For the Love of a Gypsy (24 page)

Chapter 28

Martine tossed and turned as her thoughts tumbled about in her mind. She woke, not able to coax her mind to a better, happier path. Pah, she was worried about Declan. No word had been sent and she fretted all the more because of it.

Instinct led her to the broad windows. She searched the garden, looking for what pulled her there. At the rear gate, there he stood. “Declan,” she whispered.

She raced from the room and down the front stairs, shoved past Gertie, and threw the doors that led to the garden open.

She ran right into Declan’s open arms and kissed him all over his face.

“Easy, my love,” he said between laughter. “I’m here to stay.”

“I missed you so,” she said between tears.

He hugged her close to his body. “’Twill never happen again.”

Martine pulled back and allowed her gaze to absorb every detail of his handsome face. Bruises marred the perfection of his jaw line and a deep gash intersected his brow. She lifted her hand to gently touch his wounds, her heart fretting all over again. “How could they hurt you so?”

He shook his head and rested his forehead against hers. “’Tis nothing. Let’s go inside.” He linked his arm through hers and led her back through the open doors.

As they entered the back of the house, Lady Lillian Wright bustled through the front. A hint of anger quivered her lip and flashed in her eye. She methodically removed her gloves and slapped them on the table. Lillian came before them and stood.

“Thank you for saving him,” Martine said as she leaned down and gave the woman a kiss. “Thank you.”

Declan’s mother gripped her shoulders and a proud smile flashed on her mouth. “I would never allow him to return to prison.”

She nodded and glanced at Declan with a hint of pleading in her gaze. Tight lines surrounded her eyes, eyes that were just as blue as her son’s. He remained aloof, a stern scowl on his face and the rigid line of his back only indicating his ire more.

“No matter what the bastard tried to do?”

His mother scoffed. “Really, son. Your language.”

“
Mother
.”

“Right. I do not know about you, but I need a bracing cup of tea.” She walked to the parlor, her kidskin shoes clicking in rhythm to her brisk steps. “Come along, we have much to discuss.”

Declan followed his mother, needing the answers and the right to ask more questions. She sat like a queen in the chair nearest the fire. The crisp spring air had obviously warranted one to be lit. He bypassed the tea and headed straight to the decanter of brandy. He poured a healthy dose and turned back to his mother.

Tragedy had visited his life too many times to count. But what mattered most were these two beautiful women before him. One he’d lost long ago and had the luck to find, and the other was such an obvious match to his soul, the other beat of his heart. He enjoyed them a moment longer before he strode to the couch opposite his mother and sat. It took the cock of his brow for her to begin her rushed explanation.

“He will never bother you again. I have knowledge that would ruin him as a peer, not to mention his political dealings. Your imprisonment notwithstanding.” She sipped her tea and patted her lips with a small napkin, behaving as if this were any other day, except he saw the slight tremor of her hand. “I will never lay eyes on him again. Excellent,” she exclaimed when Little brought in a tray of tea cakes and buns. “A row always leaves me famished.”

Martine chuckled as she served his mother.

“I cannot believe how vicious my husband was being. I do not understand,” she said as she sniffed into a napkin. “He never treated
me
in such a way. Why would he treat my children that way?”

“Has he treated Gwyneth badly?” Martine glanced at Declan, then back to his mother. “Is that why she’s so unhappy?”

“No, no.” Lillian shook her head as she continued to wipe her nose. “My daughter is in turmoil over the death of her fiancée. Tragic, tragic accident. Although her relationship with Robert has never been congenial, now it is downright frigid.” She tapped her chin. “I wonder why I never noticed it before?”

“Finn said he saw her running from Wright’s carriage,” Declan offered. If his sister were here, he’d question her until she revealed all.

Something shifted in his mother’s eyes. He witnessed it. Martine obviously sensed it and quickly looked to him. He was tired of secrets, those of his family, his own. They only ruined lives and bore distrust.

“I’ll leave you to talk,” Martine said as she exited the room.

“She is lovely, my son.” His mother watched him, waiting perhaps, but there was also relief in her expression.

Declan sat across from his mother. God, it was strange sitting with his mother as if he did so every day. They both drank—him brandy, her tea in contemplative silence. “Aye, she is the love of my life.”

“Ah, ‘tis the lord himself.”

Declan turned, then groaned. “Grand. Just what I need to make my day pleasant—a visit from the
Kapo
.”

Rafe Petrulengo entered the room with a catlike grace and poured himself a drink. “Fine brandy you have.”

The man had the nerve to sit at his desk, kick up his feet, and rest them upon the wood surface.

“We don’t have to pretend to tolerate each other,” he said with a quick glance at his mother. God only knew what she was thinking. A gleam of curiosity brightened her eyes. “What do you want?”

The Gypsy smirked and mocked a salute at Declan and his mother. “As you wish.” He refilled his brandy and swirled it as he looked at Declan. “My grandmother missed Martine.”

Declan chuckled. His mother was paying rapt attention to their exchange. He knew he’d have to explain at one time or another, but now was not the time. “If you think I believe that, you’ve underestimated me.”

Rafe gave an arrogant shrug. “Believe what you want, Irish. I brought Anya here. And she plans to stay, no matter how I try to convince her otherwise.”

Actually, he had no problem with Anya residing with them. Martine would be ecstatic to have her grandmother in their home. In fact, why hadn’t he thought of it before? Martine would love the idea of having her family close by.

“Declan?” his mother question.

He dragged his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Mother, meet Martine’s brother, Rafe.”

The Gypsy had the impudence to grin, roguishly accepted her hand, and kissed its surface. “A pleasure, my lady.”

“It is a pleasure to meet one of Martine’s relatives.” She shot a look at Declan and quirked her brow. “I am certain there is more to this story than I know.”

Declan nodded. “I will tell all over luncheon.” He looked at Rafe, who had refilled his glass once again. “Does Martine know Anya wishes to stay?”

Rafe shook his head. “I was waiting to see if you’d permit her to stay.”

He narrowed his eyes and looked at the man before him. His clothing marked him as a Gypsy, as did his dark eyes and skin. Yet he felt somewhat of a kinship with the nomad. Declan rubbed his eyes, entirely too weary to argue. “I will always welcome Anya in my home.”

“A Gypsy in a lord’s home?” Rafe said with a sardonic edge.

He watched his mother cast her glance up and down Rafe as if weighing who this man was. Most women would have run screaming, but nay, his mother stood straight and observed the interaction as if it was a normal occurrence.

Declan scowled. “Pour me one.”

Again that arrogant smirk. “Where’s my sister?”

“We both know she’s not. Let go of the pretense.”

Rafe shook his head and waved his fingers at Declan. His rings glinted in the sun streaming through the window. “You’ll never understand, but she brought a certain peace to my family.”

“How can that be? The Rom are notorious for not accepting outsiders.”

Rafe took a sip and held it. After he swallowed, he spoke, “The children refuse to believe she’s never coming back. Even the elders speak of her absence with dismay.”

Declan nodded to the chair for the
Kapo
to sit. “She refuses to see her family.”

The Gypsy’s gaze did not waver as Declan attempted to pin him with a withering look. “They aren’t her family, the family of her heart.”

Aye, he’d agree to that.

“You’ll remain for our wedding?”

Rafe gave a careless shrug. “If it is written in the stars.”

Damn if Declan didn’t chuckled at the arrogant man. “Aye,
Kapo
, then I have a plan.”

Declan assisted Martine from the carriage. The church was quiet save for their small group. Rich stained glass, archways, and stone flooring greeted them as they entered. The gleaming pews were set in rows and lit candles graced a large altar—all of the elegant niceties the wealthy and those of the
ton
expected.

“Ah, m’lord, ‘tis good to see ye again, lad.”

Declan turned toward the priest. He was garbed in the traditional collar and black hassock, although it pulled tight over his rotund stomach. The jovial man bowed to Martine, yet couldn’t hide the curious twinkle in his eyes. “How can I be serving you today?”

Declan clasped Martine’s trembling hand in his own. “We wish to wed.”

The priest’s eyes widened in shock as he rocked back and forth on the heels of his shoes. “Ahhh, the banns need to be considered, to be sure.” He tugged on his double chin. “You’ll have to wait a fortnight.”

Martine gasped and looked at him expectantly. “Father, we need to wed now.”

Father Anthony gathered her hands in his. “It is the tradition and church law, my child.”

Declan scoffed. “You know there are ways around the banns. Many a marriage was performed after a large donation.”

The man looked over their shoulders to see if anyone else was in the church. “Yes,” he allowed with a grin.

Declan laughed. The tension eased out of the situation as Martine and Father Anthony chuckled as well.

He reached for his money pouch. “I’ve enough to placate the delicate rules of the church.”

“A lovely donation does well to soothe the church,” the priest said as he patted Declan enthusiastically on the back. “Let’s be done with it then.”

Declan went to the carriage to gather their witnesses. They stood near the altar with Father Anthony before them. Declan’s mother, Little, and a disgruntled Gwyneth were their only witnesses. Candlelight flickered around in a hazy, golden sheen. Martine nervously gripped her skirt, then rubbed the blue silk between her fingers. Declan had given her a bouquet of flowers and the sweat from her palms made holding them uncomfortable. Yet she felt a blessed peace. She belonged with Declan. Of that she was certain. Och, how she loved him. She watched him, proud and confident in a deep gray suit and a white shirt that offset his tanned skin and blue eyes. His dark hair was slicked back and lay over the collar of his shirt.

He was so handsome. Strong and generous. Honorable and loving. Martine let go of her gown and slipped her hand into his. Father Anthony cocked his brow at the gesture, yet he continued directing the wedding vows.

“One moment, Father.” Declan nodded, then called to the rear of the church. “’Tis time.”

One by one Matthew, Lange, Nate, Rufus, and Pierce made their way down the aisle and into the empty pews. Each man had groomed in one way or another, making them presentable for such an occasion. The priest chuckled as the men awkwardly pulled at their starched collars.

“Are we ready, then?”

“Aye, father.” He cast a warm smile at her and then said, “We’ve another witness.”

The door of the church opened. Rafe led an older woman with a tuft of white hair who came into the building with her head ducked.

“Grandmother?”

Declan grinned. “We thought you would like her to be here.”

Martine wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. “Thank you,” she whispered as tears threatened. “Thank you.”

She released him and went to welcome her grandmother. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Anya laughed. “Pash. I would never miss this day.”

She turned toward her brother. “Thank you.”

He embraced her and kissed her on the forehead. “For you I’d bring the moon.”

Anya patted her arm as Martine led her to the first pew. Declan’s men moved aside so Anya and Rafe could be the closest to the couple.

“Grand,” the priest said. “Are we ready, then?”

“Aye, father.”

“Heard that before, Lord Forrester.” The priest reopened his Bible and began reading a marriage blessing.

Happiness infused her. The moment was perfect. She kept stealing glances at her groom and nearly pinched herself to make sure this was real, not some fairytale.

“Lord Declan Forrester,” Father Anthony announced. “You may kiss your bride.”

A rousing cheer filled the church as his mother, men, Anya, and Rafe offered their congratulations.

She was now a married woman.

“Right,” Father Anthony said. “Never boring around you, my lord.”

Declan hugged her. He leaned back and gently cupped her face. She would take pleasure in looking into his face for the rest of her life. He kissed her lips softly, and then they turned to accept the congratulations from the well-wishers.

They enjoyed a luncheon and after most had left or gone to bed, Martine had one last goodnight to say.

Her brother gave a curt nod. “May we speak?”

With an apologetic smile toward Declan, Martine left the room with her brother.

“What can be so important you can’t wait until morning?” Although she knew the answer, sadness filled her as she watched Rafe. No matter if their relationship had experienced ups and downs, he was her brother.

“Anya will be staying with you?”

She chewed on her lip. “Pah. Is that what this is about?”