For Love of a Gypsy Lass (4 page)

Chapter Six

In his quarters at the Hadley Inn, Harry sang happily to himself.
So this is what being in love feels like,
he thought.
I am
madly, hopelessly, completely in love with a most beautiful, talented, and virtuous woman.
He threw back his head and laughed.
And I don’t care a farthing if everyone considers her quite socially unsuitable. She suits me perfectly. And now I shall court her as a gentleman should court the woman he adores.

He paused occasionally in his song to issue often contradictory orders. He knew he was driving his manservant to distraction, but seemed unable to stop himself. First he’d wanted the gray breeches and the darker gray coat, but no hat was right. And the stock, the neck cloth—no matter how it was tied, it looked wrong. And the fawn trousers weren’t right, either.

And perhaps he should not arrive in the carriage. He’d never thought about it before but it might be best to appear more humble. He’d come by horseback—but he had no fine riding horse here. He’d dispatched a man to Beresford to get his finest hunter, although he knew perfectly well that he could never be back in time. And five minutes later, he thought perhaps the gray mare would be more pleasing, and he paid the stable man at the inn to ride after the first and tell him of the change.

And then back to the matter of the clothes. He glanced in the mirror—his hair, he should have had it trimmed. He looked again. People said he was handsome. He’d never really thought about it before but now he wondered, was it only flattery because of his rank? What did she think–the beautiful Talaitha Grey? The boy who came with a message from the Gypsy camp had told him her name, and since then he was sure he’d uttered it to himself a thousand times.

Talaitha Grey—she who had found him so repulsive. He groaned softly as he remembered how he had offered her a guinea to sleep with him. And he groaned louder when he remembered that he had offered to make her his mistress. Twice he had thought a poor Gypsy lass could be pleased with an offer of money, of material wealth. Instead she had been disgusted.

He sat down and put his head in his hands. Was he being foolish to even try to woo her after what he had done? Perhaps there could be no way of making amends. True, at first he had been sure that she had wanted him—or perhaps she had only pretended to. After all, she was a performer. But surely she had sung to him when last he stood in her audience. He would have sworn she was singing to him and him alone. Yes, he was sure of it. And the way she had held him and kissed him. She must feel something like he did. But no, she was only doing her job. Only trying to please him so he would put more money in the pot. Best he forget this whole mad enterprise. After all the idiotic things he had done, she could not possibly care for him. It was painful, but he would not play the besotted fool again. He would not bother her further.

He summoned his valet and told him to order a horse from the inn. He pulled on his old riding breeches and then his riding boots. He tore the cloth from his neck and stormed out of the room and down the stairs.

The horse was a sorry-looking beast, but he mounted her and rode off at a furious gallop. He would ride until he was exhausted and then arrange to return to Beresford Hall and forget—if he could—this whole mad adventure.

***

Delilah put the finishing touches on Talaitha’s hair. She had cut the ribbons off her cousin’s tambourine, murmuring that Talaitha would no longer be using it, and threaded them carefully through her hair. The last ribbon—the least worn—she tied around Talaitha’s neck, and then pinched her cheeks.

“Why so pale? Soon you will be a great
rawni
.”

“I don’t know yet what to do. I do not want to leave you all.”

“Don’t be silly, you will have plenty to eat always,” Delilah said. “Meat every day and cakes whenever you want.”

“And you will have silks to wear and servants to dress you every morning,” Naomi added.

“And to undress you at night to get you ready for his Lordship.” said Delilah, shameless as usual.

Talaitha felt the blood rushing to her cheeks and the fire in her belly overcame the cold knot of nervousness and anxiety that had taken up residence there since she had learned that the
Gadjo
lord wanted to court her.

“Here,” said Naomi, removing the ragged wrapping from a green dress, “this was Mother’s. I think it will fit you well, and the patches aren’t as easily seen as the ones on your dress.” She held up a grass-green dress embroidered with bright flowers. She stroked one of the flowers. “Mother did these herself. I hope this dress will bring you good luck, sister.” She held it out to Talaitha.

Naomi and Delilah helped her out of her deep yellow dress, and tut-tutted at the condition of her shift. Naomi insisted on trading shifts, hers being less patched and frayed than Talaitha’s own. Both women pulled off their gold bangles and put them on Talaitha’s wrists and Naomi tied her gold coin necklace around her sister’s neck.

“You look very beautiful,
ves’tacha
, my beloved.”
Baba
Florica said as she entered the
vardo
. “Here, wear mine as well.” She pulled off the five bangles that her husband had given her on her wedding day and the gold earrings she had inherited from her own grandmother and handed them to Talaitha.

“There!” Naomi said. “With all that gold, he will think you are as rich as himself!”

***

Harry rode hard around the countryside trying to not think about Talaitha Grey—why could he not stop murmuring her name to himself? Why could he not stop thinking about her?

When the shadows grew longer and his horse grew tired, he decided to return to the inn and prepare to depart first thing in the morning. Why was that thought so painful? Why could he not get the Gypsy singer out of his mind?
Talaitha.
He would say her name aloud one last time and then think of her no more. He whispered it to himself, and then cursed aloud as his blood ran hotter.

The Gypsies had granted him permission to court her. Why on earth had he decided not to? Every time he thought of her, his heart raced, the fire in his belly flared and he felt… He couldn’t quite put it into words. It was more than mere affection, much more than that. He loved Talaitha. He wanted her—needed her—to be part of his life.

He cursed himself for having decided otherwise. Instead of returning to the inn, he persuaded the tired horse to gallop toward the gypsy encampment. He would speak with Talaitha
.

If she will allow me, I shall tell her that I love her beyond all reasoning.

***

The encampment lay in a little dip in a fallow field between gentle hills. He rode slowly around the top of the rise, thinking about what he might say, about what she might say, and if she did what he would say then. So unlike himself, but he had never felt so unsure of a woman—of anyone or anything—as he felt about her. Nor had he ever cared as much. “Talaitha,” he murmured. Her name was honey on his tongue.

For a few seconds, he did not know that it was she, standing beneath a scraggy tree at the top of the hill with ribbons in her hair and a scowl on her pretty face.

He rode to her and dismounted hastily.

“Talai—” he started to say her name and realized they were most certainly not intimate enough to use given names, though that was how he’d been thinking of her. “Forgive me, Miss Grey.”

“It does not matter,” she said coldly. “Many people do not give the
Romanichal
the courtesy of addressing them as miss or mister.”

“Truly, I did not mean to be discourteous, but your given name has been on my mind, perhaps unrightfully so, and for a moment it came to my lips. You…you have been much in my thoughts and I did not intend any lack of respect.”

She shrugged. “I had expected you earlier,” she said looking him up and down and frowning. “And now you come in disarray.”

He realized suddenly that he was in his old riding breeches and that he wore no coat or stock. Also that his shirt was wet and sticking to him and sweat trickled down his forehead.

“I…”

What could he say but “forgive me.” He looked at her, feeling as though his heart might burst. He knew that she was the one he wanted, the one he loved, and yet unthinking, he had insulted her yet again.

“I thought…that is, I wasn’t sure whether to come because I believed you despised me and would reject me yet again. But then I knew I had to see you, to try one more time. I could not wait. I did not think of what I wore or how I looked.” He swiped at the sweat that threatened to run into his eyes.

She laughed. He tilted his head, confused and hopeful all at once. Smiling, she stepped forward and pulled at the lace that lined the top of her bodice. It was the lace of one of the handkerchiefs he had given her. She handed it to him and lowered her eyes demurely.

“Your hair,” he said as he wiped his face.

She looked up at him and arched her brow.

“It’s different.”

“You don’t like it?” She sounded worried.

“I meant it’s different from when I saw you in the past. In truth I prefer it as it was then, but it is very lovely like this.”

“Like a lady of the ton?” Her interest sounded genuine—a pleasant change from the society ladies whose tones were always mildly bored, who asked questions only to please him, not because they wanted to know the answer.

“More colorful,” he said truthfully, “but otherwise much like. I think. In truth, I know little of the intricacies of ladies’ styles—neither hair nor dresses—though I find your dress very pretty indeed.”

She nodded, smiling slightly. “I know little of these things either. I know nothing of being a fine lady, or of the society of the ton.”

“I am glad of that,” he said. “I find the ladies of the ton to be boring—and mercenary.”

“What do you mean?”

“They are terribly polite to me and always show considerable concern about me.”

“But that is good.”

“It is only because of my title and my wealth.” He paused, then, smiling down at her added, “In spite of those things, you rejected me, despised me.”

“Because you have money and title, and I have none, you thought you could buy me.” She was scowling again.

“Forgive me.” He took her hand and, to his considerable relief, she did not withdraw it.

Her expression softened. “You could always have whatever your heart desired. You have always lived a life of ease and privilege. “

“Yes, and boredom.”

“Boredom?” She looked at him as though she could not believe what he was saying. “How could you be bored? The world is such a wonderful place—so much to do, so much to see. Or do you mock me?”

“No, I do not mock you.”

“You, who have everything any man could want, is bored, and I, who has so little, have never been bored in my life.” She shook her head and began to laugh and, still holding her dainty hand in his, he found himself laughing with her.

When they became serious again, he rubbed his head ruefully.

“I do not have everything I want.” He met her gaze and held it for a moment. He felt the spark leap between them and his blood grow hot. “There is something—someone—I want more than anything on this earth. I dream that she would forgive me for my foolishness of the past.”

“She does forgive you,” Talaitha said in a husky voice, squeezing his hand.

“I would give everything I own to have her at least look upon me with approval.”

Talaitha smiled, her gaze never leaving his. “She is looking at you with approval,” she whispered.

“Is it too much to hope that she would look upon me with more than mere approval? That she could, perhaps in time, come to feel for me as I do for her?”

“But sir,” Talaitha said softly, “I do not know how you feel for me.”

“You are my heart’s deepest desire. I want to live my life with you at my side. I want never to be parted from you.” He paused for a moment, struggling to put his tumultuous feelings into words. “I—I adore and revere you. I wish to marry you, should you ever be willing to marry me.”

She tore her hand from his and turned away from him.

“I have erred again, “he said, “I have been too forward. I would never force myself upon you, but if you would allow me to see you, to court you, perhaps I—”

“No!” she said. The hot blood in his veins turned to ice.

Slowly she turned back to him. “No,” she said again, “you have not erred.” She looked down and he saw the color rise in her cheeks. “I feel the same as you,” she murmured, and then much louder, “I feel the same as you!”

He threw his arms about her, wrapping her tight within them, his heart racing, his blood warming.

“You have cast a spell on me,” she said, smiling up at him before she laid her head against his breast.

“And you have placed that same spell on me.” Joy filled his heart until he thought it might burst from his ribs.