Through Gypsy Eyes

by Killarney Sheffield

  “Open it and find out.”

  Curious, she fingered the clasp and lifted the lid. Following the line of the box, she slid her hand down to rest on something smooth and cold, tracing the object in a circle with her fingertips. It was a necklace she realized, with tiny teardrop stones dangling at regular intervals along its chain. “Thank you, Tyrone. I am sure it is lovely.”

  “Here, I will put it on you.”

  She pivoted so he could slide the cool gems around her neck and couldn’t help shivering when his rough fingers brushed her nape as he fumbled with the clasp.

  “They match your eyes, you know.”

  “Violet?”

  “More dark like your eyes when you are angry.” He finished with the clasp and placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her back to face the door.

  Her heart fluttered in her chest as his hands remained lightly on her shoulders. She should be angry at his comment, but instead a sense of breathless anticipation tightened her chest. Attraction to him was foolhardy. He was the enemy. Wasn’t he?

  “I never lie.”

  The echo of a slamming door broke the moment and he stepped away. “Come, the guests await you in the chapel.” He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and escorted her downstairs.

  Her chest grew tighter as she was overtaken by a moment of sheer panic. The closer they got to the estate’s chapel, the louder the guests’ voices became. Her palms grew moist with sweat. Little by little her distress increased. The struggle for air became more difficult as the panic attack intensified.

  “Delilah?”

  The concern in Tyrone’s voice gave her something to cling to, to focus on in order to stay afloat in the tidal wave of fear engulfing her. What if I have made a mistake? What if Augustus does not live up to his word? All these people … watching … staring … witnessing my fate. Her fingers clawed his arm.

  “Delilah? Are you all right?”

  “I need to sit.” Her knees buckled and she sagged against him.

  Tyrone’s strong arm encircled her. “Right here? Now?”

  “Yes,” she gasped, her head beginning to spin.

  He lowered her to the grass and pressed her head between her knees. She struggled to take slow, deep breaths. Unmindful of her delicate dress scrunched in her clammy hands, she willed her mind to relax.

  “Is there something I can do, some way I can help?”

  Delilah shook her head. “No.” Those hated crowds of people. Always watching, whispering … waiting for me to make a fool of myself. As her chest began to tighten again she forced the thoughts from her head. Squeezing her eyes shut she concentrated on taking deep breaths, exhaling slow and steady until the spinning sensation stopped. I can do this. All I have to do is walk down the aisle, repeat the simple vows, and it will all be over.

  A familiar nicker gave her hope. “Jester.” At the soft clip clop of his approach she held out her hand until his leg brushed it. With a grateful smile she pulled herself to her feet using his harness. “Jester will take me the rest of the way.”

  “Jester cannot give you away.”

  She snickered at his disgruntlement. “Yes he can. Jester, chapel.” The pony shuffled forward. As she stepped into the chapel the rumble of voices hushed. Forcing the smile to remain on her lips, she continued on to the front of the room. This is just a formality. In a few days my life will go back to the way it was. Forever. Tyrone’s footsteps fell into step behind her.

  The preacher’s voice startled her from her inner thoughts and Jester came to a halt. “We are gathered here today … ”

  • • •

  Delilah paused on the threshold of the ballroom. Crystal clinked over top the laughter and soft music playing. Her light-headedness returned when she realized there must be close to a hundred guests in attendance to celebrate her supposed joyful union. She tightened her grip on her new husband’s arm but he strolled on, oblivious to her alarm. Is everyone staring at me? Oh, how I wish this night were over. Augustus deposited her in a chair and left to procure a glass of champagne on her behalf.

  Fighting a sense of abandonment, she perched on the chair toying with the ruffles on her skirt. Why did there have to be a celebration ball anyway? No one here knew her, or in all likelihood cared who she was; besides, their marriage was a sham to foil Tyrone’s plans. The orchestra began to play a light, fanciful waltz. She tried to lose herself in the forbidden melody, her fingers taking up position on an imaginary keyboard of their own accord. Playing as part of the orchestra would be much preferable to sitting here as the object of every gossip’s attention.

  “I have brought you refreshment.”

  Stilling her fingers she sought the glass Augustus held. A cool crystal goblet was pressed into her hand. Wrapping both around the delicate vessel, she raised it to her lips and sipped the contents, more for something to do than out of thirst. The tangy champagne bubbles teased her taste buds before sliding down her throat.

  Augustus cleared his throat. “I suppose to complete the ruse of an adoring couple, we should dance.”

  Delilah almost choked at the idea and lowered the glass in haste. “To a waltz? I am surprised you allow such an inappropriate dance.”

  “I hear it is all the rage in France.” Augustus sniffed. “And I make the effort to keep up with all the current trends.”

  No doubt it accounts for his need for money. She sighed. Why should she care what he did with her father’s blunt once she returned home with her dowry? “If we must dance then let us get it over with.” Truth be told she loved to dance, though the prospect was far from thrilling with one of the Augustus’ ilk. Tyrone, she surmised, was apt to be a skilled dancer. She rose and held out her hand. Biting her lip she chastised herself for allowing her thoughts to wander in such an unacceptable path. Tyrone didn’t want her any more than any other man. Delilah tried to concentrate on copying her husband’s steps rather than her present situation. One, two, three. One, two, three. The overpowering stench of his cologne made her eyes water. His arms were like iron bars, imprisoning her against his bony chest. She fought the urge to revolt and flee.

  “Excuse me, may I cut in?”

  Relief flooded her limbs at Tyrone’s request.

  Augustus stiffened beneath her hand.

  As if sensing his displeasure, Tyrone added, “I would have this dance with my charge before I return to Westpoint to pack.”

  Her partner released her. “By all means, Lord Frost. You must of course have the honor before you leave.”

  “Very considerate of you, sir. Miss Daysland — I beg your pardon, Lady March, will you do me the honor?”

  Left with little choice in a room crowded with onlookers, she tipped her head in an acquiescent nod. “Of course, my lord.” His sleeve slipped beneath her fingertips, warm and soft. He rested his hand at the juncture of her waist, his other cupping her fingers in a gentle grip. Together they picked up the strains of the fanciful waltz, he leading and her gliding along with more grace at Tyrone’s direction.

  “Are you well pleased with the baron, Delilah?”

  “As pleased as one who is forced to wed can be, my lord.”

  “Hmm. You seemed to be in a hurry to attend your nuptials for one so reluctant to marry.”

  In response to his observation her steps became unsure and she faltered. “You were the one in a hurry to marry me off and return to London.”

  “I only sought to do the right thing by you, nothing more.” His gruff answer didn’t quite cover the remorse in his words.

  Tipping her nose with an arrogant sniff, she rebuffed him. “And who are you to decide what is the right thing? I was content to go on as I was before you.” If it wouldn’t have drawn undue attention she would have left him standing in the middle of the floor, though in truth she was at a loss as to the way back to her chair.

  He sighed as if dealing with a naughty child. “And allow you go on fooling yourself into believing all was well? Once those blasted servants of yours drained
every asset from beneath your nose, what would you have done?”

  She bowed her head in defeat. There was nothing she could do in fact. But her total loss at what to do with the situation was not something she cared to admit to him or anyone else. Fumbling for anything to satisfy him, she lifted her chin and scowled. “I would have fired the lot of them and hired ones whom I could trust to be loyal.” His snort of disbelief didn’t help bolster her flagging self-esteem.

  “It is hard to instill loyalty and trust in servants when they know they have the undeniable advantage, my dear.” His observation was neither mocking nor sympathetic.

  Tears welled up despite her resolve to face him with distance, and she blinked them away lest he see. “How dare you! I existed just fine in my own world, until you came along. You pretended I was desirable with your teasing lips, and then dashed my confidence with rejection.” She wrenched from his grasp.

  When she would have struck out on her own through the crush of warm bodies he stayed her with his hand. “Forgive me, Delilah. I had no intention of promising you anything with a few misplaced kisses. It was unfair of me. I regret misleading you.”

  “I was a game, nothing but an amusement to you. You are no better than any other man I have met, my lord.” Jerking her arm from his she fled through the varied textured maze of people. Somehow she found herself in a quiet corridor, the sounds of the ballroom faint but still present. Soft footsteps approached.

  “My lady? The earl bid me to see to your welfare.”

  Delilah sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief from her reticule. “Who are you?”

  The girl’s voice softened. “Just a maid, my lady. May I see you above stairs to your bedchamber?”

  “Thank you. I have endured enough humiliation this night.”

  • • •

  Delilah stumbled, banging her shin against a chair in the bedchamber. Clenching her teeth she rubbed the bruised limb. If she must stay at the baron’s for a day or so it would be best to have the maid remove most of the furniture. Hands outstretched, she made her way past another chair, end table, and dressing screen to the window. She followed the grainy textured wall to the corner and then made her way along the next until her hip bumped a larger object. Leaning forward she investigated it. A soft bedspread smoothed beneath her fingertips. At last. She perched on the edge and then climbed between the covers.

  It was strange to be in a room not her own. She rolled over on the lumpy mattress. Between the unfamiliar surroundings and uncomfortable cushioning, it was doubtful she would sleep much this night. It would have been easier to have the baron stay at Westpoint, and she wondered why neither of them thought of it. Yawning, she rolled over onto her side and listened to the peculiar noises around her. Footsteps passed by the door. Laughter carried from the entrance way, a guest departing in all likelihood, and a door closed. Outside the window the wind moaned and howled, rattling branches against the windowpane. A lone cow bellowed, its forlorn call lending an eerie air to the place. I hope Jester is safe and snug in the baron’s stable. Somewhere downstairs a clock chimed. “Bong … bong.” Two past midnight. She yawned again. Though her body was weary, her mind churned with restless energy. Too bad she couldn’t brave a trip downstairs to the kitchen for a bite to eat.

  The click of the door latch made her sit up. At the soft squeak of the hinges and the creak of a loose floor board, she tilted her head toward the door. “Who is there?”

  The swish of a cautious tread and the scent of liquor made her recoil against the headboard. Clutching the covers to her chest she inquired again, “Who is there?”

  “‘Tis jus me, wife, come t’ take my rights by marriage.” The bed dipped under the baron’s weight.

  Was the man drunk? “We had an agreement, Augustus.”

  He snatched the covers from her grip with an evil chortle. “Did you really believe I would s-tick t’ s-such a ridic … ridic-ulous agreement,” he slurred. “I’ll ‘ave no reason for you t’ take the property mine by marriage away.”

  Panic rose in her chest and she tried to slide from the bed only to find herself imprisoned between his arms braced on either side of her torso. “You are drunk, sir.”

  “Of course I am. Why else w-would I s-sleep with such a pathetic creature as you?”

  Her mind raced for a way out of the situation. “I thought you possessed some honor at least.”

  He laughed. “You daft wench. When I t-tire of your wares it’ll be a s-swift tumble down the stairs for you. My plan t’ get you t’ accept my s-suit worked. ‘Twas too easy t’ get you t’ believe the earl meant you harm.”

  Terror fueled her courage. She braced her feet against his chest as his liquor-saturated breath came closer. With all her strength she shoved. Augustus grunted, and then tumbled off the bed, landing with a loud crash. Something clattered on the bedside table before coming to rest on the floor with a dull clunk. On her hands and knees she crawled to the opposite side of the bed. Augustus moaned. It was him all along. How could I have been so gullible? Listening for his pursuit, she scrambled from the bed and darted in the direction she thought the door should be. The same bruised shin caught the chair, toppling her to the floor. She staggered to her feet to the sound of her nightdress tearing. It dawned on her Augustus was silent. Was he passed out from too much drink or had she inadvertently killed him? Suppressing the urge to find out, she groped her way to the door, one ear tuned for his approach.

  Luck was with her when her hand closed around the smooth knob. It twisted with ease beneath her hand and she crept into the hallway. Biting her lip, she tried to remember which way the stairs were. A little more than a dozen steps to the right, she concluded, perhaps two without someone’s sure steps to guide her. She placed the palm of her right hand against the wall and shuffled forward as fast as she dared. Before she thought it possible, her hand slipped from the wall into emptiness. Teetering on the edge of the top step, she flailed for the railing, heaving a sigh of relief when her hand closed around its sturdy wooden arm. Step by step she descended the carpeted steps until her feet reached the hallway below. All was quiet, for which she was glad. If someone happened along, how would she explain what happened to her husband? Surely she would be held at fault for any injury or death of the man she wed. Panic resurfaced when she realized she didn’t know which way to go.

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed her fear aside. Think, Delilah, think. A vague recollection of walking forward and then turning left came to her. Arms outstretched, she turned right and walked forward. After a few moments she bumped into a door jam. She eased her way around it and kept walking until her palms came in contact with a solid wooden surface, and she slid her hand down it until she found the knob to open the door. A gust of wind whipped her hair about her head as she stepped outside. Not bothering to close the door behind, she made her way down the steps to the drive before pausing to consider which direction to go. How was she to find her way home? A whinny carried above the wind. Pivoting to the left she followed the sound until she walked into a rail fence. It stood to reason she would be black and blue by the time she made her way home, if she managed to get there at all.

  “Jester?” A welcoming nicker made her sigh with relief. “Thank God I found you, my friend.” Crawling between the rails she ran her palms along his side, searching for the harness. “The fiend left you out in such horrid weather, too,” she crooned. The pony nuzzled her arm as her fingers closed on the hand strap. She patted him. “Now all we have to do is find the gate.” She urged him on, trailing one hand along the rough top rail, unmindful of the splinters that pierced her tender flesh. On and on they trudged parallel to the enclosure fence. When she began to think she somehow missed the gate, her hand snagged the latch. “Whoa, Jester.”

  The pony halted, waiting with his usual patience as she fumbled with the braided rope loop. Eventually it popped loose and the gate creaked open. After leading Jester through, Delilah scrambled aboard and urged him forward
with her heels. All she could do was hope he could find his way home in the midst of the growing storm.

  The wind howled, flapping her tattered nightdress and unbound hair around her. Delilah shivered, her teeth chattering when an icy gust cut through the flimsy material. True to his character Jester plodded on unaffected. The moan of the rising wind drowned out the sound of the pony’s hooves. A couple drops of water against her wind-chapped cheeks were the only warning before the downpour began. Frigid rain pelted her mercilessly, turning her nightdress into a soggy second skin. The chill was unbearable. She let go of the harness to lean forward and wrap her arms around Jester’s neck, pressing her body to him to savor the little warmth his furry coat could give.

  How far was it from the baron’s to her own estate? On the road it took almost an hour by coach going at a smart clip. She grimaced as brush scraped her leg, snagging her nightdress. Going cross country as it appeared they were should be quicker, provided Jester was heading in the right direction. The groom led him over after the ceremony, but would Jester recognize the route to take? The seeds of doubt began to grow in her weary mind. We are going much slower and Jester’s legs are a lot shorter than the carriage horses … What if we get lost? Anything could happen to me out here alone … Was there a better way to handle Augustus? I cannot go back …

  A lone wolf howled nearby. Apprehension tightened her grip around the pony’s neck as his steps faltered. His head swung in the direction of the daunting sound. Did he see the creature lurking in the bushes? Was it watching and waiting for its chance to pounce? Noise. I need to make noise to scare it away. She opened her mouth to holler at the beast but then thought better of it. She didn’t want to alert the wrong creatures of her presence here, alone in the dark with no protection.

  Do not think about the cold. Think about getting home, to my room, to my warm bed. She coughed into Jester’s wet fur. I am still cold. A sound in rhythm with the wind caught her attention. “Bang … bang … bang.” The noise grew louder until it was right in front of them. The rain ceased as Jester clip clopped across a wooden floor. The smell of fresh hay, dust, and straw tickled her nostrils making her sneeze. The sound echoed. Jester must have brought me to an empty barn.