Society's Most Scandalous Viscount (15 page)

“Much improved. Thank you for asking.” Jasper settled in the opposite chair, a carefree smile on his face. “It's good to see you. I know you've built yourself a fortress in Brighton and enjoy holing up there alone, but that doesn't mean I'm not concerned for your welfare.”

“There's naught to cause you alarm. Marriage seems to suit you, although you've always been one to look for rainbows. I regret to have missed your ceremony.”

“I understand.” Jasper nodded to affirm his words. “Marriage is wonderful. You'll see come your turn.”

“Ah.” He let loose with a loud chuckle because so much emotion had built of late, any liberation was an improvement. “I doubt marriage is in the cards for me.”

“Penwick thought the same, but look at him now. He's shopping for a wife the same way he's choosing his willow pattern.”

Jasper smiled again. The man looked entirely too happy.

“The two of you discuss china designs?” Kell emphasized the question with a mixture of hesitant curiosity and bald amusement.

Jasper cleared his throat. “One recent evening Emily and I advised Penwick on the proper needs to set up house, nothing more. He's trying quite brilliantly to do everything right by his new title.”

“Yes, I know. He and Nicholson stopped in Brighton on their way from Bexhill. Penwick purchased a fine team from a stable there. Not as prime as Nyx, but top of the line, nonetheless.” Now it was his turn to smile.

“You talk about Nyx as if that horse is your child, a pride and joy.” Jasper chuckled.

“Since we've already ascertained I'm the poorest marriage material, you'll not find me siring any scamps. Besides, Nyx is easier to care for and a lot less messy.” Kell muttered the sentence with palpable distaste, all previous good humor vanished.

“A man of assorted affairs then? Content to drift through life with no meaningful intent?” His friend scoffed and then continued his tirade. “Not all marriages are like the parental mishaps you've witnessed in your family through the years. I think you need a beacon, some kind of light to help you realize happiness is possible—a key to unlock all those feelings you've caged up inside you. Not a single woman has made you rethink your indulgent lifestyle?”

For the briefest moment, a slice of pain pierced Kell's chest, then it was gone, as quickly as it occurred. Jasper's question brought with it the immediate image of Angel, but he pushed it away and refocused on the reason he'd sought out his friend in the first place. “Never mind that nonsense. Let's focus on the more imperative issue.” He said the words quickly in case Jasper decided to pursue the previous subject. “My mother wishes me to extricate her from a tidy little mess by way of Hazard. I'll be visiting the hells in St. Giles this evening if you have nothing to do and nowhere to go. I wouldn't mind the company.” The latter was an unusual confession and he almost wished the words back.

“Of course. It's perfect timing. Without Emily beside me, I can't sleep a wink, all at sixes and sevens. Usually after…well, you know, I'm out like a snuffed candle.” He paused, his expression sheepish, aware he may have gone on too long. “There's nothing like an all-night dice game to exhaust the senses.”

Kell enjoyed Jasper's fluster, glad his friend had found someone to add meaning to his life, though the realization emphasized the hollow knell of loneliness echoing in his chest. “The stakes are high and I intend to win, so don't bring Beaufort whatever you do. He's a distraction more than an aide.”

Jasper smiled in agreement, aware their friend Randolph had a way of leading things awry. “True enough. I'll come alone. Someone will need to keep your temper in check. Now why don't you fill me in on the details.”

Chapter Twelve

Angelica looped arms with her grandmother, Nan on the opposite side, as they walked toward the fairgrounds. Nan was an accomplished housekeeper with the skills required for country living, so it took little for her to hitch two horses to the curricle and drive them out to the fields. The fair, a tradition in Brighton, spanned for an acre, the free public event drawing not just locals but any fun-seeker in the surrounding area who had received word of the attractions or noticed the gypsy caravan as it made its way to the coast.

The fields were parceled into rectangular sections filled with wooden booths offering food and treats. Rich spicy aromas filled the air. The scent of sausage singed over an open flame married with fresh baked rolls. The briny scent of pickled oysters fresh from the ocean grabbed one's attention, pungent and distinct. Across the way a pie seller hawked his tempting wares, the golden brown crusts and sweet smell of apples a feast to the senses. The fair depicted a world within itself, most especially the cacophony of noises, bagpipes, accordions, and laughter, which coalesced with a kaleidoscope of colors adorning the gypsies' garb, vivid and embellished in contrast to the crowd of commoners.

Angelica's eyes grew wide as she took in the sights, resurrecting heartfelt memories of childhood visits here in Brighton strong enough to banish the most troubling thoughts of her father and his impending return to claim her.

They wandered in no particular hurry along a row of tables and chairs, past sheep pens and donkeys to a large area where a cluster of musicians played. A large Dutch organ sat at the center of the clearing, surrounded by men playing tambourines, pipes, a violin, and a double drum. Without conscious thought, Angelica swayed to the music, her toe tapping the lively tune.

“Would you like to dance, Angel?” Grandmother squeezed her hand in encouragement. “Join the circle of young people and have a good time. It's nothing like the constrictive formations you endure in London's ballrooms.”

“You're right about that.” She couldn't withhold her grin of impenitence. “But I shouldn't. It wouldn't be proper.” Her objection, flimsy and voiced without conviction, provoked her grandmother to smile.

“Of course you should. Tonight you are a lovely country miss.” Grandmother punctuated the sentence with a wink meant to imply no argument would be accepted, and Angelica capitulated without further discussion.

She joined the line of ladies and kicked up her heels in the frolicking dance. Exhilarated and out of breath, she returned to Grandmother and Nan who now held cups of lemonade and small bags of sugared nuts. Together they strolled the toy stalls and purchased gingerbread biscuits to save for later. The night provided the perfect respite from the week, although when Angelica believed no one was watching she scanned the crowd for an altogether different reason. More than once she thought she spied Benedict's blond head among the gathering, only to be disappointed as the gentleman grew near. Benedict's height and fair coloring would easily set him apart from the swarthy gypsies and simply dressed country folk, yet a part of her heart kept a keen sight to each passerby as if he might suddenly appear from the sheer magic of her wanting.

It shouldn't matter, she told herself repeatedly, but she was loath to admit it mattered more than she could explain. With no effort she conjured the memory of his hands on her skin, the heat of his mouth, how he'd given her the most intimate kiss imaginable. A little shiver ran through her and she forced her attention to Grandmother by her side.

“Nan and I are off to view the tumblers. Be a dear and fetch more lemonade. This dusty field is making me parched. Then you can find us near the posture-men in the sand ring.” She pointed to an area to the far right. “Mind the time. When the tumblers finish there's to be a dancing bear and I shan't want you to miss it on my account.”

Angelica smiled in response and hurried off the way they'd come, remembering the beverage stall near the entrance gate. Past the puppet stage and games of chance, she startled when a small dog dressed in a red jacket dissected her path, a tiny monkey perched on its back, and a large tabby cat giving chase. She stalled in her tracks, looking after the unlikely trio of animals, the blur of orange similar to the groundkeeper's pet this morning. Perhaps the servant had come to enjoy the event. There would be no way to know.

Her thoughts returned to Benedict and the unanswered question of whether she'd ever see him again and why it mattered when they'd agreed their moment was just that, and she dropped her focus to the tips of her boots, dirtied from the dusty field but she hadn't a care.

When she reached the line of food vendors peddling their wares, she wove through the crowd to reach the end of the line, the position of the lemonade stand clear in her memory. Yet despite checking her location twice and surveying her surroundings, the beverage seller's stall was nowhere to be found.

Instead, a small wooden booth cloaked in long tasseled drapes of crimson and aubergine stood in the very same spot. Had she taken a wrong turn? It didn't seem likely. The gingerbread baker remained right next door, as was the case when she'd passed by the first time. Curious, she stepped inside the enclosure, ducking her head to accommodate for her height and shifting the heavy curtains aside.

A tiny woman sat behind a round table no bigger than a wagon wheel, a lacy white tablecloth covering the surface where a silver hand mirror and drawstring cloth bag rested in a shaft of sunlight slicing through a gap in the drapery. The woman was of petite stature and appeared to be quietly waiting or mayhap listening, although no one else occupied the booth. The stranger glanced up as Angelica entered, her head canted slightly, the long black braid on her shoulder shifting to drop down her back.

“I'm sorry. I've walked into the wrong place.” Angelica backed away, not wishing to disturb the woman and whatever activity she might be involved in. Her expression was intense.

“You haven't. No one has visited all day. Come closer. I've been waiting. Have a seat.”

The woman gestured her forward, but Angelica didn't move. She recognized the thick Rom gypsy accent, but she wouldn't have needed the clue. The slender woman wore a kerchief around her neck and a bright orange wrap across her shoulders. The gown beneath was simple, a light blue color decorated with a pattern she couldn't decipher. Aside from the table, there was scarce little in the fair booth. Angelica considered the gypsy's invitation. The woman's eyes were kind and her voice gentle, yet Angelica had no reason to linger. Grandmother and Nan waited for their drinks, and she too wished to see the dancing bear.

“I've made a mistake. If you'll excuse me…”

“Surely you don't believe in mistakes. Nothing is a mistake. Serendipity guides you now.”

Confused by the portentous statements, Angelica offered a slight smile by way of apology for her silence and took another step toward the exit. How her father would chastise her if he knew she'd attended a country fair and stood in conversation with a gypsy woman.

“You don't live in the area, do you?” The little gypsy smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling in echo to her grin, bright white teeth a stark contrast to her sun-darkened skin.

“No.” Angelica barely spoke the reply. She really should leave.

“But you're looking for someone?”

The woman watched her with intense scrutiny and a beat of panic fluttered through Angelica's chest. What was this misplaced alarm? Gypsies earned coins for such utterances, reading fortunes and decoding tea leaves, or predicting the future of any fool willing to pay for a bit of contrived nonsense. Although Angelica
was
looking for someone. Then again it was a common enough question for the gypsy to ask. And it was true. Angelica had kept watch for Benedict, so much so she'd forgotten where the lemonade stand was located.

“Your sister, perhaps?”

A strong shiver of unease rippled through her, but she ignored it and rushed toward the table at the mention of Helen. Could this gypsy possess the ability to divine the future? See the past? Was there something to learn about Helen's predicament were Angelica to open her mind and heart?

“Why did you mention my sister? What do you know?” No one could mistake the desperate concern in her voice.

“One or the other, sister or brother. Most people have siblings.” The woman grinned, no doubt pleased she'd managed to lure another customer to the table.

Confused and conflicted, Angelica resigned to the barrel seat aside the round table. “Can you see the future? Will you tell my fortune?” She glanced at her palm, discouraged anything worth reading could be found there. She absently rubbed at a bit of dirt near the base of her thumb. Her father would condemn her for voicing such ridiculous questions, his divine beliefs utilitarian and singular.

The gypsy clucked her tongue as if she knew Angelica's disapproving assessment and chided in a gentle voice, “I have no such talents. I only say what I believe.”

“Oh.” The one word expressed volumes. “I understand.”

“He thinks of you often.”

Angelica's chin shot up, her eyes intent on the mysterious woman who seemed to evoke myriad questions with every utterance. “Who?” She couldn't learn the answer fast enough.

“The man in your thoughts.”

Benedict.
No, wait. She had considered her father when the gypsy spoke. Of course, the earl thought of her. He needed his daughter to comply with the plan, follow the rules, bow to his beliefs. And he would be coming to collect her in two days' time.

“Remember…” the woman paused and met her eyes with beseeching insistence “…his heart is locked and you are the key.” She inhaled and exhaled fully as if she'd released a treasured secret. “Your bracelet is lovely. Let me see your wrist, child.”

The change of subject jarred Angelica to focus and she complied, though she had no clear reason why she did so. The entire interaction was taking a strange bend and the convoluted remarks of the gypsy woman confused more than intrigued. Thinking to leave, she extended her arm on the table so the bracelet rested on the tablecloth.