Michael despised being played for a fool. He despised facing the fact that he’d shirked his duties. Most of all, he despised losing his chance to incriminate the Gypsy.
Fists on his hips, he stood on the front steps and glowered after the dogcart that disappeared into the gloom of twilight. There was an autumn chill in the air, but he scarcely noticed. A pair of his strongest grooms drove Thaddeus Tremain, bound in irons, to the village roundhouse, where he would be held until trial by the magistrate.
Vivien hadn’t stolen from him. His steward was the culprit.
Michael had scrutinized the account books that morning, after sending Tremain off on a fabricated errand to settle a minor dispute with a neighbor over a property boundary. Then Michael had ridden around to his tenants, assessing their needs, making a list of their grievances, and arranging for restitution.
As the day went on, his fury grew.
The Herringtons were only one family of many who had been cheated. His people had been robbed of their justly earned coin, a bit here and a bit there, enough to impoverish them without pushing them to rebellion. Thaddeus Tremain had supplied them with inferior tools, refused to do repairs on their cottages, inflated their rents, and reduced their wages. Then he’d cleverly manipulated the ledgers to conceal all traces of his embezzlement.
By the time the steward returned, Michael had more than enough proof with which to confront him. Tremain denied everything, his squat nose twitching with indignation. Until Michael brought out the hefty sack of gold coins he’d found secreted beneath the floorboards of the steward’s bedchamber. Only then did the mole-faced steward collapse into a blubbering heap of remorse. Begging for mercy, he’d claimed to have needed the money to provide for his sick old mother in Wales.
Michael scorned the story. There had been other things he’d discovered while searching the steward’s austere chamber—the silver serving pieces, the icon, the heavy gold candlesticks. All the missing items he had accused Vivien of stealing.
He had also found a new gold pocket watch, a trunk packed full of stylish garb, and a much-thumbed pamphlet about the United States of America, land of opportunity.
Thaddeus Tremain would go to Australia instead.
A rustling sounded behind him. Pivoting, he saw his staff crowding the open double doorway. Footmen, maidservants, cooks, and grooms stood wide-eyed in the light of the torches. Several servants shrank back into the shadows as if to escape notice. Heads ducked, eyes shifted, and voices muttered uneasily.
He frowned. Surely they weren’t afraid of being sacked, too.
“You’ve naught to fear,” he said. “Only Tremain is at fault.”
Mrs. Barnsworth ventured a few paces forward, her hands folded over her stout middle. “We heard the news, milord,” said the housekeeper. “And we all wished to say...good riddance to bad rubbish.”
The others murmured their assent, heads bobbing and fists waving.
On a hunch, he asked, “Did Tremain mistreat any of you?”
“He was a mean ’un, milord. He cut our wages, he did.”
Michael swore under his breath. “You should have informed me.”
“We thought ye wouldn’t believe us, milord,” piped a young maid who couldn’t have been more than twelve. When the attention shifted to her, she blushed red and fell silent, lifting her apron to hide her face.
The balding butler cleared his throat. “What Daisy means, my lord, is that Mr. Tremain told us he was acting on your orders.”
The news struck Michael with as much chagrin as anger. It was the same bald-faced lie Tremain had told to the tenants, thereby destroying their trust in Michael. Was he truly so much a stranger to his people that they could believe him capable of such cruelty? “It seems Tremain has told many untruths,” he said. “I want all of you to know that your former wages shall be restored and you’ll also receive whatever has been taken from you. Plus an additional sum for your inconvenience.”
Excited murmurings rippled among the servants, along with a few hearty cheers and a spate of applause.
“We’re grateful to ye, then,” Mrs. Barnsworth said, bobbing her mob-capped head. “Might I add, we’re pleased ye’re back for good.”
For good? This must be his grandmother’s doing, spreading rumors about his permanent return. Because she wanted...
Amy. During the events of the day he’d nearly forgotten about his daughter. He wouldn’t feel at ease until he brought her here, where he could keep a close eye on her.
As the servants returned to their duties, Michael motioned the housekeeper to remain on the porch. “Has the nursery been prepared?”
The housekeeper stared at him in obvious consternation, her beefy hands grasping at her apron. “Aye...’tis bright as a new penny. But ye mustn’t bring the little lady here yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because when her ladyship inspected it—”
“My grandmother came here today?” he asked sharply.
“Aye, while ye were off makin’ yer calls on the tenants. She and her two lady friends trooped upstairs and checked the nursery. Then I heard a screechin’ and a hollerin’ loud enough to wake the dead.” Mrs. Barnsworth lowered her head, peering up at him as if expecting his wrath to descend at any moment. “I swears, I don’t know how it happened, milord, but there was mice runnin’ about everywhere.”
Mice? When he’d gone up there with Vivien, he hadn’t noticed any sign of an infestation. What damnable bad luck. Or perhaps, Michael thought in dawning suspicion, it wasn’t luck at all. “I trust you’ve taken measures to remove the rodents.”
“Aye, the footmen trapped a few, and I set out the rat poison meself.” Her shoulders slumped as she worried the folds of her apron. “I swears on me mam’s grave, there’s never been mice upstairs afore today. I keep a clean house, I do.”
“Don’t give the matter another thought,” Michael said with grim resolve. “I’ll personally make certain it shall never happen again.”
“Miss Vivi! Miss Vivi!”
A small body barreled into Vivien as she opened the door of her bedchamber. Alarmed, she reached down, her arms automatically surrounding Amy in a protective embrace. She could feel the girl’s heart pounding like the beating wings of a frightened sparrow. “What is it, darling? What’s wrong?”
“I had a scary dream,” Amy sobbed, her hazel eyes watery and her lower lip quivering. Unruly copper curls framed her elfin face. A ruffled white nightdress was buttoned to her little chin, and she clutched a tattered rag doll.
Vivien was ready for bed, too. As was her custom, she’d wrapped a shawl around her nightdress and slipped outside to escape the confinement of the house for a while. Only this time, she’d heard a tapping on the door of the bedchamber. She brushed back a strand of Amy’s hair from her brow. “My sweet little dove, you’re safe now. What did you dream about?”
“I was running and running and I couldn’t find my papa, not nowhere. I couldn’t find you.”
“You’re safe with me now.” Enfolding her in an extra big hug, Vivien glanced down the darkened corridor. “Where is Miss Mortimer?”
“She’s snorin’ terrible loud,” Amy confided. “So I came to see you, Miss Vivi. Can I stay? Please?”
Seeing the trust on that young face, Vivien felt her heart melt. Yet she hesitated. She ought to take Amy back to her own chamber. Michael had left strict orders that only Miss Mortimer was to care for his daughter, and Vivien had no wish to antagonize him, and possibly risk losing her place here. “Your father wants you to stay with your governess.”
Amy squeezed her arms around Vivien, pressing her small cheek to her bosom. “Please don’t send me away. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.”
Curse his rigid rules. “Of course I won’t send you away. Come in.”
Her tears vanishing with mercurial swiftness, the little girl fairly bounced into the bedchamber, which was lit by a single beeswax candle on the bedside table. Gloom lay thick in the corners where the light didn’t reach, and the fire on the hearth had died down to glowing red embers. “It’s spooky in here,” Amy whispered. “But not as spooky as my room.”
“Then you shall stay right here for now,” Vivien assured her. “Hop into my bed where it’s warm and comfortable.”
She drew back the pristine white counterpane, but Amy balked, looking suspiciously from the plump, unused pillows to Vivien. “Why weren’t you sleeping?”
“I was standing out on the balcony for a bit, that’s all.”
It was ten o’clock, and Lady Stokeford had retired already, distressed by the most recent quarrel with her grandson. Earlier in the evening, he’d come stalking into the Dower House, shouting for his grandmother. The despot had accused the dear lady of releasing mice into the nursery. Mice! As if the dowager were as crafty as he was.
“Why?” Amy asked.
Vivien pulled her attention back to the little girl. “Why what?”
“Why were you outside?” Amy wagged her finger in imitation of a stern governess. “You ought to be sleeping.”
Vivien laughed. “I like being outdoors. The stars are especially lovely tonight.”
“Ooh, I wanna see.” Without waiting for permission, Amy snatched Vivien’s hand and towed her toward the partially opened door to the balcony.
“Wait,” Vivien said, laughing again. “The air is chilly. Let me fetch a blanket.”
Dancing with impatience, Amy hovered by the door while Vivien stripped the eiderdown coverlet from the bed and carried it outside. The balcony was a mere jut of stone with a low railing dark with twining ivy. There were no chairs or benches, so Vivien made a pallet out of some folded blankets and then wrapped herself and Amy in the fluffy eiderdown. Cozy and warm, they sat with their backs to the stone wall as they gazed up at the sky, the stars like diamonds strewn across black velvet. Vivien held the tiny girl snuggled in her arms. Oh, it did feel wonderful to embrace a child, she thought. Especially one as sweet and lively as Amy.
“Miss Vivi?”
“Yes?”
“Why are there stars?”
Vivien smiled, remembering what her father had told her. “Each star is someone’s soul sparkling down upon us.”
“What’s a soul?”
“It’s the part of you that thinks and feels. The part that never, ever dies.”
Staring upward, Amy fell quiet for a long moment before whispering, “My mama must be one of those stars, then. ’Cause she’s an angel in heaven. Papa said so.”
Vivien’s heart twisted. According to Lady Stokeford, Amy had been not quite a year old when her mother had died in a tragic carriage accident. Michael’s beloved noble wife. Had her loss caused the great, angry hurt she sensed in him? Feeling a curious wistfulness, Vivien said, “I’m sure your mama is one of the most beautiful stars of all.”
“Really?” Amy asked, her voice hushed with awe. “Which one do you s’pose she is?”
“I believe you could find her more easily than I. Look for one that twinkles at you.”
With an expression of rapt concentration, Amy peered up at the sky, her fine features washed in a pale white glow. A sleepy bird twittered in a tree nearby, then fell silent. “That one,” she said finally, pointing with the indomitable confidence of a child. “The big one right over Papa’s house.”
“Yes, I do believe you’re right,” Vivien said, gazing up at a star that glowed brightly. “So you see, my little dove, you’re never alone. If ever you miss her, you can look up into the night sky and she’ll be watching over you.”
The girl made a happy sound and nestled closer to Vivien, her eyelids drooping a little. “Tell me a story now,” she said, wriggling against Vivien. “Please, Miss Vivi.”
“Lie still, then,” Vivien said, “and I’ll tell you about the boy who thought he could catch a star.”
Lowering her voice to a soothing murmur, she began the old Gypsy tale, relating how the boy wanted to present his poor widowed mother with a star so that her every wish would come true. He built a long, long ladder and set it upon the top of the highest mountain in the world, climbing and climbing, up and up, but all he could reach was a handful of stardust. His feet dragging, he returned home dejected, only to be greeted with hugs and kisses by his frantic mother, who declared that his safe return was the greatest gift of all. And her tears turned the stardust into diamonds so that she and the little boy became rich and lived happily ever after...
Vivien looked down to see Amy draped against her with her eyes closed, her thumb in her mouth, the rag doll tucked beneath her chin. Her breathing flowed soft and even. In the white gown, she might have been a tiny angel come to earth.
She sighed in her sleep, and Vivien felt a rush of affection so intense it was disturbing. How could she love the child of an arrogant English lord? How could she feel any contentment here among the gorgios?
All her life, she had encountered their mistrust. She’d seen mothers pull their children away whenever the wagons of the Rom passed by. She’d been shunned by ladies in the street and spat upon by shopkeepers. Worst of all had been the ghastly day when a mantrap on the Duke of Covington’s estate had crippled her father. Vivien had found him herself, moaning in agony, the jagged teeth of the trap clamped around his leg...
Shuddering, she hugged Amy closer, breathing in her sweet scent and willing the nausea to recede. That horrible event had naught to do with the little girl in her arms. Nor with Lady Stokeford or the servants or the tenants she’d met. With a lurch, Vivien realized that her hatred toward the gorgios had mellowed. She had found many things to like here—the books and the learning, the companionship of the Rosebuds, the comforts of hot baths and delicious food. To her shame, she’d even enjoyed sparring with Michael. He made her feel alive in a way she’d never before known.
A fire in the heart.
No, she denied fiercely. He was the first man to awaken her womanly needs, that was all. Though her blood was gorgio, her heart belonged to the Rom. In a little over a month, she would leave here forever. She would take her two hundred guineas and return to the wandering life she’d always known. The life she loved.
Shutting her eyes, she could almost see the campfires glowing, smell the smoke upon the wind, hear the hoot of an owl through the darkness. She and her parents would eat a simple meal seasoned by laughter and talk. Then she would make a bed for the night beneath a canopy of stars. She’d hear her parents whisper as they, too, settled down for the night. And she would know that she’d done her best for them.
A pleasant weariness washed over Vivien. Though the night air was chilly, the eiderdown enclosed them in a snug nest. She knew she must carry Amy back to her bedchamber, but not yet. Michael would be furious if he learned his daughter was here. Vivien couldn’t sanction his strictness, though she could see by his devotion to the child that he loved her.
Why did he guard his daughter so jealously? Drowsy, she couldn’t make sense of the matter. She could only envy him having the gift of this precious little girl, and indulge her own jealous desire to claim Amy for herself, if only for a few moments.
Just a few moments...