Claiming the Forbidden Bride (22 page)

Rhys reached behind him to pull Nadya into the light.
‘This is my wife, Pembley. Would you ask Grandmama
if
she'll receive us?'

‘
If
she'll receive you? Well, of course she will. Beside herself is what she'll be.' The old man held the door open wide as Rhys pushed Nadya forward into the house's welcoming warmth.

The butler closed the door behind them and, still chatting happily to Rhys, led the way down the hall. In no hurry to repeat this afternoon's fiasco, Nadya took time to examine her surroundings, which seemed nearly as opulent as the interior of that other residence.

‘This way,' the butler directed with a smile, ushering her toward the room into which Rhys had already disappeared.

As she entered, Nadya saw Rhys bending over to kiss the cheek of an old lady ensconced in a chair near the fire. Her feet were propped on a Turkish ottoman and a light blanket covered her legs.

Nadya's first thought was that Rhys's grandmother was an invalid. As she advanced into the room, however, the dowager rose from her chair and came toward her, hands outstretched.

‘What a lovely surprise. Welcome, child. Now let me look at you.'

Nadya had automatically taken the hands the old woman offered. She waited as the dowager made her appraisal.

‘What a lovely shawl. You must give me the name of your mantua-maker. It's almost as beautiful as its wearer,' she added, turning to Rhys. ‘Why didn't you tell me? Why must the aged be kept in the dark about the most delicious news?'

‘Because it
is
news,' Rhys said. ‘More current than you can imagine.'

‘But I would have come to your wedding,' the dowager
said, her twinkling blue eyes returning to Nadya. ‘I can't promise to have danced at it, but I promise you I should have tried.'

‘You'll get your chance, Grandmama.'

The old woman's questioning gaze travelled from one to the other. Since she was still holding the dowager's hands, Nadya felt an obligation to explain.

‘What Rhys means is that we haven't yet been married. Not by English tradition.'

‘I see. By what “tradition” have you been wed, my dear?'

‘Nadya—' Rhys began, only to be interrupted.

‘Rhys offered his hand in front of my people. When I accepted it, by Romany law we were married.'

‘Marriage is, after all, simply a vow between a man and a woman, is it not? However…' Lady Sutton turned back to her grandson, brows raised.

‘We had hoped you would help us with the “however.”'

‘But of course. What can I do?'

‘Convince your cleric to send for a special license.'

‘Since the poor man owes me his living, I'm sure I could bend him to my will, but…' she turned to Nadya. ‘Is that what you want, my dear? Or has this impetuous boy swept you off your feet, so that you haven't had time to decide if you really want to plight your troth to him?'

When his grandmother turned to look at Rhys again, Nadya's eyes followed. Travel stained. Exhausted. His face reflected not only the rigors of the duel he'd fought, but his bitter disappointment in his brother's response to their marriage.

He still held Angel, who seemed totally confident of his love. As was she, Nadya realized. With all the doubts attendant on her decision to marry this man, she had never once doubted Rhys loved her.

‘I already have,' she answered softly. ‘And I will do so again before any clerk or cleric you wish.'

‘No second thoughts, my dear?' His grandmother's blue eyes came back to examine her face, as if searching it for the truth.

‘Only those concerning my acceptance in his world. That doesn't matter to me, but I know eventually it will to him.'

‘That's not true,' Rhys denied. ‘You're all that matters to me. You and Angel.' He smiled down at the child who had touched his lips with one small finger as they moved.

‘If we are to live in your world—'

‘Then we must decide how best to present you there,' Lady Sutton said decisively. ‘It's all in the presentation.'

‘It's not that I'm ungrateful for what you're trying to do. Believe me. But there is, I'm afraid, no hiding what I am.'

‘Who would want to? You're a Romany princess, descended from a very long line of blue bloods. Forgive me, dear, but do the Rom have blue bloods? No matter,' the old woman went on. ‘A very long and distinguished line of ancestors.'

‘Nadya is descended from two very powerful families,' Rhys said. ‘Her half-brother is the leader of her tribe.'

‘Oh, my dear! Your brother is King of the Gypsies. How romantic that sounds. Do you suppose you could convince him to attend the ceremony?'

‘You don't understand—'

‘No matter. Just the idea that he might show up will be enough to set the tongues of local Society aflap.'

‘The Rom don't actually have a king, Lady Sutton. That's a misunderstanding the
gadje
—'

‘And the design of your dress must play up these magnificent stones.' The dowager baroness touched the necklace Thom had made. ‘I've never seen a more beautiful parure.'

Despite her misgivings about the old woman's plans, Nadya was charmed enough by her admiration of Thom's handiwork to offer an explanation. ‘My father made them as a wedding gift for my mother.'

‘Your father? But how marvellous! And now you will wear them on your wedding day.' The old woman folded her hands together and held them over her heart. ‘The local ladies shall enjoy that bit of romance.'

‘You may make it as romantic as you will, Lady Sutton, but I'm afraid the prejudice against my people will overcome any gloss you try to put on our marriage.'

‘Some will come out of curiosity, no doubt. Others to have something new to gossip about. But rest assured, my dear, they
will
come. And they
will
be impressed by what they see. You leave that to me. You have quite an air about you, you know. Don't you think so, Rhys?'

‘From the first time I saw her.' He smiled at Nadya.

In spite of wishing very much to believe all the objections to their marriage could be overcome by some romantic folderol, Nadya was too much the realist to think even Rhys's grandmother could pull off that particular sleight-of-hand.

‘It's not that I don't appreciate your intentions. Please believe that. I just don't want you—either of you,' she amended, ‘to be under the illusion that who I am won't really matter as long as we pretend it doesn't.'

‘Oh, my dear, how very mistaken you are. Pretence is the key to being accepted in our world. A man may be unable to pay his tailor, but as long as the garments he wears are all the rage, no one gives a fig. Ladies may have as many lovers as they wish, as long as the husbands they've cuckolded include their bastards in the households. It's all a magic lantern show. And that, I fear, may be the most difficult thing for you to accept about your new situation.'

‘Believe me, Lady Sutton, I've lived too long knowing how the English feel about the Rom to think that anything, including illusion, can make their intolerance go away.'

‘You leave that to me, my dear. I can think of nothing I'd rather do than present you to Society. Now, Pembley, I believe this little one may need a light supper and a warming pan for her bed. Do you wish to share her room, my dear?' The old woman dismissed Nadya's objections as unimportant in the face of such a compelling domestic quandary. ‘Perhaps just for tonight. Until she gets used to her great-grandmama's strange house.'

‘That might be best.' Even as she agreed, Nadya looked to Rhys for guidance. She felt almost helpless in the face of Lady Sutton's grandiose plans.

‘I think we could all use something to eat,' Rhys said. ‘Why don't you join us, Grandmama?'

‘I have far too much to see to, darling boy, to waste time eating. Pembley will take very good care of you. You have only to tell him what you need, and he'll procure it. I'll see you both in the morning. Now, sleep well, my dear.' The dowager baroness leaned forward to touch her lips to Nadya's cheek. ‘I'm so glad you've come to me. If you'd left it to that silly chit poor Edward has married, she would have made a botch of the whole thing.'

‘But—'

‘Off you go. Pembley will see to all.'

There was nothing to do but let the Lady Sutton enjoy her fantasy while she could, Nadya decided. The truth of their situation, which she had always known, would be brought home to Rhys's grandmother soon enough.

 

Although Angel was dreaming almost as soon as her head touched the pillow, Nadya found sleep more elusive.
The events of the day circled through her brain until she could no longer abide thinking about them.

She slipped out of the cocoon of a feather mattress topped by fat quilts, being careful not to wake her daughter. Wrapping one of the blankets the housekeeper had placed at the foot of the bed around her, she walked across to the wide windows and pushed aside one of the heavy draperies.

Below her stretched a vast garden, threaded with paths that wandered aimlessly amidst the lush vegetation. A folly, built beside a stream like a ribbon of glass in the moonlight, seemed to beckon to her.

After a quick check to make sure Angel was still sleeping, she eased open the heavy door and stepped out. The carefully banked fire had kept the bedroom warm, but the hall was both dark and chill.

Although she desperately needed Rhys's comfort, even if she had known where to find him, she would have felt that visiting him would be a betrayal of the dowager's trust. Instead, she pulled the blanket more tightly around herself and tiptoed toward the stairs.

She had reached the first landing when she realized someone was approaching it from the bottom of the stairs. Nadya had already begun a retreat, when the voice of Rhys's grandmother stopped her.

‘For goodness sakes, child, don't run away. It's only me.'

Feeling as if she'd been caught stealing sweets from the tea tray, Nadya stopped, turning to watch the old woman slowly climb the steps to where she stood.

Once there, Lady Sutton raised her candlestick so that its light illuminated Nadya's face. ‘Trouble getting to sleep? Some warm milk, perhaps?'

‘I don't believe milk will help.'

‘Too many things to think about, I suppose. A wedding.
A handsome new bridegroom. A strange house. No wonder you're excited.'

‘It's not excitement that keeps me awake, Lady Sutton.'

‘Then what, my dear? Surely you're not worrying about your reception as Rhys's bride.'

‘You can't possibly understand the gap that exists between our two worlds.'

‘Can I not?' the dowager said with a smile. ‘You might be surprised at what I know about gaps.'

Taken aback by the old woman's amused surety, Nadya shook her head. ‘I would do anything to protect him.'

‘As would I,' Rhys's grandmother confided, putting her arm around Nadya's shoulders. ‘He is very special to me. As you will be.'

‘But don't you see—'

‘I see the woman my grandson wishes to marry. I assure you I shall do everything within my considerable powers to bring that about. And without anyone being hurt. Oh, I can't promise someone won't occasionally say something impolite, but I shall teach you the look I use to freeze nay-sayers into silence. Nothing succeeds in our world like a haughty stare.'

Nadya's face must have reflected her frustration at that misplaced confidence. Lady Sutton took her chin between her thumb and forefinger, lifting it further into the candle's glow.

‘I shall have to tell you my secret, I see. Something even Rhys doesn't know. And if it's all the same to you, my dear, something I had just as soon he never does.'

‘Your secret?'

‘The reason I know about gaps.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘Come with me to my room, and I'll show you. Far better than trying to explain here in the cold and the dark.'

 

Lady Sutton's bedroom smelled of lavender and powder, a mixture as warm and welcoming as the old lady herself. Her servants were apparently accustomed to her late hours, since the fire had been freshly fed and a multitude of candles bathed every corner with a soft glow.

‘Now you sit there.' Rhys's grandmother indicated one of two chairs situated before the fire. She took the opposite, putting her feet on a worn footstool. ‘Now, where shall I begin? With my father, I suppose, who was not a gentleman by anyone's standards. As a boy, he was dispatched to London to be apprenticed to a merchant. Which he did. And rather successfully by all accounts.

‘He was frugal and hardworking and smart, and eventually, while he was still a young man, he was able to open his own shop. He had discovered that there was then, as now, a great demand for good wine in the city. So he began importing it. He also bought tobacco off ships coming from the colonies and found a thriving market for it in Russia. With all that importing and exporting, he became a very wealthy man, but he was still a merchant. Gentlemen might buy wine from him. They might even borrow money from him, but they would never introduce him to their wives or their daughters. In short, despite his prosperity, despite the fact that he might have bought and sold several times over the noblemen who traded with him, he could never become one of them.'

‘Forgive me, Lady Sutton. While being in trade is certainly a barrier to social acceptance,' Nadya said kindly, ‘it is quite different from being a Rom.'

‘I'm sure you're right, my dear. And Society at that time was not so rigid as it pretends to be now. Ah, there is that word again,' the old woman said with a knowing smile.
‘My father, who, like the Americans, believed he was as good as any duke or earl, determined that his daughter…' she inclined her head to Nadya as if they had just been introduced ‘…that his only and very beloved daughter should achieve what he had not—acceptance in the upper echelons of the class that denied him admittance.'