Claiming the Forbidden Bride (23 page)

‘And did she?' Nadya asked obediently, although she was already certain of the outcome.

‘He bought her a husband. Someone who had both a title and entrée to that elite circle. His name was William Morgan, the fifth Baron Sutton. He didn't have two pence to rub together, mind you, but his blood was bluer than the ocean. As were his eyes.' The old woman's face softened with memory, the wrinkles that marred its beauty almost lost in the candlelight.

‘Did you love him?'

‘At first…at first, I was dazzled by him. He was so beautiful. Poor Edward, the sixth Baron Sutton, took after my father, as does the current holder of the title. Rhys, however…' She paused, her eyes looking into the past. ‘Rhys is very much like my William. Kinder, of course. Less…glittering.'

Nadya laughed, unable to imagine the adjective being applied to her husband, no matter how enamoured she was of him. ‘And later?' she probed.

‘I decided two could play at that game. I set out to out-glitter my beautiful husband. I spent my father's money like a drunken sailor. On clothes from the most fashionable dressmakers in Paris. On entertainments more lavish than those at Montagu House. On blood mares and splendid high carriages and exotic furniture in whatever style was
au courant
.

‘Oh, I heard them whispering behind their fans. They
called me a rich Cit, but they copied my gowns and head-dresses all the same. And they begged for invitations to my balls where I danced on the arm of my beautiful, glittering husband. Finally, long after I, or he, had ceased to care what those fools whispered, they only called me Lady Sutton. And had forgotten that my father had once sold them wine.'

Lost in the remembered magic of those days, the old woman stared into the fire. She didn't seem to remember anyone else was there. Nadya waited in the perfumed warmth of the room, content merely to be accepted by someone who loved Rhys as dearly as she.

After a long time a log fell, creating a shower of sparks. At the sound, Rhys's grandmother looked up to smile at her. ‘You are a Gypsy princess, descended from the Pharaohs, the blood of your ancestors older, richer by far than theirs.'

Nadya had begun to shake her head, unwilling to give her approval to the fables the romantic old woman was weaving.

‘I know you don't care what they think, my dear. And why should you?' Lady Sutton leaned forward a little in her chair. ‘But you very much fear
he
will.'

‘Yes.' Nadya's agreement was a whisper of sound.

‘What does it matter that we deceive them? Theirs is a world of deceit, built on pretence and pretension. Beat them at their own game, my love. Or if you will not, let me. Let me give him this. And then, when you retire to your boudoir, you can laugh together at the sycophants who fawn at your feet.'

‘Do you believe that's really what he wants? To deceive them?'

‘I believe he wants you. And Angel, of course. And, eventually, other children. No matter what he says now,
Rhys would not like it if his daughters had to wonder what was being whispered about them behind those fans.'

‘Even if we manage to fool the local Society…'

‘You believe Rhys will want to take you to London and present you to the Ton? If so, my dear, you have much to learn about my grandson.'

‘You think he'd be too ashamed of his Romany wife to do that?'

‘I think his honour would require him to call out the first man who dared to slight you. He couldn't, however, challenge the ladies to a duel. Rhys is certainly wise enough to know that. No, I think he'll be more than content to live here quietly with you and your children.'

‘Here?' She wasn't sure if the old lady was inviting them to stay in the dower house indefinitely or simply to remain in the vicinity after she'd convinced her neighbours of their acceptability.

‘It's to be his, you know. Or didn't you?' Lady Sutton questioned softly. And then, reading the surprise in Nadya's eyes, she explained, ‘My father didn't buy me only a husband, my dear. He was more far-sighted than that. This house, the land, and everything on it, are not entailed. They belong to me, to be disposed of as I see fit. It shall be my wedding gift to you both. I always intended the estate for Rhys, who was the only one who loved it as I did. So you see, it is simply a matter of deceiving a few country folk who will, I promise you, be delighted to be introduced to Gypsy royalty.'

This time it was Nadya who stared into the fire. After a long time, she lifted her eyes to the old woman's face, uncaring that the candlelight would pick out the track of the tears that stained her cheeks. ‘I shall ask my brother to come to the wedding. Whether or not he will wear his crown, I cannot say.'

Lady Sutton smiled at her as if she were a pupil who had mastered a difficult lesson. ‘A small sacrifice, I should think, for such a great reward. Your children will forever be grateful to you.'

‘“And bear you many strong grandchildren, who will care for you in your old age,”' Nadya echoed the blessing Magda had given Rhys on the day they left the encampment. ‘As will yours, dearest Grandmama.'

Lady Sutton smiled at her again. ‘Do you think you could sleep now if I take you back to your room?'

Nadya nodded, and when the old woman held out her hand, she put hers into it with the same unshakeable trust with which she had once given her hand to Rhys.

‘W
ilt thou, Nadya, have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?'

‘I will.'

Nadya's voice was not, perhaps, as strong as Rhys's had been when he'd answered that same question. For some reason, a flood of emotion, totally unexpected in response to these unfamiliar vows, thickened her throat. She held to the very different promise in Rhys's eyes as she made this final commitment to become forever a part of his world.

‘Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?'

The silence in the small chapel after that question seemed almost oppressive. As she had promised Rhys's grandmother she would, Nadya had written to Stephano, but had, of course, received no reply.

There was no one here of her blood. No one who had the right to speak on their behalf. Lady Sutton had, there
fore, instructed her cleric to hesitate only a few seconds before moving on to the rest of the ceremony.

Before he could, however, into that waiting stillness came the sound of boot heels echoing over the ancient stone floors of the chapel. Unable to stop herself, Nadya turned her head to look down its dim central aisle.

Her half-brother stood in the very centre of the church, impeccably garbed in the clothing of an English gentleman. Seeing the grimness of his expression, Nadya wondered whether he had arrived too late to respond to the minister's previously unanswered question.

…if any man do allege and declare an impediment, why they may not be coupled together in matrimony…

The clergyman, too, seemed uncertain of the new guest's intentions. So much so that he repeated the question he had just asked. ‘Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?'

His eyes locked on hers, Stephano said, in a voice much stronger than that with which she had made her vow, ‘I, her brother, give Nadya Argentari to this man, who has sworn with his blood to keep her safe.'

Stephano's dark eyes touched on Rhys's face, as if in warning. Then he turned on his heel and went out through the heavy chapel door, letting it bang closed behind him.

The shocked silence that followed his departure was far deeper than the anticipating one had been. After a moment, the unsteady voice of Lady Sutton's cleric took up the interrupted vows, completing them and the exchange of rings at a speed indicating he was hoping to finish this before the man who'd spoken of blood payments could return.

Through it all, Rhys had held her hand, his eyes steadying, loving, reassuring, until her unexpectedly fragile composure had once more been restored.

 

Nadya searched for Stephano in the aftermath of the ceremony, but it was not until they were about to climb back into the carriage that she finally saw him. Her brother stood on a slight rise overlooking the church grounds, the reins of the black stallion in his gloved hand.

The King of the Gypsies…

She touched Rhys's arm, drawing his attention away from the effusive congratulations of one of the local gentry. She tilted her chin in Stephano's direction. Her husband's gaze followed, and then quickly returned to her face.

‘I won't be long, I promise.' She smiled at him and then stretched on tiptoe to press her lips against his.

Turning, she handed the bouquet of wildflowers she carried to Lady Sutton, who took them with raised brows. ‘I warned you that he might not wear his crown,' Nadya whispered, pressing another kiss on her wrinkled cheek.

Then smiling, she made her way through the crowd of villagers who had gathered in front of the church, accepting their good wishes with as much patience as she could. When she reached the fringe of the throng, she picked up her skirt to run to where her half-brother waited.

There was a moment of awkwardness when she reached him, which she quickly destroyed by kissing him on the cheek as well. ‘I'm so glad you came.'

‘You asked me to come.'

‘I know. But I wasn't sure you would.'

His dark eyes left her face to touch on the throng below. ‘Is that what you want,
jel'enedra
?'

‘
He's
what I want,' she corrected softly. ‘Everything I have ever wanted.'

‘Then I wish you joy.' His gaze had not returned to her.

‘Who and what I am has not changed, Stephano.'

He looked at her then, mocking her words. ‘You are wed in a
gadje
church by
gadje
clergy wearing a
gadje
dress.'

‘And our mother's necklace.' She touched its centre stone, which had lain cool and comforting against her skin throughout the strangeness of the English ceremony.

‘Can you so easily deny your blood?'

‘No more easily than I could deny my heart. He is my husband. But you will always be my brother.'

His gaze touched on her bridegroom. ‘He could have killed me. I don't know why he didn't. I would have killed him.'

‘He knew that if he did, I would never forgive him.'

‘Would you have forgiven me?'

‘No.'

‘Yet you still call me brother.'

‘No matter what, we are always linked by our mother's blood.'

His laugh was bitter. ‘I have an English sister.'

She shook her head. ‘I'm not English, Stephano. Despite the pretence of this…' She touched her gown. ‘I'll always be Rom.'

‘I didn't mean you,
jel'enedra
. My father had a daughter by the woman who threw me out of his home when he was murdered.'

‘You have…another sister?' She wondered if Magda had known. And then wondered why Stephano, who never did anything without a reason, had chosen to tell her this today.

‘Someone with whom I share my English blood, as you and I share that of our mother.'

‘Do you see her?' Was that where he had disappeared to so often these last months? To visit his other sister?

‘Why would I wish to be reminded of what once was and is no more and can never be again?'

‘Because she, too, is your blood. As much a part of your father as you are.'

‘Do you think she'll help me bring him justice,
jel'enedra
?'

‘The English courts did that. Nothing you do can ever change what happened.'

‘Our mother cursed the seed of those guilty of his murder.'

‘And in her grief threw away the love of a good man.'
And abandoned a daughter who loved her.
‘Don't let Jaelle's madness ensnare you, too, Stephano. Your father would not have wanted that.'

‘I think my father wants revenge on those who betrayed him. Then he and Jaelle can both—finally—rest in peace.'

‘The dead are beyond vengeance and remorse. It's time to stop chasing ghosts. The living need you more. Although she'd never admit it, Magda's growing old. You have a sister you've never met. And another—' she hesitated, her eyes on his face ‘—another who loves you very much and who cannot imagine never seeing you again.'

‘Shall I come and take tea with Lady Sutton?'

‘I think she would like that very much. I know that I should. Angel will steal a cake for you.'

At the mention of her daughter, Stephano's face relaxed into the expression that only Angel could coax those stern features to assume. ‘
Steal
a cake?'

‘I'll tell you about it if you'll come to tea. Come now.' She took his hand, attempting to draw him toward the churchyard.

She could feel him slipping away from her. If something happened to Stephano…

‘I don't belong there.' He pulled his hand from hers so roughly that she gasped a little with the pain of it. His brow furrowed in regret, and he lifted her fingers to his lips. ‘I
didn't mean to hurt you.' The words were whispered against the back of her hand before he released it to touch the cheek he'd struck on the day of the duel. ‘I never meant to hurt you. Sometimes…'

‘I know.'

Jaelle's madness. She had warned him it could destroy him. She turned her head to put her lips against the long, dark fingers that caressed her face.

‘Be happy,
jel'enedra
,' Stephano said. ‘Be happy for all of us.'

Before she could reply, he had mounted the black. He touched his heels to the stallion, thundering away without a backward glance.

‘Are you all right?'

She turned to find Rhys beside her. ‘Of course. Stephano would never hurt me.'

He didn't comment on that assertion. Instead he took her hand, bringing it to his lips as her brother had done.

‘He wished us happy,' she said, smiling up at him.

‘Then I believe Stephano has inherited Magda's gift, my love. Because that's one Gypsy blessing I can guarantee you
will
come true.'