GypsyDukeEpub (8 page)

"Never that, John. He caught you unaware and sleeping. Why do you think he waited? He could never hope to defeat you when you are standing on your feet. He is the weak one."

"What shall I do?" John sank back against the headboard. "I was a fool to think I could best him! We are at his mercy. I cannot begin to watch him 'round the clock."

"I am more concerned for Kitty. We can keep Grayson here with you at night, but we cannot bring a man into Kitty's bedchamber. And he is insistent on pushing through the marriage. I fear he will convince the earl."

"Uncle spoke of this to you?"

"He was in his cups long before you returned from your ride. I had but to listen as he talked to himself. He scarce noticed I was in the room."

John moved to get out of the bed, feeling trapped even by his own bedding. "This is appalling. I cannot allow it. I will go away. I will break the betrothal."

"Wait."

She padded without a sound to the door and peered down the hall. She then shut the door and locked it. When she sat beside him again, her eyes shone with purpose.

"I have a plan. I've been thinking of this since the night Bartholomew was forced upon us. You cannot break your betrothal." When John tried to interrupt, she held up a hand. "No, you must listen. We haven't much time." She studied his face. "Are you sure you would leave here to protect Kitty…and yourself?"

"Yes, what would you have me do? If I go to our London townhouse, he will follow. That will not deter Bartholomew. In fact, he would probably welcome a London Season."

His mother shook her head vehemently. "No, No. I have thought of a place he will never find you. The gypsies are here, are they not?" John nodded, and the duchess continued. "Have you spoken with your friend?"

"I have not seen Michel. There has been no time to visit the gypsy
camp. But Mr. Timmons did say they were here for the harvest."

His mother nodded, her excitement growing. Her eyes sparkled, and she jumped up to pace before him, her white robe and nightrail swishing at her feet. "I have some money hidden away. We will pay the gypsies to take you. I know they will do it. I have supported them for years, pleading their cause with your father. They are sympathetic to me."

John stared at his mother. Could it work? No one would ever think to look for a peer of the realm amongst the gypsies.

"But what will everyone say when they disappear in the midst of the harvest?"

"They will say what they always say. Gypsies are unreliable. No matter that our tribe has been faithful to us. A gypsy is a gypsy. That is their lot in life."

"I don't know. I would not want it to appear they had anything to do with my disappearance." John pulled his knees up and sat in thought. "I will leave a note with instructions for Mr. Shaw."

"A wise notion. Hurry, tell me what to do."

"Get Grayson." John threw his feet over the side of the bed.  "Tell him to pack some things for me." He paused, uncertainty growing in the pit of his stomach. "Mother, are you sure you will be safe without me?"

A brave smile shone on her face. "I am certain of it. Harming me will get Bartholomew nothing. My income is fixed as is my home in the dowager house. I will move into it immediately, leaving the butler and the housekeeper here as my eyes and ears. Grayson will accompany me for protection and serve as my butler." She held up her hands. "You see? It is resolved. Now, let me away. I will instruct Grayson."

The duchess moved through the door, and John searched the contents of his room. What would he need? At last, he settled at his desk and began letters to all who would be affected by his departure. His time was short, so, of necessity, his words brief.

He informed his solicitor he wished his monthly income to be sent to the Earl of Raeburn for the upkeep of the estate. Further, he indicated his desire to go on a walking tour 'to find himself,' as a result of his bereavement. This would not surprise Shaw. John had revealed his disdain for his uncle in Shaw's presence, and the Quality were known for their peculiar ways.

He reiterated his intent to marry Kitty when he returned. He could leave no doubt of that in anyone's mind lest his uncle, somehow, foul his plans.

To Mr. Timmons, John was most brief.

Sir, circumstances force me to vacate the estate. I will return when I can exert more control over that which concerns me. If you fall into trouble, I pray you seek the guidance of Raeburn. He will receive my monthly allowance to care for the estate. In the event you are turned out by my uncle, I have instructed my solicitor to provide for your family until my return. Please bear in mind I wish Somerset Park to be maintained at all costs. Continue the schemes we devised together. Consult with my mother about major expenditures. I assure you, she is quite capable of making decisions, though she hides the ability well. Yours, John Seymour, Duke of Somerset.

John's letter to the earl contained a bit more information. He alluded to the incident with his uncle, assured the earl he was well, and that his mother was well and in accord with his desire to disappear for a while.

He stared at the paper as he formulated words for Kitty. What did you say to a fifteen year-old who fancied herself in love with you?
Sorry, Kitty, but I've decided things have gotten a bit too sticky for me, so I'm running away and leaving you to face everyone on your own.

John set down his quill. Was he running away and leaving her to danger?

Surely this was the best way to protect her, to keep her in her own home until John could legally be rid of his uncle.

His mother entered the room, followed by Grayson. John turned away from his desk to confront her. "Mother, are you sure this is the only way to keep Kitty safe?"

She rushed to his side, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Yes, dearest. You will both be safer this way. Just think, with you gone, Kitty will have no reason at all to come here. I will ride to the Belfont estate to visit her. And you can write us both. You will be moving about. It should be safe for you to write from time to time."

John remembered the trapped feeling under the pillow, the pain of losing his breath, and the sabotage to his saddle. If he stayed, he would be forever looking over his shoulder. His mother was right. They would all be safer if he left. His mother could live in the dowager house, Kitty would stay with her parents, and he…he would be all alone…but safe.

John told Grayson what to pack and turned to finish his letters. He wanted to be out of the manor within the hour.

After the last letter had been set with the seal of the Duke of Somerset, John leaned back and looked at the signet ring. His mother had given it to him upon his father's death. He'd never thought he would have cause to use his father's seal so soon.

Now he was the Duke…and he was running away. He placed the ring on a chain about his neck. Couldn't travel the countryside with such a revealing ornament on his finger.

When at last he and his mother felt they had done everything they could to protect his inheritance and his name during his absence, he and Grayson saddled the horses.

The duchess stood to the side, her dark green habit trailing in the
clean hay. She looked as at home in the stable as she did serving tea from her china pot. What a wonderful woman. He would miss her.

"What if they will not let me go with them?" John asked, yanking the cinch on her saddle. "What if they do not want to leave tonight?"

"Never you mind. I am going with you to the camp. They will listen to me." She held up a bag. "Besides, I have enough coin to buy their allegiance."

He lifted his mother into her saddle and stepped up to his horse. Grayson was already mounted and waiting. Away they rode, into the dark.

During the ride, they didn't find much opportunity to speak. A thick blanket of clouds obscured the moon and stars, making travel difficult, but John knew the way. The gypsies made camp in the same location every year. He and Robert had often sneaked out under cover of night to visit them. He knew of one gypsy in particular who wouldn't turn him away. But, the decision to shelter John would not be his.

When they neared the camp, John slowed his horse and held out a hand toward his mother. His breath came out in a cloud, and he wondered if her woolen cloak kept her warm. She would never complain.

"We'll have to walk the horses now. It would be dangerous to go riding at full speed into a gypsy camp. They would fear the worst, start shooting, and ask questions later."

They rode single file with John in the front and Grayson bringing up the rear. Before he ever saw the covered wagons and tents that made a home to the gypsies, he heard their warning calls like the hoot of owls. Lookouts informed the main tribe that outsiders were approaching. He didn't halt his mount until he reached the clearing.

They sighted seven wagons in all, and many more tents. Though he saw no one about, he knew his party was watched as they dismounted. He reached for his mother and helped her down from her horse.

There was a large enclosure where a recent fire lay banked. The duchess strode forward, pulling back her hood and removing her gloves to bend her hands toward the warm coals. John rested his hand on her back.

In a matter of seconds, they found themselves completely surrounded. From the corner of his eye, he saw Grayson reach for the pistol stashed at his waistline. He held up a hand. "No, we came to talk. There is no need."

He looked around the circle of men. Dark austere faces, hair black as the night, many hidden by colored bandanas. Billowing white shirts tucked in oft-patched trousers. At least two wore leather vests, hanging open over their shirts. A few wore bright slashes of red across their waists as a belt.

With only the glow from the dying embers, it was difficult to distinguish faces. He patted his mother's back then held out both hands in supplication.

"Is Ardaix still with you? Michel?"

A young man stepped forward, and John recognized Michel with relief.

Michel bowed. "Your Grace, have you come to order us off your lands?"

So they knew his father had been laid to rest. He shook his head. "Of course not. You are always welcome." He stepped closer to his mother. "My mother and I are in need of your assistance. May we speak with Ardaix or whoever your clan leader is now?"

An old woman pushed through the tight circle. Wisps of grey hair escaped from the red bandana covering her head, and a single, wide gold hoop hung from one ear. She confronted John before Michel could answer. "Why should we help you, gorgios?" she asked with menace, her gnarled finger stabbing into his face. "You are nothing to us."

She had just called him an outsider, a gentile, but he didn't react, keeping his eyes intently on Michel. "Michel?"

Michel turned away, and a large man stepped forward. John had already seen him at the back of the gathering, leaning against a wagon. He stopped in front of John with no explanation. His height was even with John's own, but his massive arms and chest could have crushed John. Glittering eyes bored into him. "What do you want, gorgio?"

It was Ardaix.

Before John could answer, the duchess rose from the fire and held out her graceful white hand. "How do you do, Ardaix? It has been a long time. Is your wife well? Your son?"

To John's amazement, Ardaix took his mother's tiny hand in his own. "We are well, Teresa. You have just seen my son, Michel, but I have two sons now. Please accept our sadness for your bereavement."

She nodded, and he dropped her hand. "I thank you. May we sit together and speak? I need your help."

Ardaix looked at John, a cold hard stare that revealed nothing of his thoughts or offered any encouragement then he looked at the cantankerous, old woman. She spat and turned away from him. At last, he nodded his head at the duchess.

"Come with me."

John and his mother were shown into one of the tents. At the sight of so many rugs and pillows thrown on the ground, John was curious. Did they sleep like that? But he didn't want to offend Ardaix, so he kept his gaze on his mother and his questions to himself.

They reached a pile of satin pillows around a low table with a lighted candle. Ardaix dropped to a pillow and nodded at the duchess.

"May I offer you our hospitality, Duchess?"

"We would like that above all things."

John felt like laughing. His very proper mother was seated on the floor of a tent, acting as if the prospect of sharing a repast with gypsies was her fondest wish. Clearly, he didn't know her as well as he thought.

Nothing further was said until a gypsy woman entered the tent with a pot of tea and three exceedingly small cups, which she placed in front of the duchess.

"Why, thank you, Maria. Will you not join us?"

Maria shook her head, though she flashed a faint smile before disappearing from the tent.

John's mother poured out the steaming brew and handed a cup first to John then Ardaix. Finally, she took one for herself, immediately raising it to her lips as if she participated in some strange ritual. "Mmm, always a delight. We appreciate your hospitality, Ardaix."

He nodded at her, and his lips thinned in a semblance of a smile. "Now, what brings you here, Patroness, with your heir, in the middle of the night?"