The Random Gentleman (8 page)

“I am your guest,” the Duke reminded him. “It would hardly be seemly of me to tell you the feeling is mutual.”

A reluctant grin tugged at the gypsy’s hard mouth. “Yet you have managed to do so without being insulting. I begin to fear you, Gorgio.”

“As I have always feared you,” said the Duke.  

“It seems we both know how to lie,” retorted The Whip, for the first time that evening smiling easily.

The Duke let him have the last word. It was good diplomacy.

At noon of the second day after this encounter, the colorful procession of caravans wended its way down the Devon roads toward the sea. Ahead of them was a wood, stretching for a great distance on either side of the highway. Running off toward the ocean on the left, enclosing this side of the forest, was a high stone wall.

Bracho, riding beside the Duke, pointed out the imposing barrier. “That is the boundary of Sayre Court,” he said. “It is your destination?”

“I have some small business in the area,” admitted the Duke. He had no fear that the gypsy would betray him to any Gorgio, but he was not ready to discuss his private affairs with anyone at this juncture.

The old man forbore to question him further, and the two rode in companionable silence. As the massive wall loomed nearer, Dane asked, “Shall you be staying in this neighborhood long?”

“Perhaps awhile,” admitted Bracho. “The Whip has a friend here, and we have trading to do before we go to Cornwall.”

Now the leading riders and the vans were entering the wood. The Duke noticed that the great stone wall also fronted the highroad at this point, and that the forest was giving way to ordered rows of fruit trees. A flash of movement from the top of the wall caught Dane’s attention. A girl was perched on the old stone coping, her lovely, long bare legs dangling beneath a sober gray gown. On her small feet were sturdy black slippers, with which she was kicking idly at the wall. Her head was neatly covered with an old-fashioned mobcap, and her vivid little face, regrettably smeared with the juice of the fruit she was munching like any urchin, was turned to view the procession which approached her.

The Duke thought she was the loveliest girl he had ever seen.

For her part, Belinda was busily taking in the fascinating details of the cavalcade which was approaching her vantage point. First came several young men mounted on horses as fine as Belinda had ever seen. The men were dressed in brightly colored shirts with dark trousers and hats set rakishly on coarse black hair. Only as they came closer did the girl perceive that the colorful clothing was well worn, occasionally ragged, and that the hats, though gallantly cocked, were sometimes old and battered. The harnesses of the horses, however, gleamed with many brass ornaments polished to a glittering shine. The young riders were very much aware of the girl on the wall. Teeth gleamed white against swarthy skin as they smiled cheerfully at her.

The riders were closely followed by a line of large, covered vans or wagons, garishly decorated with red, yellow, and blue painted wooden scrolls and fretwork. Drawing each of these small houses-on-wheels was a magnificent draft horse expertly driven by a youth or a woman. Several spare horses were tied to the rear of the wagons. Bringing up the rear of this parade was a group of four horsemen, and it was upon the last two these that Belinda’s admiring glance rested longest.

They were worth looking at. Where the other gypsies, their gaily colored garments in various stages of picturesque disarray, resembled nothing so much as a flock of bedraggled parrots, these two riders wore an air of raffish elegance. The larger man wore a short, black leather vest over a red shirt, black leather breeches, and high boots. Around the thick column of his neck was a yellow kerchief. His coarse black hair was partly covered by a black felt hat, from under the broad brim of which his dark eyes glittered at the girl. From one earlobe dangled a gold ring. He did not smile, but he gave some signal to his stallion so that the great beast curveted and danced a few steps as he moved past Belinda.

Greatly entertained, the girl transferred her delighted gaze to the other man. While not so huge as his companion, this fellow was big and well built. A pair of stained tight buckskins was molded to his muscular thighs, and a bright green velvet jacket stretched tight across broad shoulders. He stared back at the girl on the wall boldly, his eyes curiously intent.

At this moment several of the village dogs, scenting an invasion, came racing down the road toward the gypsy caravans, barking furiously at the horses’ hooves and at the wheels of the wagons. The gypsies called out taunts and jeers, rousing the self-appointed guardians to a frenzy. The girl on the wall joined the laughter, then, an impish smile lighting up her countenance, began to chant:

“Hark, hark, the dogs do bark!

The gypsies are coming to town.

“Some in rags, and some in tags—”

Her laughing eyes took mocking notice of the Duke’s velvet jacket—

“And one in a velvet gown!”

The Duke, who had never refused a fence or a challenge in his life, brought Ben onto the grassy verge between the highroad and the stonewall with a smooth, frightening rush. Reining in just below the small black boots, he doffed his newly acquired sombrero with all the grace of a Spanish caballero. Smiling up into the girl’s startled face, he said softly, “Thank you for the welcome, little one! Shall I come up, or will you come down to me?”

This was taking the attack to the challenger indeed. The girl’s cheeks blazed with color and her big brown eyes went wide.

The Duke grinned mockingly. “Is there not another verse, pretty one? Or are you already regretting the invitation?”

“It was not—I did not—” stammered Belinda, automatically smoothing down the gray skirts over her long, shapely legs.

“Too late,” sighed the Duke, ogling them outrageously.

Well aware of the direction of the man’s impudent stare, Belinda’s lips tightened with anger. “You are insolent, sirrah!” she snapped, every inch the General’s granddaughter.

“To accept the overtures of a beautiful girl?” the Duke teased. “Or did you think your position high on your master’s wall would protect you from the gypsy’s crude advances?”

Since this, in effect, was exactly what Belinda had thought, she was momentarily at a loss. Only momentarily, however. This boldly smiling man was a very different kind of male creature from the elegant young gentlemen who had paid court to the Season’s newest Beauty. One could not be sure this fellow would respect the accepted boundaries of polite dalliance, if indeed he was even aware of them. Another look at the audacious gray eyes, shining with unholy amusement, told her she had better go warily with this one.

So, being Belinda, she ignored caution and struck out boldly. “Who needs protection from a mouse?” the General’s granddaughter laughed scornfully.

To the Duke’s affronted ears came a loud echo of the chit’s mocking laughter as The Whip appeared beside him on the grassy verge.

“Not so successful with this one, Gorgio?” prodded Anton. He turned to the girl and swept off his hat, smiling seductively. “Pretty lady, there have been changes since last we came this way. Can you tell a poor wandering man if the Earl’s writ still runs in this place?”

The girl got his meaning. “Sayre Home Wood is still a safe haven for your people,” she acknowledged. “The Earl and his family are not in residence, but his bailiff will do business with you.”

With a tiny smile at The Whip and no glance whatever at the Duke, the girl swung lithely around and vanished from the top of the wall.

The Whip laughed softly.

Chapter 9

Belinda made her way up to the great house smiling complacently. It had done her good to put that presumptuous gypsy in his place. The insolence of him, trying to flirt with her! (If that was what his breathtaking advance had meant.) For a moment her heart had seemed to be in her throat, and the whole world to be restricted to a pair of challenging gray eyes, with a light in them she had never seen in a man’s glance before.

Gray?
Was not that an unusual color for a gypsy’s eyes? The impudent creature had had a green silk kerchief about his head under the broad-brimmed hat, so that she had not been able to see the color of his hair. He hadn’t worn an earring, either, as the big dark one did. At least
that
one had behaved with decent respect, his night-black eyes modestly hooded in his swarthy face.

Belinda sighed. They were fascinating, the gypsies. She had been aware from her childhood of their seasonal visits to Sayre Wood, although she had never been permitted to play with the laughing, dark children, or to visit their encampment. She knew that the traveling-folk brought Spanish wines and French brandies to the Earl, and that he was pleased to deal with them rather than “those rascally vintners in London.”

Entering the house by the back door, she encountered Mrs. Mayo. The housekeeper immediately subjected her to a lecture on the shocking lack of decorum evidenced by her appearance in public so inappropriately costumed.

“
Bare legs
, Miss Bel! And wherever did you find that dress? In a ragbag, I’ll be bound! What your grandfather would say, I do not dare to think! And your fine friends in London, too. Shocked they would be! When is this silly masquerade to come to an end, is what I wish to know?”

“After the Duke of Romsdale returns to the City we can be comfortable again, dear Mayo,” coaxed the girl.

“But he hasn’t even
come
yet, Miss Bel, and it’s my belief that a great man like that would have better things to do with his time than to come chasing into the country after a girl he doesn’t even like!” replied Mrs. Mayo, in the mistaken idea that she was offering comfort.

Since, however, her estimate of the situation marched too closely with Belinda’s own, the effect was to depress the girl further. The idea had been growing in her mind that she might have been overestimating her own appeal in considering that so top-lofty a personage as His Grace the Duke of Romsdale would come running into Devon after a silly minx who had no more
nous
than to insult her Sovereign. He had given no indication that he wished to further his acquaintance with her—rather the contrary. It was a lowering thought. Worse, it brought with it the fear that her grandfather might have suffered a royal snub because of her intransigency. But in that case would the Earl not have repaired at once to Sayre Court, there to wait some sign of Majesty’s forgiveness? She frowned. Whatever she did seemed to be wrong since this wretched Duke had returned to London from the capitals of Europe! If only he had stayed there, she might have been comfortable! Instead of which she was self-banished from the scene of her first social triumph, her whole future was shadowed, she was bored to distraction, and, ultimate disaster, forced to admit that the despicable Dulcinia had triumphed over her! A single tear overflowed from her eyelid and found its way down one cheek.

Mrs. Mayo observed this unusual reaction with alarm. What had she said to throw her darling into the dismals? That the Duke didn’t like her? But the child had claimed from the start that
she
disliked
him!
Could it be—? Folding Belinda to her motherly bosom she crooned gently, “There, there, Miss Bel! It will all come out right! I’ve no doubt his lordship will bring the Man here if you want him, my dearie.”

But Belinda had seen the light. “He will never come! I have given him such a disgust of me that he will probably cut me dead if he meets me in the street!” And even if he doesn’t, her guilty conscience reminded her, he will utter more of his hateful witticisms, and reveal my folly, and all the
ton
will be sneering at my childish behavior. I should have stayed in London to face it out, not run like a scalded cat!

In an effort to get her mind off these depressing conclusions, Belinda said with forced brightness, “Dear Mayo, the gypsies are back! Will Hawkins be purchasing wines from them again this year?”

“The Earl’s bailiff will do what is right and proper,” said Mrs. Mayo, whose ethical position was the prevailing local one with regard to Free Trade. “Now do go up to your room, Miss Bel, and get out of that absurd costume! Cook has your favorite scones for tea, and a trifle with cream and fresh berries.”

Somewhat cheered by this intelligence, Belinda went up to her luxurious suite to wash her face and hands and don garments more suitable to her station. During the delectable repast she subsequently indulged in, she made firm resolutions to conduct herself with more propriety—for even a poor relation, she told herself, would hardly perch on a wall eating peaches, and exchange insults with gypsies! But it had been exciting, especially when that insolent creature had practically charged the wall. As though she were manning the redoubt of a besieged castle, and he the besieger! Ridiculous man, with that green silk kerchief over his hair under the foreign hat! Probably only too well aware of the romantic figure he cut!

The swarthy one might turn out to be what Grandy was wont to call
an ugly customer
, for all his meek demeanor and his absurd gold earring. He had not been displeased when she depressed the pretensions of his companion. He had been laughing as she left them. Well, it would serve his saucy friend right. Of course, Belinda would never see any of them again, she told herself virtuously. She might have made no attempt to do so, either, in spite of the boredom which was making her, to quote Mrs. Mayo, as cross as crabs, had not Fate intervened in the person of Dittisham.