsong except wander the grounds, thinking of Emilian, the way she had done at Rose Hill. “I am going to London, where my friends are. There, I can immerse myself in my studies, in public debates, and spend days in the library and museum. I will be happy.” Even as she spoke, her words rang hollow.
I am setting myself free.
At first, she had thought he wished to be free of her. She had quickly realized he wished to be free of the torment of living in a world where he was scorned every single day behind his back and where he was powerless to protect the Roma from hatred, bigotry and violence.
She would never be free. Even running away to London wouldn’t change the past, erase her memories or vanquish the love in her heart.
“I am so worried about you,” Amanda said. “But there is one bit of good news.”
Ariella doubted that.
“Tollman has confessed to starting the fire and he has been arrested. This time, there is no gray area. He broke the law and he will be going to trial.”
“What happened?”
“Alexi,” Amanda said, smiling. “Apparently he induced Tollman to confess.”
“Good.”
“Please think about what it means to leave the family right now,” Amanda said. Then she squeezed her hand and left.
Ariella glanced at her sister. Dianna cried, “I hate him for what he did to you! I hate him for stealing your heart and so callously abandoning it. I hate seeing you like this. Oh, Ariella, he is not worth it. There will be someone else.”
Ariella grimaced. “The one thing I am sure of is that there will never be anyone else. It doesn’t matter,” she lied. “Until I met Emilian, I had no interest in men. Now I am returning to my old life, where I will resume my intellectual pursuits. I am not going to forget Emilian, but I hope that, in time, my memories won’t be so painful.”
Dianna hugged her, hard. “I know it sounds trite now, when you are so hurt, but time does heal all wounds. I love you—we all love you. Please, think about coming to Windsong this summer.”
Ariella surrendered. “I will think about it, but I feel I must go to London now.”
Dianna smiled sadly and left. Ariella was relieved, as it was so hard to say no to her little sister and she did not want to stay on the subject. But then Margery stepped into the room, her expression stern. Ariella immediately knew that more pressure would be forthcoming.
“You are so pale!” Margery exclaimed. She held a tray in her hands with covered plates. “I know you haven’t had breakfast. I have brought you eggs and sausages. Can you sit down and eat?”
She wasn’t hungry but she knew she must eat. She sat down. “You remind me more and more of Aunt Lizzie every single day.”
Margery smiled briefly and set the tray down. “Well, as my mother is renowned as being one of the kindest and most generous of ladies, I hope I can be half the lady that she is.” Her smile vanished. “I wish I could comfort you.”
Ariella took a dutiful sip of juice. “No one can comfort me. But perhaps, in time, I will find a way to navigate through my memories without so much pain. Being in town should help.”
Margery sat across from her. “We are going to Adare for the summer. Please, Ariella, please come with us.”
Adare was the seat of the earldom, located not far from Windsong, the river Shannon running through it. She shook her head. “I am going to London. I know you think I will be alone, but I will immerse myself in so many studies and pursuits that I won’t be lonely at all.”
Margery said swiftly, “I have a wonderful idea! Why don’t we travel? We can tour Greece and Italy—you know how lovely those places are in the summer!” And from the way she spoke, Ariella knew this was a plan she had conceived previously.
Ariella stabbed her eggs with a fork. And instantly, she felt sick.
When she didn’t answer, Margery said, “If you don’t want to travel, then I am coming to London with you, and that is that.”
Ariella fought the nausea, gave in, and ran to a chamber pot and heaved. Margery rushed to kneel beside her. The heaves were awful, as they had been for the past two days. Ariella clung to the pot, thinking about the fact that she wasn’t sick except when the nausea began and she had missed her last monthly time. Which meant she wasn’t ill, not exactly…
Finally she sat on her heels and looked at her cousin, who stared back, eyes wide with shock.
Ariella whispered, “Margery, what if I am carrying his child?”
SHE WAS DANCING FOR HIM.
It was late and the stars were out. Many fires burned, and the smell of roasting chicken pervaded the camp. Most of the children were abed and Nicu was playing his violin, another man his guitar. The music was deep and mournful; no one had forgotten the fire or the whipping. He hadn’t forgotten.
Stevan had prevented him from seeking out Tollman and making him pay, begging him to forgo more violence. As they were ready to depart, he had agreed, but with a vast reluctance.
Now he watched her, vaguely appreciative of her beauty and grace, but his observations felt clinical. The way she moved her hips told him that she would be a passionate, fierce and pleasing lover. As she whirled, she lifted her skirts daringly high on her thighs. He didn’t smile. He didn’t really care.
He sat apart from the others. Once, he would have enjoyed her performance and sharing his passion with her. But he had no real interest in her now. Ariella’s image burst into his mind. His heart seemed to ache and his loins finally stirred. He hated the damned feelings.
He was determined to put the past behind him. But during the long, idle days on the road, her image slowly invaded his thoughts, as did memories of all the moments they had shared. To get his errant mind onto another subject, he would think of Woodland and wonder if the estate manager, Richards, was getting on. The state of the estate continued to worry him. His duty to it seemed an inescapable part of him now, as ingrained as his handprint. And inevitably he would wonder if Ariella was getting on. He hated himself, because he had betrayed her trust yet again.
He knew her too well now. She was hurt because he had left, but damn it, he had never promised her anything except a night of pleasure.
If he ever saw her again, would her eyes still shine with trust and love?
Jaelle suddenly sat down beside him, appearing somber. He smiled at her, but it felt forced. Jaelle nodded at the dancer. “She wants you. They all do, all the women who do not have husbands, and even some who do.”
His loins had begun to fill, but not because of the dancer. He needed release. It had been weeks since the Simmonses’ ball. When did he ever go weeks without a lover? Why hadn’t he made love to Ariella before he left? Ah, yes, he had suddenly sprouted a conscience.
He hadn’t been in the mood to make love to anyone since leaving Derbyshire. It was insane.
“You aren’t happy here.”
He looked at his sister. He was about to deny it, but that wasn’t fair. He put his arm around her. “I have lived with the gadjos for eighteen years. It isn’t simple for a man to walk away from one life and start another, all in a single day.” In fact, it was damned difficult and maybe impossible.
“You are more gadjo than Rom.”
Her words felt like the truth and that disturbed him, because if she was right, what did that mean? But then he thought of Raiza, who had died in Stevan’s arms, not his own. “I am a half blood,” he said firmly.
“So what? So am I. But my father didn’t want me—he doesn’t even know me—and I am Romni. Your father wanted you. You are fortunate, Emilian, and you are gadjo b
ecause of it. Why are you here?”
“You know why I am here. It is because of our mother. I owe her this, Jaelle.”
Jaelle seemed bewildered. “She is dead, Emilian, and your being here won’t bring her back to life.”
He stared past her into the firelight. He believed he owed Raiza this attempt to reclaim his Roma heritage. But Jaelle’s words felt like the truth.
The dancer had stopped and was sipping wine, glancing at Emilian through her dark lashes. Jaelle stood. “Will you take her?”
He hesitated. He needed a woman; of that there was no doubt. But she wasn’t the woman he wanted.
“I thought so. Go back to your woman, Emilian. She is good and beautiful and if you wait too long, another man will take her.”
His eyes widened.
She shrugged and sauntered off.
He wanted another man to take her, he thought. He wanted her to forget him. Or did he? His heart accelerated wildly. The truth was that he hated the idea. Even more importantly, he missed her.
Missing her had implications he must not consider. Missing her was dangerous.
But he didn’t want the beautiful Romni woman who was so eager to warm his bed. He wanted Ariella, because they had never finished what they had begun. Because he hadn’t shown her his gratitude. He had only hurt her with his anger, and she didn’t have her English prince yet.
He had to go back, just for a night. Nothing had changed. Even if Jaelle was right, even if the English part of him was stronger than the Rom, he had made a promise to Raiza and to himself. He was going to her grave. He would find his Roma heritage, and nothing could stop him. But the caravan moved slowly and he had his prized stallion with him.
He stood, a terrible excitement filling him.
In four or five days, he could be at Rose Hill.
IT WAS HALF PAST TEN in the evening. Supper had long since ended. Ariella sat in bed, holding her still-flat belly, thinking about the child she was probably carrying. The shock was wearing off. She had started becoming sick in the mornings a few days ago, and her breasts seemed to be swelling, too. If she had conceived the first night they had spent together, that made her almost six weeks along.
A pregnancy seemed very likely and she was afraid. Not once in her life had she ever dreamed she would have a child out of wedlock. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what she would do or how she would manage. Her family would be in an uproar. And then there was Emilian. He had to be told, didn’t he?
She couldn’t think of all the issues now. She was carrying Emilian’s child.
From the ashes of grief and despair, joy began unfurling.
She stroked her flat belly, crying. There were no regrets. How could she regret carrying Emilian’s child, even if he didn’t love her? For she loved him and she always would. Even if she never saw him again, she would have this part of him—this part of them. The child was a wonderful gift, a blessing. For the first time since he had left her, she felt her heart stir and beat, becoming alive again, and suddenly the future loomed, filled with bright light. She realized she couldn’t wait to hold their child in her arms. She loved this baby.
But it was bittersweet, because as she imagined holding their tiny infant daughter or son, she saw Emilian standing over her, smiling at them. She wasn’t sure if that would ever happen—she wasn’t sure of anything just then, except that she had been given a miracle.
“Ariella?” Margery whispered. She poked her head into the room, clad in her nightclothes.
Ariella smiled at her. “Come in.”
Margery did so, closing the door. She hurried to the bed and climbed into it. “I have been thinking about you all day. Are you crying?”
“No.” Ariella touched her hand, smiling. “Don’t worry. I am happy, Margery, so very happy. I am having his child!”
Margery stared in dismay. “You must send Emilian a letter. He will come back and marry you if he knows the truth.”
Ariella’s joy gave way to foreboding. “No. That isn’t a good idea.”
Margery gasped. “You will tell him, won’t you? You will marry him?”
Ariella grimaced. “I will always love him. And I believe he cares for me, I do. But I will not force him into marriage, and certainly not with our child.”
Margery paled. “He seduced you. He has an obligation to take care of you and this child.”
“I wanted to be seduced. He did not take advantage of me. And I have the means to give this child a very good life.”
Margery was wide-eyed. “Ariella, your father will force Emilian to the altar, no matter what you wish.”
Ariella feared Margery was right. “That would be a mistake. Emilian will see it as an attack or a trap, and he will be furious. No. My father won’t do any such thing, because he won’t know about the child.”
Margery cried out.
Ariella bit her lip hard, some of her euphoria vanishing. This was going to have to be a secret. She could barely believe that she could not share her joy with her family. “I am going to have to go away and have this child alone.”
“You are as independent and as eccentric as ever! How can you intend to be an unwed mother?” Margery cried. “You will be scorned and ostracized! You cannot keep such a secret forever, anyway!”
Ariella looked at her. “I may have to go away for some time.”
Margery paled. “Eventually you will have to come home, and the secret will be out,” she pointed out. “They will hunt him down then, you know that, even if it is a year from now—even if it is years from now. The moment they realize you have had his child, he is doomed.”
Ariella tensed. “I will talk them out of it. In any case, I am beginning to realize going to London now is not the best idea. The city is unhealthful in the summer months.”
“Ariella, it is Emilian’s right to know,” Margery persisted.
“Yes, it is. And I will tell him, but I haven’t decided when.” She simply couldn’t think of that issue now.
“You are determined to go this alone,” Margery finally said.
“Right now, it is my only choice.”
Margery inhaled. “Bloody hell,” she said, surprising Ariella. “Please know that I think you are making the wrong decision. I think he should be told the truth and that he should marry you, no matter what he wants to do, for your sake and the baby’s.”
“Then we are in disagreement,” Ariella said.
They stared at each other. Margery took her hand firmly. “If you really plan to have this baby in secret, you know I am staying with you.”
Ariella looked into her worried eyes and felt her own tears rise. They were tears of gratitude and relief. “You are the most loyal friend I have. I am afraid, Margery,” she admitted, trembling. “I am afraid of being alone during the next few months, I am afraid of being alone during childbirth and I am even afraid of being alone after the baby is born!”
Margery hugged her. “You aren’t alone. You won’t be alone. I will be with you for as long as necessary.” She wiped her own moist eyes and her tone became brusque. “Let’s start to think of where you wish to live for a good year. We will claim we wish to tour, and in a few months we will set out. Maybe we can lease a villa in the south of France. The climate is good, you speak the language well and I can get on.”
Ariella nodded, a new excitement beginning. “I like that,” she said slowly. “The south of France is beautiful. It will be a wonderful place to have this baby.”
THE NEXT WEEK PASSED in a flurry of plans. Trying not to arouse suspicion, Ariella and Margery took long walks in Amanda’s gardens, with Margery carrying her sketch pad and charcoal. She was, fortunately, an adept artist, and she claimed she intended to do a watercolor study of one of Amanda’s famous coral roses after leaving Rose Hill, which required a vast number of sketches and long hours in the gardens. To all appearances, Ariella was now immersed in the history of the Mongols, and it was simple enough to read in the gardens while Margery “sketched.”
&n
bsp; The sketch pad was filled with notes. Letters had been sent to several London agents, and replies had just been received. There was more than one pleasant villa on the outskirts of Nice available for a long lease. Margery had just sent her personal secretary off to the south of France to inspect the various accommodations. Within a month or so, they would be able to determine which villa to let.
Ariella had begun to hint to her family that she wished to travel. Her father seemed pleased, and she knew he was relieved that she was getting over Emilian. If only he knew the truth. But there was no guilt. She had to protect Emilian from his wrath and that meant going forward in absolute secrecy.
Margery’s father, the Earl of Adare, had arrived the other day for the ball, with his heir, Ned, and his younger sons. Margery would soon sit down with him and ask him for permission to tour. Ariella knew her uncle would never refuse such a request.
They were actually about to pull off their charade. If all went as planned, she and Margery would soon be on their way to France, with no one the wiser.
ARIELLA HAD NO WISH to attend Amanda’s ball, but there was no choice. While everyone knew she did not like such fêtes, it was her habit to grumble and then dutifully attend. She intended to behave as usual.
As she slowly approached the ballroom, the house was already alive with laughter, conversation and the strains of the orchestra. Ahead, she saw the ballroom, filled with ladies in their colorful evening gowns and glittering jewels, the men in their black tailcoats, white-coated waiters passing out flutes of champagne. She saw her father and Amanda standing not far from the ballroom’s entrance, surrounded by a handful of guests whom they were obviously greeting. Cliff was golden and handsome, Amanda stunningly beautiful, her small gloved hand on his arm. Ariella smiled to herself. On a night like this, it was so clear that they remained deeply in love.
She paused, not going any farther into the room. Impossibly, she saw herself waltzing in Emilian’s arms.
