Samantha James (5 page)

Charlotte’s face was wreathed in smiles. “Oh, ye’re a saint, Olivia. Bless ye, luv, bless ye.”

They made arrangements for Olivia to stop by Charlotte’s home the following evening. They parted near the duck pond in the village. Olivia waved good-bye and trudged onward. A short while later, she turned down the dirt pathway that led to their cottage.

She called out to her sister as she grasped the doorknob and opened the door. “Emily? I’m home, love.”

“In here, Olivia.”

Emily’s voice came to her from the parlor. Olivia stepped briskly toward the parlor only to stop short.

Emily was not alone. She was perched on the edge of her seat. Across from her sat William Dunsport. William was the son of a minor baronet, and a retired military officer.

William had risen to his feet, his hat in his hands. Tall and blond, he smiled at her warmly. “Miss Olivia, forgive my calling on you unannounced. I’m having my horse shoed at the livery, so I thought I would stop by. Emily said she wasn’t certain when to expect you, so I hope you don’t mind that I waited.”

Her smile wavered but an instant. “Not at all, William. Would you like tea?”

“Tea would be delightful.”

“Good. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

Olivia busied herself in the kitchen. In the parlor she could hear William’s low baritone and Emily’s soft, shy tones. Returning, she slid the tray onto the
small table before the settee where Emily was sitting.

Olivia eased down next to her. “Emily,” she said calmly, “will you pour?”

Emily’s head turned sharply in her direction. Olivia was well aware of her sharp intake of breath.

“Olivia—” she began waveringly.

“You can do it, love,” Olivia prompted softly. “Here, I’ll help you.” She guided Emily’s fingers to the tall white teapot. “The teapot is at three o’clock, the cups at twelve, six and nine o’clock.”

Emily’s fingers curled hesitantly around the handle. Olivia held her breath. For an instant, she thought Emily would snatch her hand away—she looked ready to cry. Olivia sent a silent prayer heavenward. This was something they’d practiced over and over. While she was confident Emily could do it, she suspected Emily was certain she could
not
. In the meantime, William looked on with a combination of doubt and skepticism.

Emily had found the first teacup. She slid it carefully toward the teapot. The gentle clink of china against china sounded; Olivia could tell she was listening intently for the sound. Very slowly Emily tipped the spout forward, even as she slipped the tip of a finger just inside the cup. When the hot liquid touched her nail, she stopped pouring.

Her sigh of relief was audible, her smile tremulous. Olivia felt like shouting her sister’s triumph. “William,” she said gaily, “cream and sugar?”

An expression of incredulity had passed over his face. “Cream,” he managed. “Just a tad.”

By the time Olivia had poured in the cream, Emily had already filled the second cup and reached for the third.

She spilled not a drop.

The victory was a small one, perhaps, but Olivia felt as if her chest would burst with pride. Emily was becoming most self-sufficient.

They spent the next half hour drinking tea and chatting. Emily even laughed several times as William related some of his experiences on the Continent during his stint in the military. When they’d finished, Olivia gathered up the tray and headed into the kitchen.

A moment later there was a touch at her elbow. Startled, she turned to find that William had followed her.

“Olivia, I know ’tis none of my affair, but I cannot help but wonder why you allowed Emily to pour tea as she did just now.”

Olivia’s chin came up a notch. “You’re right,” she said quietly, “’tis not your affair.”

He was taken aback by such bluntness. She could see it in his expression.

It came to her then…William seemed…different, somehow. Different from the jovial youth she’d known for so long. He was far more serious—and far less patient—than he’d been before he’d left to fight against Napoleon’s army. At times—like now—she’d glimpsed a harshness in him that was totally at odds with the boy he’d once been. At other times he was insufferably arrogant!

She attempted to explain. “I cannot allow Emily to sit and do nothing for herself. She may be blind,” she told him evenly, “but she is not helpless. And she must feel that she is still able to do things for herself.”

Color rose high and bright on his cheekbones.
“Nonetheless, I cannot say I approve. Why, she could injure herself.”

Olivia was faintly vexed. She
was
right, and he simply refused to admit it. Why was he being so stubborn? The William she’d once known had never been so imperious.

Quietly she spoke. “I do not need your approval where Emily is concerned, William. As her sister, I will do what I feel is right for her.”

“I cannot agree, Olivia. I fear I must tell you that I believe you are quite wrong. Your sister is an invalid. Why you persist in treating her as if she were not, I do not know.”

Olivia’s lips tightened ever so slightly. “Say what you must, William, but so must I. Emily is blind, but she is not helpless. There are many things she can do for herself. ’Tis only a matter of learning how.”

He stiffened visibly. “You are quite impertinent, Olivia.”

“And you, William, are quite imperious,” she returned.

“I think not, Olivia. Indeed, I am given to wonder what has come over you. Perhaps ’tis because of your mother’s death. Yes, that must be it. You’ve had no guidance in matters of social decorum, else you would know that you must learn to curb your tongue, for a lady does not argue.”

“I am in my own home, William,” she stated levelly, “therefore, I see no need to curb my tongue. And if we are arguing, ’tis because you engaged the argument.”

“And you who continue it!”

Olivia sighed. Indeed, it was becoming difficult
to keep her temper in check. “Perhaps you forget, William, but I was never a mouse.”

“I’ve forgotten nothing, Olivia. Indeed, I remember a time when you were quite adoring of me.” The sting had left his tone. In its stead was a hint of sadness. She knew it for certain when he gave her a long, slow look. “You’ve changed, Olivia,” he said quietly.

“And so have you, William.” There was neither spite nor malice in the statement. In truth, she’d only now begun to realize how very true it was.

For a fleeting instant he looked as if he might disagree. Then suddenly he ran his fingers through his hair, the gesture so boyish it tugged at her heart and reminded her of all that had once been…

Of all that would never be.

“Perhaps I have,” he murmured. “I’ve seen atrocities that you cannot imagine—nor would I ever speak of them to a lady.” His lips curved in a faint smile, but it was a smile which held no mirth. “I suppose one might say that war made a man of me.”

And life had made a woman of her, she thought with a painful twist of her insides.

William looked at her. “Do you remember your eighth birthday?”

The merest hint of a smile curled her lips. “Yes. You pressed a bouquet of beautiful violets into my hand. I took them inside to show Mama but she began to sneeze so frightfully I had to leave them outside.”

His tone turned husky. “You cried because it rained that night and they were ruined.” He paused, then said softly, “You cried the night I left to fight against Napolean.”

Indeed she had. Faith, but it all seemed so very long ago! So much had happened. Time and distance had separated them…

“I remember those days well, Olivia. One thing that has never changed are my feelings for you.” His eyes bored into hers. “I regret that we argued. Indeed, that is the last thing I wanted, for I meant to speak with you about something far different.”

Before she could say a word, he’d grasped both her hands. “Olivia,” he began.

It was inevitable, perhaps, but all at once she was reminded of another pair of hands, hands that were lean and strong and brown; her own had seemed quite lost within his…

“…I’ve known for quite some time now what I want. I can only hope that you want it as well. Olivia—” There was the veriest pause. “—’twould please me greatly if you would consent to be my wife.”

His wife
.

Those words brought her back to the moment at hand in a flash. He was asking her to marry him, she thought numbly. Mutely she gazed at him, at the blond hair brushed neatly back from his forehead, grappling for an answer.

Oh, but she should have known this was coming. He’d hinted now and again that he would like to expand their relationship beyond friendship. He’d even deigned to kiss her the very last time she’d seen him, but while his cheeks had been flushed with color when he’d lifted his head, she was curiously unaffected by his kiss. His lips had been dry, and there was no answering spark within her breast. She’d expected fire and heat and passion and all the things she yearned for deep in her heart.
Instead she’d felt…empty. And most of all a yawning disappointment.

Marriage. When she thought of marriage to William, she felt nothing—no fevered desire, no excitement. How could she marry him?

She didn’t love him, nor did she want his pity.

It would have been the easy way out—but it was not the only way out. With hard work and perseverance, she could make it on her own…
they
could make it, the two of them, she and Emily. But she was not so desperate as to marry a man she did not love.

“William…At present I cannot even think of marriage. I—I must think of Emily. This past year has been difficult…for both of us.” She was hedging, but she had no choice. “I pray you will understand, but…’tis too soon.”

William was silent for a moment. “I see,” he said quietly. Then: “May I come to call tomorrow afternoon?”

“I’m teaching the village children then,” she reminded him. Sunday was the only day she didn’t work at Ravenwood.

A faint coldness crept into his manner. He disapproved of her teaching the village children—he was convinced it was useless, that there was no need for them to learn such things. They’d had several discussions over it, but Olivia was not about to stop her lessons simply because he disapproved.

“Perhaps another day then.” William’s countenance was unsmiling.

Olivia inclined her head. “Perhaps,” she agreed.

With that he gave a low bow and was gone. Olivia gave a silent prayer of thanks that he hadn’t kissed her again. He’d said his feelings had not
changed. But Olivia knew they could never go back, just as she knew her feelings for him would never be the same. She didn’t mean to hurt him, but she had no choice—just as she had no choice but to take care of herself and Emily, to go on as they had been.

Emily turned her head when Olivia returned. “Has William gone?”

“Yes.” Olivia was anxious to change the subject. “What is that you have in your lap, love?”

Emily bit her lip. “Oh, ’tis nothing. Really.” Olivia could see she was embarrassed. “Just a scrap of lace.”

But Olivia was intrigued. She knelt by Emily’s side. “May I see?”

“Well,” Emily said tentatively, “if you insist…”

Olivia took the small square of lace from Emily’s hands and held it before her. It was then she spied the needles in Emily’s lap, half-hidden by a fold in her skirt.

She exclaimed in wonder, for the lace was fine and dainty, quite lovely indeed—and so she said, “You did this today? Emily, it’s exquisite!”

Emily flushed. “Today, yes. But really, Olivia, ’tis nothing. I was just trying to see if—if I remembered…”

Olivia shook her head in awe.

“I counted the stitches.” There was a small pause. “I’m quite surprised I remembered. ’Twas quite odd, really, for my fingers just seemed to know what to do…”

Olivia’s eyes softened. “You’ve Mama’s skill with a needle. Why—” She laughed. “—I can hardly sew a straight seam. You see why I had no desire to be a seamstress. You’ll finish it, won’t you? It
would be quite lovely on the table against the dark wood.”

Emily’s pale face glowed with pleasure. Making the lace today had been a whim. But in truth, she’d enjoyed it immensely, for it kept her mind occupied, and far from…other matters.

She heard the rustle of clothing and knew that Olivia had arisen. Her footsteps carried her toward the kitchen. Emily could heard her bustling about there.

Her fingertips stole to her eyes. At times she had wanted to gouge them out, for what use were they? She would never grow used to being blind—never. She hated being blind, just as she hated the thieving Gypsy who had murdered Papa.

A shudder tore through her. She’d had a nightmare again last night. She’d seen his face again…that horrible Gypsy, with his club raised high to strike Papa once more…She shuddered. She knew Olivia had been hurt that she’d never spoken of what she’d seen that terrible night, but it was bad enough that she—Emily—must relive that horrible scene in her nightmares. She would not put Olivia through the same torment. Yes, it was better this way, to never speak of it.

She fingered the small square of lace anew. She felt so helpless just sitting here. But this afternoon when she’d been working on the lace, the time had passed so quickly. It was amazing how well she’d remembered the stitches. An idea took hold then…Excitement gathered in her breast. She could make doilies and table runners…and if she could manage to sell them…Oh, Olivia was such a dear! She’d taken care of her these many months,
and…if she could lighten the burden, she wouldn’t feel so—so useless!

But she wanted it to be a surprise. She wouldn’t tell Olivia, not just yet. Olivia would think ’twas just a way to pass the time.

Before she knew it, she was humming a merry little tune in time with the rocking of her chair. Her mood was much more lighthearted than it had been in ever so long…

Sunday dawned clear and bright and warm. Sunlight
glinted off the duck pond near the market square. Just across from the square was a small Norman church that had been there for centuries; the entrance was marked by a carved Saxon cross. Tangled, leafy vines climbed one side of the rustic stone.

William had stopped by the village green just after Olivia arrived there. Olivia wondered if he did it solely so that she wouldn’t continue her lessons with the children. When she reminded him of it, he looked a bit sullen.

He glanced at his pocket watch. “I must be off then,” he said. “Mother is waiting tea.” With that he leaned over and pressed his mouth to hers.

It was over in but an instant. Still, Olivia was aghast. How dared he do so before others! It wasn’t as if they were engaged, and if little Emory hadn’t appeared at her side just then, she would have told him so.

Olivia didn’t know that other eyes saw as well—eyes that keenly surveyed the two of them…

An hour later she was sitting on the grass in the village green, slippered feet tucked under her, her
skirts spread out around her. A dozen or so children clustered before her. Among them was Colin, Charlotte’s little boy. He was bright-eyed but a trifle shy, with curling hair as flame-red as his mother’s. He’d nodded eagerly when Olivia asked if he wanted to learn to read, but he had yet to speak a word though the lesson was almost over.

She moved her chalk swiftly over the small board she cradled in her lap and held it high for the children to see.

“Can anyone tell me what this word is?”

“It says ‘Colin’.” This came from Jane, whose father was a farmer. At thirteen, Jane was the eldest among the children. She attended every Sunday, along with her two sisters and three brothers.

“Excellent, Jane. It says ‘Colin’.” She smiled at Colin, whose eyes had brightened at the sound of his name. “Colin, do you see this?”

The lad nodded vigorously.

“Well, Colin, this is your name. Soon you’ll be able to read it yourself—and write it as well, won’t you?”

His head bobbed up and down.

“Very good. Now then, if you will all—”

She broke off suddenly, for every one of the children had lifted their eyes to a spot behind her. Lucinda ducked behind her sister Jane. Even Jonny, who’d been whispering to his neighbor, fell silent.

The skin on the back of her neck seemed to prickle curiously. Even before she turned, she had the strangest sensation it was him…

The Gypsy.

And indeed, she was right. Directly behind her was Dominic St. Bride. He was mounted atop a massive stallion, his mane and coat like blackest
midnight. On horseback, he seemed as tall as the heavens…

Olivia opened her mouth to greet him. She had no desire to appear either discourteous or frightened before the children.

Before she could say a word, Jonny Craven’s voice rang out. “I know who you are. You’re the Gypsy, the Gypsy earl.”

Olivia could have gladly disappeared. Jonny knew not when to mind his tongue—never had she been so certain of it! She longed to clamp her hand over the boy’s mouth lest he choose to deliver another disparaging remark.

Yet curiously, it appeared Dominic St. Bride was not angry. Olivia was stunned, for he merely looked amused.

“Is it true?” someone else called out. “Are you the Gypsy?”

“I am.”

To Olivia’s surprise—but mostly her dismay—he showed no signs of leaving. Instead he dismounted, holding the reins easily between gloved hands.

“He doesn’t dress like a Gypsy.” This observation came from Lucinda, who peered out from behind her sister. The child flushed when she realized she’d been overheard by the others.

“That’s because he’s only half-Gypsy.” Jane frowned at her sister. “His father was the old earl who had no sons because of his mother’s curse. So he took him from his Gypsy camp to learn to be his heir—and a gentleman.”

Olivia found herself holding her breath. Of course she’d heard the rumor many a time, yet now
she wondered if he would deny it. Or if he would confirm it as truth?

“You’re right. My…father—” There was the faintest hesitation, as if the word was distasteful to him. “—did take me from the Gypsies.” His tone grew dry. “I dress as I do because I hardly think London would approve of the Earl of Ravenwood dressing in his Gypsy clothes.”

“So which are you? A Gypsy? Or an earl?”

“He’s both—a Gypsy and an earl!” one of the children proclaimed.

“How old were you when your father snatched you away?” Thomas leaped to his feet.

Dominic’s gaze rested upon him. “I was twelve.”

“Twelve. That’s how old I am,” Thomas boasted.

“You are not, Thomas Shelton,” Jane argued with him. “You won’t be twelve until after harvest.”

Thomas stuck out his tongue at Jane. Olivia cast a warning glance toward the pair.

“Why do the Gypsies wander from place to place?” the boy asked, dropping the issue of his age.

“They are beholden to no one this way. They are free, at one with the world and with nature, free to wander where they wish. And there is a saying…‘God knows what tomorrow will bring.’ Thus they are free of concern over the future and do as they please, whenever they please.”

“My papa says they wander because no one wants them near.” Thomas tipped his head to the side and regarded Dominic.

There was the slightest darkening of his features…yet it was gone so quickly Olivia wondered if she merely imagined it.

“That’s what many people think, but they are mistaken,” he said at last. “They wander because it is their way, as it has been their way for centuries.”

“They don’t have houses.” Lucinda had crept out and now sat next to Jane. “They live in tents and carts.”

“They are called caravans,” he corrected. “
Vardo
by the Gypsies. For those not wealthy enough to own a
vardo
, the sky is the roof over their heads.”

“But what do they do when it rains?” someone asked.

One corner of his mouth went up. “They get wet,” he said promptly.

The children erupted into laughter. He had gone down on one knee to speak. Only then did Olivia glimpse a faint spark of laughter in those incredibly blue eyes.

“They talk strangely,” one boy chimed in.

“That’s because they often speak to each other in the language of the Gypsies. It’s called Romany.”

“Heathens, my da calls ’em.”

He shook his head. “They believe in the same God as all of you. Their ways are merely different, that is all.”

Olivia cringed inside. The children’s questions were both blatant and bold. Somehow she thought he would be harsh and unrelenting. Yet Dominic St. Bride appeared both patient and tolerant of their curiosity.

“My papa says he once lived in a town where signs were posted that said ‘No Gypsies,’ yet still the Gypsies came.”

“That’s because they cannot read.”

Colin finally broke his silence. “I cannot read,” he said in a small voice.

“Ah, but with Miss Sherwood’s guidance, you’ll soon be able to.” Dominic laid a hand on the boy’s red curls, a gesture that she found wholly unexpected…and utterly endearing. Indeed, she had to remind herself that he was a Gypsy…

And a Gypsy had murdered her father.

At that very instant, he chanced to glance up and their eyes meshed for the longest time. Olivia could not help it. She had the strangest sensation he knew her very thoughts…But that could not be. It could not!

She had to tear her gaze away. “All right, children.” Deliberately she chose not to look at him. “Remember your lesson and practice your reading and writing whenever you are able.” With that the children were dismissed. They scattered in all directions. Rising, she got to her feet, twitching her skirts into place as she did so.

Only Colin remained, and he was whispering to Dominic, who, in the very next instant, swung Colin up and onto the back of his horse. Taking the reins, he led the horse in a circle around the square.

Colin beamed. His smile was as radiant as a thousand suns. Finally Dominic lifted the lad off and gently set him on his feet. “There you are, m’ boy,” he said lightly. “Run along home now.”

Colin dashed off toward his cottage. Olivia had no doubt the child would sing endless praises of the Gypsy earl. Why, she could almost see Charlotte’s mouth gaping open in sheer disbelief.

Once they were left alone, he turned to regard her.

An awkward silence ensued…awkward, at
least, for Olivia. To her consternation, Dominic St. Bride appeared completely at ease.

“That was…sweet of you,” she said slowly. “To let Colin ride your horse that way.”

A dark brow arose. “Sweet?” His tone held a trace of cynicism. “I suspect that’s a word never before ascribed to me, Miss Sherwood.”

She elected to make no further comment on his observation. Instead she said, “He’s Charlotte’s son, you know.”

“Charlotte?” His expression was blank.

“Yes, Charlotte. One of the maids at Ravenwood. She has hair exactly like Colin’s. If you see her, you’ll know.”

“No doubt I will.”

Olivia took a deep breath. “You—you have a way with Colin. I must thank you. I could not get him to speak at all today.”

“Ah. And you’re surprised, aren’t you, Miss Sherwood.” It was not a question, it was a blunt statement.

A tide of color rose to her cheeks. “Frankly, I am.”

“And why is that, Miss Sherwood?” There was a glint in his eyes. It flitted through her mind that he was displeased…“Did you think the children would cower away from the Gypsy earl?”

Olivia blanched. Her mind tripped. In truth, she
had
thought the children would be frightened to death. From the corner of her eye, she’d noticed how many of the villagers had stared at him when he arrived, only to retreat quickly toward their homes. Yet what could she say?

Salvation came in a most unexpected way. Just then the dog Lucifer appeared across the square,
bounding toward her. He came directly up to her and thrust his huge head beneath her hand.

Only a heartbeat before, she’d very nearly screamed in fear. Now she could only stare in amazement, for his tail was swinging vigorously. A huge wet tongue lapped the back of her hand. Olivia blinked, and tentatively touched his head. Encouraged now, he bumped against her legs, his behind wiggling madly.

Olivia very nearly toppled over. She was saved only by two strong hands settling on her waist and holding her upright.

“Lucifer!” came the earl’s voice. “Sit!”

The hound immediately sat. He gazed up at his master with doleful brown eyes.

It was a moment before Olivia could speak. The warmth of his hands seemed to burn right through her clothing. With a gasp she looked up at him. “Good heavens! Why, surely he weighs at least five stone.”

“Six, more likely.” Dominic’s tone was dry. “It appears he likes you.”

Her laugh was shaky. “Yes. It seems so, doesn’t it?”

Lucifer had shifted his eyes to her. The hound seemed to gaze at her longingly. Olivia held out her hand, an invitation for Lucifer to come. The mongrel whined, looking at his master, as if for permission.

Dominic gave a slight nod. The dog immediately rose and once again thrust his head beneath her hand. Olivia bent slightly, stroking his head lightly.

She shook her head. “When I first saw him,” she murmured, “I was terrified he would bite my hand
off. But he’s really quite tame for such a large beast, isn’t he?” She gave him one last pat.

“Careful, Miss Sherwood. He doesn’t care to be called a beast.”

Olivia straightened, her eyes wide. “Why, surely he doesn’t underst—”

Only then did she glimpse the faint twinkle in his eyes. Why, he was teasing her!

He cocked his head toward his stallion. “Come. I’ll take you home.”

Olivia blinked. “What?” she said blankly. “You expect me to ride with you?”

“Of course.” He sounded as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

A shiver went down her spine. Her mouth grew dry at the very thought. Mama’s fall had only increased her fear of horses.

She shook her head adamantly. “I think not, my lord.”

“Why? There’s no one about to see.”

It was true. The market square was deserted except for several ducklings waddling behind their mother.

A feeling of dread curled down her spine. She suppressed a shudder. His stallion was a powerful animal, sleek and well-muscled.

She glanced away. “’Tis not that,” she said, her voice very low.

“What then?”

Olivia fell silent. She couldn’t simply say she was afraid—that would sound childish. Nor could she tell him about Mama, for that was somehow too…intimate.

His sigh was audible. “Are you always so stubborn, Miss Sherwood? If you ride with me you’ll
be home twice as quickly. I know it’s a long walk from here.”

Her eyes meshed with his in a flash. “How would you know?”

“You left Ravenwood past dark the past two days. I followed you home.”

Olivia was aghast—and, for perhaps the first time in her life, at an utter loss for words. He’d followed her? Her mind began racing. She was stunned. She was indignant…and there was a part of her that wondered if perchance there were some other reason he’d followed her…

“Why?” she asked shakily. “Why would you do such a thing?”

His eyes flickered. “To make certain that you arrived home safely.”

“My safety, my lord, is none of your concern.”

“I beg to differ with you. You are in my employ, and as such, it is.”

So that was why he’d followed her. Why, it had been ridiculous to think it was anything else.

He swept a hand toward his horse. “Shall we?” he murmured.

She cleared her throat. “My lord, I’m hardly in need of—”

“Careful not to raise your voice,” he murmured. “If you do, you’ll make a spectacle of us both.”

For the second time in as many moments, she was speechless. But he was right, she realized. No longer were they alone. Just across the square, Mr. Hobson strolled toward the churchyard.

“Very well then. This way I can return the handkerchief you loaned me the other night. But I’ll walk—not ride.” She relented as gracefully as she could. Her head held high, she turned toward
home. Dominic fell into step beside her, leading his horse behind. Lucifer trotted along beside her.