Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (208 page)

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I have been called today to hear a claim by Baron Augustus March, to the effect you have refused to return his bride to his residence upon her recovery from a despicable lot of thieving gypsies.”

“Nay, they are a more scrupulous bunch than the baron is, sir!” Delilah clapped a hand over her mouth in dismay at her outburst.

“See here now, Miss Daysland, such outbursts will not be tolerated in my courtroom.”

“Please forgive me, honorable sir, I was offended by the color with which you paint my heritage.”

“
You
are a gypsy?”

She smiled at the note of astonishment in his question. “In part, sir.”

“Do explain.”

Knees knocking, she forced herself to stand and address him. “It began a long time ago, sir, and is a tale I myself just heard, though I believe Baron March was well aware of it and might have killed my father because of it.”

“Murder and deception? This is a story I must hear for sure, Miss Daysland.”

Delilah cringed at the high-pitched whine of protest from the baron.

“All bull cocky, honorable sir. We are here because Lord Frost refuses to return my wife, not to hear sordid lies said by people no longer alive to attest to their truths.”

A gavel banged twice against a solid surface. “Enough! This is my court, and as such I will decide what to hear and what to dismiss as foolishness. Miss Daysland, please continue.”

She launched into her story, beginning with her childhood memories and her father’s death. By the time she finished her head throbbed and her mouth was dry.

“Here.” As if sensing her thirst, Tyrone pressed a cool glass into her hand.

Raising it to her lips, she sipped the blackberry wine. The silence was deafening. Her hand shook as she held out the half empty glass. Tyrone took it from her, his warm fingers brushing hers in a way both unnerving and comforting. “You did just fine,” he whispered. She tried to smile, but her nerves got the better of her.

The judge cleared his throat. “Well, that was quite a tale, Miss Daysland. If it is to be believed, then this baron is indeed quite the no-account scoundrel. Baron March, what say you to these accusations?”

“Pure hornswaggle, honorable sir. My wife has quite a vivid imagination you see, as she has nothing else to do but sit and think. Perhaps I should make a serious effort to rein in her ridiculous nature. Rest assured she will settle down once she is safely locked away in her room where she cannot injure herself, thinking of babes.”

Delilah gasped. “How dare you!”

The judge banged his gavel again and she fell silent. Incurring his wrath might harm her case.

“Miss Daysland, I have allowed you to speak and refute the baron’s charges. You must do him the same courtesy and give him the chance to defend against your claims.”

She bit her lip, sickened by Augustus’s righteous tone when he answered, “Thank you, honorable sir. I feel for my darling wife. I did promise her father I would look after her if anything were to befall him. I was doing my duty when I offered to marry her. The earl betrayed me when he helped her hide and took her as his lover in the midst of a gypsy celebration. The naive child mistook his lust for love.”

An unladylike snort escaped Delilah’s lips before she could prevent it. Tyrone squeezed her hand and she bowed her head to conceal her feelings.

“What say you to the charges she has brought against you saying you are responsible for her father’s death, and are you indeed half brother and sister?”

Augustus snickered. “Preposterous, sir. I have here the announcement of my birth and hers to prove her claim false.” Paper crinkled and she assumed said document was being examined by the judge.

After a moment the judge sighed. “So it would seem all in order. What say you to all this, Lord Frost?”

“I believe Miss Daysland and the gypsy Deagan’s claim, honorable sir.”

“Do you have any proof to back up these claims?”

“No, sir, but I was given the task to see her safe and happily wed by the king himself. The way I see it, Miss Daysland is neither happy nor safe in the baron’s care. After all, she wandered away from his estate and all manner of dangers might have befallen her, if not for the gypsies who took her in.”

“Ha!” the baron bellowed. “The gypsies did naught but fill her head with ridiculous ideas and she nearly burned to death while in their camp. Why I — ”

“Enough!” The judge banged his gavel. “It seems clear to me since the king did order Lord Frost to see Miss Daysland safely wed, his duty is done. However, it is clear in this case she is not happy about the situation. I see no other alternative but to return her to her husband’s care until the king himself can be consulted.”

“No!” Delilah’s scream reverberated off the walls of the little chamber, startling even her. She collapsed in the chair, and Tyrone wrapped his arms around her. Sobs wracked her body until she was no longer aware of anything except pure terror and profound sorrow.

• • •

Tyrone steadied Delilah as she sank to the chair sobbing. Was the judge deaf? How could he turn her over to a monster like March? “Sir, I beg you to reconsider leaving Miss Daysland in my care.”

The judge shook his head. “Impossible, for who would chaperone her? Did you not have your way with her in a gypsy camp, in full view of any who happened by? I cannot understand what has become of the morals of you country folk.”

“Honorable sir, I am not condoning what we did, but under different circumstances I would not hesitate to make an honorable match with her, at the court’s earliest convenience and the king’s blessing, of course.”

“You had your chance to do right by your charge, Lord Frost. I hope the king punishes you for the misdeeds you have committed. To mislead such an innocent young soul is a terrible sin. You should be ashamed.”

Delilah’s heartfelt sobs pulled at Tyrone’s heart more than he ever thought anything could. “Please, sir, consider what might happen to Miss Daysland in the baron’s care if there is truth to her story. At least allow her to return to her own home under the protection of her most faithful servants.”

“You cannot be serious.” The baron hurried to the judge’s podium. “It is sheer folly to allow an invalid to remain alone in a large house with no chaperone. In her distressed mental condition she might do herself harm — ”

“Enough!” The judge banged his gavel and the room fell silent, except for Delilah’s quiet weeping. The judge tugged at his wig with a heavy sigh. “In order to satisfy you both until the king can rightfully decide what is to be done with Miss Daysland, I have decided to release her to her home, in the care of two of her most trusted servants.”

Augustus waved his fist in an agitated way. “See here — ”

“Enough I say!” the judge growled. “If you persist in challenging my authority, Baron March, I will see you imprisoned until the matter is settled. Do I make myself clear?”

The baron glowered but nodded.

The judge turned back to Tyrone. “You are not to remain at Westpoint while Miss Daysland is present, nor is the baron permitted to press his nuptials until the king has his say. If there is any breech of my orders, I will come down hard and fast on both of you, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Tyrone glanced at the baron out of the corner of his eye. The younger man nodded, despite the anger sparkling in his dark eyes.

“Good. Now Lord Frost, I expect you to see your former charge back home safely. Repeat my directions to the servants, with the addition that if they fail to see to their mistress’s care and protection they will serve the rest of their days in Newgate.”

“Yes, sir.”

The judge brought his gavel down one last time and then left the room, mumbling about the decline of propriety in the upper crust.

Tyrone placed his silk handkerchief in Delilah’s hand. “Here, dry your tears before we must make our way through the throng of curious public to the carriage.”

Sniffing, she raised the bit of cloth and dabbed at her eyes and cheeks. “The king will allow me to remain as I was before all this came to pass, will he not?”

“I have no idea what thoughts his majesty might have on the situation, but rest assured I will do my utmost to convince him to annul your marriage to the baron.” And agree to my own suit, his consciousness added. “Are you ready to return home?”

Her chin raised in stubborn determination and she took a deep breath before nodding. Placing her still bandaged hand on his arm, he wished there were a way he could slip her away without exposing her to the morbid crowd of on lookers outside.

• • •

Once Delilah was returned to her home, Tyrone gathered his things and turned his horse back in the direction of town. He rode in worried silence for a while, his valet in the luggage coach trailing at an appropriate pace behind. What was to stop the baron from harming Delilah until the king arrived to make sense of the situation? Aims and Teresa were the most faithful of her servants, he was convinced, nevertheless the question still lingered as to which of the few servants remaining were not. Though he was sure Delilah was safer in her own home than the baron’s, the fact remained she still could be in danger. Could the butler protect her from an unseen, unknown enemy?

Unease made him rein in his mount when they came to the little trail to the pool where he first encountered his wood nymph. Perhaps he should stay hidden in the secret place, to be nearby in case Delilah should need him. He wouldn’t be disobeying the court’s order; after all the pool spanned on the edge of Westpoint and the baron’s land. Yes, he would camp out here to keep a watchful eye on his ward until the king arrived.

Turning in his saddle, he summoned the coach to draw up alongside. He leaned in the window to speak with his valet. “Take all my things, except a small satchel of the basics to the inn in town and rent the best room and meals. I am going to stay behind and watch over Miss Daysland. You will stay in the room in my stead, careful to keep your presence a mystery in case the baron should send a spy there. When the king arrives in a few days’ time come fetch me here.” He tossed a sack of coins through the window and onto the valet’s lap. The servant filled a satchel from the items in one of the trunks stacked inside the conveyance and handed it to him. With a nod of thanks Tyrone tapped on the roof to signal the driver to carry on and then turned his horse down the path in the woods.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Delilah tossed and turned, unable to quiet her restless mind. Would the king see fit to permit her to continue on as she was before, or would he insist she return to Augustus? Perhaps he would again decree that Tyrone find her a suitable husband. Her heart pinched at the idea of being married to any other than the earl. She sighed and rolled over onto her other side. Tyrone didn’t really want her, did he? Could his offer of marriage only be a way to atone for their sin of passion at the gypsy camp? Her heart cried out against the falseness of her thoughts. He felt something for her, perhaps not love, but at least a fondness of sorts. Groaning at the idea she rolled back over. The room was stuffy and uncomfortable. Never did she experience such a warm, dry fall.

Flipping back the tangled covers, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and felt for her slippers with her toes. After locating them, she slipped them on and rose. Stretching she made her way to the window, fumbled for the latch, and opened it. A slight breeze tickled her cheeks as she leaned against the windowsill and took a deep breath through her nose. A hint of crispness, mixed with musty leaves and dried grass made her long to be outside. She turned away from the window as an owl hooted and reached for the thin cotton servant’s frock at the foot of her bed. It wouldn’t hurt to go for a short ride, for she was confident she was safe enough until the king came to set down his ruling.

Once dressed, she crossed to the door and twisted the knob. It opened without sound as usual and she slipped out into the hall. The stale house air was so still it was almost eerie. After a moment’s pause she made her way down the hall to the stairs, trailing her fingers along the familiar walls. Once she descended the staircase, she stopped at the base to listen. The tiniest of noises reached her and a chill of alarm raised the fine dusting of hair on her arms. Was someone there, in the dark, watching and waiting for her? She strained to catch the sound again over the thumping of her heart. Nothing but silence. She shook off the feeling.
Damn the baron for making me ill at ease in my own home.
In disgust she carried on, groping her way to the kitchen and the back door to the herb garden.

The door squeaked as she opened it and she froze lest anyone heard and came to investigate. When no footsteps sounded in the hall or on the servant’s stairs, she stepped out of the house. Something warm brushed her outstretched hand and her heart leaped into her throat before she giggled, realizing it was her guide.

“Good eve, Jester.” The pony nickered and she stroked his velvety soft muzzle. “I cannot sleep either, old friend.”

She grasped the harness, pulled herself onto his back, and then clucked for him to walk on. A sense of peace radiated from the pony. Her stressed mind soaked it in and she began to relax, focusing on the rocking motion of the animal under her. As Jester plodded on at his ever steady pace, she gave thanks to her deceased Uncle Deagan for providing such a trustworthy guide to see her through life’s obstacles. The gypsy leader meant well, despite his actions.

The rush of the waterfall reached her ears before its dampness touched her with icy fingers. The water would be too cold now for a swim; just to sit upon the banks and savor its calmness would be enough this night. As the twigs brushed her legs a different scent reached her.
Smoke.
The faintest trace, as if a campfire burned down to coals. Did a roving band of gypsies come to camp here? She was sure they wouldn’t harm her if she told them she was of Deagan’s blood. Jester stopped and altered his course to the right, his unexpected shift in direction jarring her.

Delilah became aware of the sharp essence of mint before the leaves rustled as he rose from the ground before her. “Tyrone? What are you doing here?”