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“PAPA, YOU’RE QUIET this evening. Is something wrong?”
Dabbing her mouth with her napkin, Talia eyed Fernando carefully. It had been an exhausting evening. She hated the fact that she had to pretend nothing was amiss. Would this ever end?
Pushing the food around his plate, Fernando issued her a heavy sigh. “Pardon, mi querida. I have a lot on my mind. It was a particularly difficult harvest this year.”
Talia placed her fork aside. “Do you want to talk about it?”
His eyes darted across the room. “It isn’t important. Do you have plans for your masque?”
Talia swallowed her food. “I don’t want to do anything without Maman.” Taking a sip of wine, she stared at him. “Did you and Maman have a big party when you wed?”
Fernando’s face paled. She tilted her head. Pulling on his cravat, he muttered, “Monique and I married so quickly. It was love at first sight, and we didn’t want to wait to start our family.” He gave her a wan smile.
Arching an eyebrow, she sat forward. Apparently, he was unaware that she knew her of mother’s illicit pregnancy. “You didn’t celebrate such a joyous occasion with family?”
“We couldn’t. Your grandfather and grandmother were still in Cuba. Monique’s father was quite upset that she didn’t tell them about me. He died not long after.”
“How sad.”
He grimaced, waving his hand in the air as if swatting an irritating fly. “We celebrated with friends.”
“The Aringosas?” she asked pointedly.
“Sí, of course. Ricardo and his wife had always been gracious.”
Talia hummed. “I saw Carina today. She looks so happy. She and I have always been like sisters.” As Fernando nearly choked on his rice, Talia smiled. “We saw her in town with her husband, a nice fellow.”
Fernando’s lip drew up into a sneer. “An Englishman, sí?” Placing his napkin on the table, he sat back. “At least your husband has Spanish blood. Tell me about his family. He and his father breed horses?”
Talia nodded. “And his brothers. It’s a family affair. His mother died when he was young, but he lives with his extended family, including his siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins.”
Fernando gasped. “They all live in the same house? Sounds like some Gypsy hovel.”
The hair prickled the back of Talia’s neck at her father’s epithet. Hadn’t Talon mentioned that the Romani were called Gypsies in England? Placing her silverware aside, she swallowed the empty feeling in her stomach. “What did you say?”
He arched his bushy eyebrow. “Gypsies? Vagabonds? Surely you saw them in Lisbon. They ran amok when I last visited Spain.”
Her heart plummeted. She had seen them. They’d begged for alms as she and Ricardo boarded the Nueva Linda. Her fingers fluttered against her throat. “I didn’t realize that they had a name.”
Fernando’s nose wrinkled. “Disease ridden folk. They live in dirty shacks, usually in large groups. They travel from town to town in bright garb making spectacles of themselves. The women read palms and tea leaves, and the men sing and dance. My great-grandfather said they’d rob a man blind and steal his children in the middle of the night. You say Barberry is from outside London?”
Stealing children?
Swallowing hard, Talia stared at Fernando as her spirits fell. She had no idea Talon had such a colorful culture. He hadn’t donned ragged clothing nor was he dirty, although he’d been undercover when she first met him. Mayhap his childhood was unorthodox, but he’d treated her with nothing but love and kindness. She eyed her so-called father warily.
That’s more than I can say for him.
Later that evening as Minnie helped Talia dress for bed, she couldn’t get her conversation with Fernando out of her mind. Stealing children, robbing, and pillaging... what sort of life had her husband had?
“Minnie, have you heard of a Gypsy?” She stumbled over the word, knowing Talon hated it.
Minnie buttoned Talia’s night shift and chuckled. “Land sake, yes. They be jus’ as low as us slaves in some places. You’re grandmama had stories ’bout them. I guess they’d travel the countryside and sell lots o’ stuff like baskets an’ pretty scarves and potions. Kinda like our voodoo women. Why you ask?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Papa mentioned them. I’ve never seen anybody like that here.”
“Tha’s cause o’ the slaves,” she said, brushing Talia’s hair. “The whites in England hate them Gyps. Your grandmama said they’s killed people for somethin’ as small as a meal. At least we don’ do ’dat.”
Talia froze as nausea forced her supper up her throat. She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Mon dieu, murder?”
She hummed. “Tha’s what the old ones say.”
Halting the woman’s ministration, Talia stood and blinked rapidly. “Thank you, Minnie, but I’m tired. I’m ready for bed.” The servant set the brush down and patted Talia’s shoulder, leaving her to her thoughts.
Lying in bed, she stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. What was she going to do? The way Fernando and Minnie spoke of the Romani, they were the vilest people on Earth.
From what Talon said, they’d been oppressed by white men. He hadn’t been dishonest with her. He’d divulged his family history to her before they married. She was just too naïve to understand it all.
She touched the life that grew inside her. Talon had called them something...gadjos? His former betrothed had run away with a white man, and his family had cast her out. Would Talon’s family do the same? And what would they think of their child? He was half Romani.
She closed her eyes. “It doesn’t matter.” She loved both of them, and she’d be damned if anyone persecuted her family.
*****
“YOUR DEAL, LAFITTE.”
Talon nursed his whiskey, awaiting the next play as he sat at a game table with Rousseau and Alex. They had much to discuss. Fortunately, the Lucky Lady was quiet this evening. They were able to find a secluded spot in the back, well out of the way of prying ears.
He looked at Alex expectantly. “Are you going to play or not?”
Alex counted out the cards and passed them along. “Ricardo is loaning you his flatboat, oui?”
“Oui.” Rousseau placed two cards face-down and asked for replacements. “Apparently, it belongs to the city.”
Alex frowned. “Aren’t you at all bothered about this trip? This L’Archambeau—” Squinting, Rousseau threw a finger to his lips and shushed him loudly. Lafitte leaned forward. “The man is the devil, Jean-Jacques. I’ve seen his eyes.”
With a scowl, Talon squinted. “Your only job is to take care of my wife, Lafitte. Did I choose the wrong person? I don’t want a coward looking after my family.”
Alex squirmed against the back of his chair. “I’m merely concerned. What if he’s not alone?”
Rousseau looked up from his cards. A thick line creased his forehead. “How do you mean?”
“Do you have something to tell us?” Talon demanded.
Pushing his curls from his face, Alex shrugged. “Marcus overheard one of the servants talking about a Frenchman and his companions. Said they were preparing for their meeting.”
Turning toward the captain, Talon squinted at him quizzically. “Fitz took Perez and Vargas back to Martinique in chains, aye?”
“Oui. The older Spaniard was nearly dead when we left.” Rousseau threw his cards on the table and eyed Alex with a stern gaze. “Out with it. What else did you hear?” When he didn’t answer, Rousseau kicked him under the table.
Alex cursed as he rubbed his shin. “I hear they are French like he is.”
“DuPont,” Talon said darkly.
Scratching his chin, Rousseau shook his head. “I don’t know the man. Do we need to worry?”
Talon pressed his lips into a thin line. “I trust no one, Captain. The younger DuPont, whom I thought was lost at sea —” Talon gave Alex a menacing glare. “—wanted to marry Talia. She was his prize if you will.”
Rousseau chewed on the end of his pipe with a frown. “Dieu, can’t it ever be easy?”
Talon smirked. “Nay. I’ve had to do things the hard way my whole life.”
Looking at his cards, Alex scoffed. “Why? Are you a bastard like me?”
“Nay, but it might seem so if you saw me in my home country.”
“Why?”
“Because Barberry is a Gypsy,” Rousseau answered without batting an eye.
Talon did a double take, forgetting to chastise the man for his use of the derogatory word. “You know?”
Rousseau nodded. “Mademoiselle Dapresh told me all about your family.”
Alex sat forward. “What’s a Gypsy?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Talon laughed. This was the strangest conversation he’d had in a while. He thought of Eric several years past and how excited his friend had been to meet Talon’s clan. There was a certain romanticism to his people, to be sure, but most Europeans looked down their noses at the Romani, disparaging their traditions and way of life.
Mayhap it’s time to change their minds.
Talon clapped Alex on the back. “We call ourselves Romani, not Gypsies, and we aren’t any different from any other man that walks the earth. We eat, we sleep, we fall in love, we raise our children, and we try to do what’s right.” Talon held his whiskey up, and the three men clinked glasses. “I am proud to admit that I, a Romani man, scorned by my fellow countrymen, married and protected my gadjo wife because I love her more than life itself.”
Rousseau sat forward, eyeing him warily. “Not all men are so honorable, Monsieur.”
Talon pursed his lips. “Quite right, Captain. Remember that when we face these scoundrels on the morrow.” He propped his boots up on the chair next to him. “Now, are we going to play cards?”