Microsoft Word - FortunesFool.rtf (10 page)

Even still, what she would give to crash their glasses over their

heads. The muscles in her stomach burned from tension, her jaw ached,

and to top it off a headache was starting to crawl up the back of her neck.

The only reason she attended this damnable thing was for her Aunt

Judith, her godmother, even though it was all her mother's doing.

So she sat, being talked about and laughed at, while she did her best

to read twittering women their palms. Same thing as always: the

unmarried wanted to know whom they would marry, and married women

wanted to know how many children they would have. How much money

would they have or what did the future hold. The brave wanted to know

if their husbands were having affairs.

Her mother sashayed into the parlor looking like a parrot amidst

doves and clapped her hands. "Come! Come! Come!" She swung her arms wide and turned, the feather on her turban dancing in front of her

face. "Sit! Sit!" She smiled at the handful of men, "Let my beautiful daughters tell you how to better your business!" Then she turned to the women, "My daughters will tell you if love comes your way!"

The few women cast hopeful glances at each other, and one sat

down at her sister Camille's table. Her mother eyed her and she looked

away, instead scanning the crowd, simultaneously hoping for and fearing

her next customer. The Devil looked at her, his eyebrow arched, and she

stared back at him, daring him.

69

D'ARC, GALE, KENT, MARCH

Sometimes she wanted to leave Boston and start out where no one

knew her family. Somewhere she could be Abigail Drummond, twenty-

seven-year-old who sometimes took in stray animals and sewed crazy

quilts for the local mercantile. Anything but the palm-reading daughter

of a Romany fortuneteller.

The gaggle of imbeciles roared out in laughter again, and she

ground her teeth. Why they stayed there baffled her. They wouldn't sit

for a reading, and they'd be better suited to the den where the bar was. If only they would go anywhere, rather than here.

There were five of them including Devil, who seemed to be at ease,

but whose eyes were taking in every detail of his surroundings. It seemed his companions ceased to amuse.

He piqued her curiosity. Too bad a woman like herself would never

be looked at as marriageable by his set. Even though she skirted polite

society, she would be ruined for having an affair with him. Still, he was good looking, and he'd make the plummet from grace entertaining.

He caught her eye, raised his glass, and grinned. Just grand. Nothing

like being caught staring. Her cheeks burned as she leaned down to pet

Felicity, who purred and wove around her worn hem. Maybe some

wilting female would think it her familiar. She could only hope.

Four more hours of this hell.

Aunt Judith had placed her table in the front parlor right off the

foyer, a lovely tapestry cloth covering the heavy round oak table.

Matching bronze candle sticks with crystal beaded bobeches were set in

the center so that Abby could better see her clients' hands. If she got any clients. Even still, the candles lent a warm glow and the smell of

beeswax soothed, even though they could have used the gas lamps. The

fireplace crackled at her back, making her skin feel like it was on fire.

A glow of perspiration dewed her face and chest and she wished

another guest would arrive so the cold January air would gust into the

stifling room.

Instead, she stared at the arrogant one through her lashes. He stood a

hair taller than his friends, and where they were average, he was solid.

His jacket was cut generously through the shoulder and arms, perfectly

tailored, but his unlacquered hair curled at his collar. All of the other gentlemen looked as if they wore shiny helmets. The clean hair

looked…refreshing, like it would softly catch at her fingers.

The rasp of taffeta snapped her attention to her Aunt, who sat down

across her. "Abby, darling. Here, let me be your first client."

70

FORTUNE'S FOOL

Abby shook her head. "No, stop. You've done this too many times

already."

"Once more won't hurt. And your mother always tells me our

futures change every day based on the decisions we make. 'The way to

determine your future is to act in your present'."

Abby closed her eyes and counted to ten. Aunt Judith chuckled and

patted her hand. "All right then, how I can help?"

"You've done more than enough. Always more than enough. Just

this alone is almost more help than I can bear."

Aunt Judith laughed out loud, and Abby cracked a smile. She was

the only one who thought Abby's wry sense of humor funny.

The men laughed again as if they were part of the conversation, and

Abby frowned. "Actually, you can help me." She leaned into the table.

"Who are those men, and can you direct them to the bar?"

Judith's face lit up, and she put her hand over her mouth. "What will we do with you? Alright, they are Uncle Darren's acquaintances from

business. The taller one is Mr. Dupree, President of the Boston Trust, and the others are owners of various other local businesses." She sighed.

"They love to use occasions like this to ingratiate themselves to Mr.

Dupree."

Well wasn't that wonderful. Not only was the devil Mr. Dupree, but

also the Vice President of Boston Trust. Abigail always did set her sights high. Exercises in futility seemed to be a specialty.

If it weren't so sad it would be humorous how many times she was

propositioned by a man who thought her family's peculiarities meant she

was a whore. She should have taken one or two up on their offers. She

wasn't getting any for marriage, that was for sure. As soon as they

showed any interest Mother sat them down for a reading, and they would

never come back. Maybe next time she would say, yes.

A wicked gleam came into Judith's eye, and she leaned into Abby.

"I think I have an idea." She stood, shook her voluminous skirts, and walked over to the group. Abby smirked as they stood straighter when

their hostess engaged them.

Abby was too far off to hear anything Judith said, but soon her aunt

turned back, holding the elbow of the President of the Bank. Abby

watched in horror, as they walked towards her. For all his taunting he

was the most attractive man she'd ever seen.

71

D'ARC, GALE, KENT, MARCH

As it was, she would never be able to hold her head up in public

again, and now he was on his way to her table, a cat eating the canary

grin on his face.

"Miss Abigail Drummond, may I introduce you to Mr. Caden

Dupree." Judith turned to Mr. Dupree and motioned to the chair, "Why don't you sit down and see if Abby can tell you something interesting

about yourself? Maybe even some insight to your business."

"Ahh, I…," he looked at Judith, then to Abby, and back to Judith again, whose face resembled a disappointed schoolmarm. He pulled out

the chair and sat. Abby bit her lip and turned her face.

She looked down her nose at him and wondered if she should put on

the 'I know everything about you' air, or if she should play the strange eccentric. Or maybe she could try and seduce him. If she were to take up any offers for an affair, she should at least have it be a respected man, such as the delectable Mr. Dupree.

Aunt Judith patted her back. "I'll leave you two. Please find me and tell me how your reading went when you're finished, Mr. Dupree."

"Yes, of course." He managed to say with a smile as he watched Judith's back retreat. He looked back at Abby, his eyes taking in every

freckle of her face, and she sat straighter. His eyes gleamed.

"I don't believe one iota of this psychic bullshit. I'm here in respect to the hosts, who are faithful patrons and investors."

Abby stifled a yawn.

Well if that was how he was going to be, this had possibilities of

fun. Perspective was everything.

Mr. Dupree leaned toward her, "Why don't I just give you five

dollars and call it a night? We all know your family is Mrs. Anderson's

charity case."

She tried to catch her breath. Five dollars might be nothing to a man

like him, but for her family it was enough coal to last the Boston winter and more. It was shoes for her mother that didn't need yesterday's paper blocking the holes in the bottom. Was he that ignorant or had he meant to insult her, the insult growing with every dollar he offered? Certainly it was an insult, with the jab he had made about her family being a charity case. The only question, really, was how she should react?

There were options. If she slapped him it would ruin the evening for

everyone, and her mother would lose all her clients.

It took every ounce of self control, but she studied him and didn't

respond. And here she had thought him attractive. She might not be of

72

FORTUNE'S FOOL

his social standing, but she could play his game. Her tools were a bit

more subtle, though.

A few months ago she pilfered one of her mother's special books.

One off the shelf she and Camille were never supposed to read from. It

was an old tome on sexual palmistry. Suddenly it seemed Providence that

she studied it cover to cover and remembered it almost word for word.

Well, let's see if he could take what he dished out like the big man that he was.

She gathered up every bit of artifice within her to soften her eyes

when she put out her hand.

"Well Mr. Dupree, at least let me tell you something for such a

generous amount."

* * * *

now it was a waste of money. Although he had to hand it to her, she

didn't snivel when he called her family a charity case. He never did after the first time either.

He turned his hand palm side up and shoved it at her, and a sizzle of

pleasure shot through him as she jerked back.

"So, tell me my future." He gave her his biggest smile. One that people in Boston signed on the dotted line for. "Earn your alms," he said under his breath.

She didn't say a word, just took his hand and cradled it in her small

warm one, palm up, under the glow of the candles. He held a grudging

respect for her when she didn't rise to his bait.

"This is your dominant hand?" She didn't look up to meet his eyes.

"Yes."

She nodded, and with her other hand circled his palm with her

thumb. A shudder ran down his back. She ran her fingers over his,

bringing his down from their curled position. Every finger she caressed

and pulled down, one at a time, opening his palm and making his sense

of touch more sensitive than ever. He wondered if she knew what she

was doing, what action she emulated. His body did even if his brain

didn't want him to. As soon as she was done he could make his exit and

head over to Beatrice's. He was long past due a visit to her, an idea that his body agreed with.

As soon as she was done he could make his exit and head over to

the brownstone he'd bought Beatrice, where she would be waiting for

him. It'd been four weeks since he'd visited her. The relationship, for his 73

D'ARC, GALE, KENT, MARCH

part, had all gone south, but the tears, recriminations and guilt associated with disengaging from a long time mistress and friend kept him from

ending it. And, tonight, with the way this girl was so unknowingly

enticing him, his body would have use of Beatrice, even if his heart

didn't. The sooner he could leave and head over there, the better.

"Are you going to start anytime soon?" Impatience whipped his

voice, and he wished he brought over his glass of brandy. Darren always

made sure he had a few bottles when Caden came over. And Caden

brought Darren good Cuban cigars that Judith prohibited from being

smoked in her house. See, there was good that came out of these pitiful

social obligations.

His hand relaxed into Miss Drummond's small one, and she

smirked. It was just a little lift of the corner of her mouth. Maybe she did know what she was doing. He shifted in his seat.

"I don't have all night. I'm not here for your hoodoo, I'm here to

socialize with business people."

She took his thumb and slid it between her fingers, bending it back

and forth. His breath hitched in his throat. Then she turned his hand over and dragged a pad of her finger over the edge of his nail and studied the back of his hand. Maybe he should take his hand away and throw the

money on the table.

"You're very loyal." She said it as a matter of fact.

"So?"

She didn't even glance up.

"Very realistic and pragmatic. Assertive. But your hand is intricately lined. You've a complex personality."

He snorted.

"Your nails are square, your pad going past the tips, the moons are evident, and that shows me that you think substance and a person's

character are more important than how they look. You're robust. Healthy.

You're very strong. You persevere when others give up, and that's how

you've become so successful." She met his eyes over the flames of the candles. "Despite your younger years."

He clamped his mouth shut, and he could feel his pulse in his

temple.

She traced his middle finger all the way up with the barest of

touches and circled the tip with her own. All of the blood that was

pounding in his head flowed downward, and he put his legs out in front