The Romany Heiress (8 page)

“Alain hasn’t seen the gypsy. But you did,” Giles
began.

Tristan nodded, not following Giles’s direction. “Just
briefly and in the dark at that”

“I know, but I think you would recognize her in the
light of day. Her name is Irina Dupeski,” Giles said
bluntly, knowing that his friend had an uncommon talent for remembering everything from the most trivial
detail on up.

Tristan’s face clouded momentarily. “The fortuneteller that night at Denbigh’s party when I had first returned from the continent. Bella never did like her.”
Tristan couldn’t suppress a short laugh. “Do you remember how mad Bella was that her fortune was all
bad while the rest of ours was quite glamorous?”

Giles gave a small smile. “I remember. Irina will go
by the name Cate while she’s here. Perhaps once she’s
dressed up and with a different name, Isabella won’t recall her.”

“Well, we can try although I don’t like keeping secrets from my wife.” Tristan grimaced. “I’ll have Isabella send over some extra gowns for her, but if she
finds out who’s been wearing her clothes, you will pay
for it, not me” Tristan wagged a warning finger at Giles.

“Mea culpa,” Giles agreed. “We’ll put out the tale that
she’s a shirttail relative and is late arriving because of a
carriage accident or some such incident.” Giles sobered
from the brief moment of levity that had seized them.

“I do mean to fight, Tristan. No one will take
Spelthorne from me but I can’t simply turn her away
without knowing the truth.”

Tristan met his gaze. “Darn right no one will take
Spelthorne”

“Thank you. I’ll see you in a few hours.” Giles inclined his head graciously and departed.

I rina stretched, stiff from her nightlong vigil at the
window seat. She had been too restless to take advantage of the luxurious bed in her chamber. In any case,
she had been too guilt-ridden to sleep. The pain on
Giles’s face had cut her. She felt the lowest of trollops
for what she had done and how she had done it.

The truth should be easier than this. For a moment he
had wanted her, seen something wonderful in her, then
that dark friend of his barged in and ruined it, probably
for the best. Nothing good could come from indulging
with Giles Moncrief. An interlude with him would only
cloud the issues between them.

From her window seat she could see the library with
its elegant curve of windows. It had not filled her with a
sense of victory to know that Giles had spent the night in
there, most likely poring over the diary and conferring with his trusted friends. They had probably spent the
night planning their strategies, ways to discredit her,
ways to win in and out of the court system.

A man like Giles would leave no stone unturned, no
pathway unexplored when it came to protecting what he
felt was his. She had expected nothing less. She should
have felt heartened that she’d won this first round; her
request to stay at the abbey until all was settled had been
granted, and she’d gotten him to look at the diary. She
would gladly claim the victory although the truth was
that she wasn’t sure how it would have turned out if Viscount Gresham hadn’t barged in and accidentally forced
Giles’s hand.

Magda had practically danced about the room when
Irina had rung for her in the kitchens and reported all
that had transpired. In the midst of the behind the
scenes hubbub of serving dinner, it had been relatively
easy for Magda to insinuate herself among the maids
and valets in the servants’ quarters to wait for Irina’s
summons. Irina had summoned Magda immediately
after being escorted to her chambers. Now Magda
snored gently on a soft pallet in the large dressing room
off the bedchamber, undisturbed by the doubts and
worries that had kept Irina awake all night.

A knock sounded at the door, and Irina rose to answer it, hastily patting her hair. Surely Giles hadn’t finished the diary already, but who else could it be? No
one else knew she was here.

A maid stood in the hall, several dresses carefully
laid over her arms. “Miss Cate, the earl thought you would find these dresses useful since your trunks were
damaged in the carriage accident. A dreadful happening to be sure, but you’re here now, safe and unhurt at
last.” Any surprise the maid may have had over the
door being answered by the lady herself and not her
maid was quickly disguised in a flow of chatter and a
bustle of activity as she swept past Irina and started
fussing over the dresses.

Irma desperately tried to follow the one-sided conversation, knowing it was vital to understanding what
Giles expected of her, how he was explaining her presence to the staff.

“Ah yes, my maid and I were lucky to escape injury,”
Irina confirmed, looking at the dresses laid out on the
bed. They were exquisite and far finer than the few
gowns she’d had made for the occasion. Not for the first
time, she was swamped with a sense of inadequacy.
What did she know about being a lady? She’d thought
the gowns she’d purchased were quite fine. The price
had certainly indicated as much. But the gowns spread
before her were far more expensive and of much better
quality.

Her first thought was that Giles had been quite kind
to think of her and what she might wear. Her second
thought was where the gowns had come from. She
hoped they didn’t belong to the elegant lady who’d
been on Giles’s arm most of the evening. It would be
the cruelest of intentions to have her wear the gowns of
his mistress. It would be the ultimate put down, the ultimate reminder of her place. It was hard to imagine Giles would resort to such an underhanded tactic. Then
again, he had no reason to treat her well after what
she’d disclosed last evening.

“It was kind of the earl to think of me. Where did he
find clothes on such short notice?” She asked, probing
for information and hoping her question wasn’t as
transparent as it sounded.

“They’re Lady Isabella’s, the viscount’s wife,” the
maid said reverently, in apparent awe. “I know it is
early, but we’ll need time to alter the gowns” The maid
gave her an assessing gaze. “The viscount’s wife is
taller, so we’ll need to shorten everything four or five
inches. We’ll have to hurry. The earl and his guests are
leaving for the horse fair at ten o’clock sharp”

That brought Irina up short. He meant for her to go
with the house party? She had thought to keep to her
quarters. Admittedly, the thought of going to the horse
fair was more appealing than staying cooped up in her
rooms all day. But it also filled her with trepidation.
What could he mean by including her? There was no
time to consider what game he might be playing. The
maid gestured toward the gowns.

“Which do you prefer, miss?”

She must play the lady, Irina told herself. She clearly
recognized that two of the dresses were for dancing or
dinner. They were far too exquisite for a carriage ride and
a fair. But the remaining three were all day dresses, and
she could not discern their specific functions. It would
not help her cause to appear in less than appropriate garb. Irina gave a regal wave of her hand. “Choose one for me.
I will wake my maid to help you.”

Three hours later, Irina twisted and turned in the
dressing room’s long pier glass to see the back of her
dress. “It’s lovely!” she exclaimed to Magda.

The maid had selected the cherry-striped muslin with
its square neckline trimmed in tiny white lace. Threequarter length sleeves were gathered slightly above her
elbow and dripped with falls of yet more lace.

Irina lifted the hem of the dress to peep at the leather
half boots beneath. The borrowed shoes were only
slightly too wide and the alterations had been minimal.
In spite of the need for hemming, the gown had fit well
enough although it had been a bit loose in the waist.
The maid had skillfully fixed that with a satin sash.

A wide-brimmed straw bonnet trimmed in grosgrain
ribbon to match the gown along with a pair of ladies
gloves and a delicate white parasol lay on a footstool
ready to complete the ensemble. The viscount’s wife had
thought of everything from the luxurious silk stockings
to the filmy wrap she could secure about her shoulders.

“I look like a real lady” Irina gave a final twirl. Satisfied, she crossed to her small trunk and began rummaging.

“Enough with that `real lady’ talk,” Magda snapped
from her perch on the arm of a chair. “You are a real
lady, manor born. Stop acting as if this is something
you’re pretending to be. This is who you are”

Irina straightened, a black pouch in her hand. “You
are sure I am not pretending, aren’t you? You are certain that I am Catherine Moncrief?” Her doubts were
obvious. What if the story had become garbled over the
years, if Magda had gotten confused? If Magda was using her for some nefarious purpose, one last scam?
Who could blame her for wanting comfort and convenience in her later years? But Irina didn’t want to be an
unwitting tool in that kind of scheme.

Magda scowled, the lines on her careworn face deepening. “The earl doesn’t doubt it. He’s keeping you in
sight. He’s invited you along today to keep an eye on
you. He doesn’t want you running about where you can
cause trouble.”

Irina smiled weakly and nodded. So much for the
fairy tale. Of course Magda was right. Giles couldn’t
abandon his guests, and he could not leave her alone in
the house. It had been nice to imagine for awhile that
Giles had desired her company.

Irina opened the pouch and spilled a delicate necklace into her palm. “Should I wear it?”

Magda shook her head. “No. It’s too soon. Save it as
a last trump.”

Irina replaced it and pulled the strings of the bag, tucking it away in her trunk. “It’s time to go. I can hear foot
traffic in the hall. Everyone must be moving downstairs.”

Magda softened. “Remember who you are, and you’ll
do fine. You’ve plenty of spunk in you. Just be yourself.”
Magda patted her hand.

“That’s good because I don’t how to be anyone else,” Irina retorted. She would get through the awkwardness
of today with her head up and her pride intact just as
she’d gotten through countless other difficult situations in
her life. If she could handle the rowdiness of a tavern, she
could certainly manage a genteel outing to a horse fair.

With her parasol furled in one gloved hand and her
reticule in the other, Irina sailed out the door of the
room to join the rest of the party in the entry foyer. She
paused at the top of the stairs, gripping the carved banister. Women dressed in colorful muslin gowns much
like hers milled among men dressed in riding clothes,
chattering gaily to one another. She drew a deep breath.
The moment she stepped on those stairs, she would be
Miss Cate, no longer Caterina Dupeski.

She spotted Giles immediately, picking out his
golden hair and broad shoulders. He looked relaxed as
he moved among his guests, stopping here and there to
make brief inquiries. He paused at the group containing
the woman Irina had seen with him the prior evening
and bowed extravagantly over her hand, kissing it. Then
he looked up and saw her and something sparked in his
eyes. The woman saw it too and followed his gaze up
the steps to where she stood.

There was no choice now. She had to move down the
staircase to where Giles was waiting. He was turned out
impeccably in buff breeches, riding boots, and a dark
blue coat suitable for the outing. His white linen was
crisp and spotless, a characteristic Irina was coming to
quickly associate with him. His personal appearance was
always immaculate, and he took great pride in being well turned out in all aspects of his appearance and hygiene.
He smelled of soap and spices when she placed her hand
on the arm he offered her. She knew he’d spent a restless
night but all signs of sleeplessness and worry were carefully concealed.

“Good morning, Cate. I trust you found the items
the maid brought to your room satisfactory?” He inquired graciously. It was hard to remember it was all
just an act when he stood next to her paying her such
polite attention.

“Yes, thank you. It was kind of you to see to my welfare after the carriage accident,” she said, indicating
she’d fully understood the maid’s chatter.

Giles’s other hand closed over the top of hers briefly
where it rested on his sleeve. “Very good. We are in accord then. Let me introduce you to a few of our guests”

He drew her through the crowd of guests to his group
of close friends and presented her to Alain, Tristan, and
their wives. It was awkward. Alain and Tristan greeted
her politely but with reserve. Of course, they knew why
she was here and were determined to protect Giles. To
them, she was the enemy. She hadn’t expected them to
greet her with any enthusiasm.

Cecile and Isabella did not know. They were warm
and friendly. Isabella discreetly assured her in low undertones that she looked fabulous in the cherry muslin
and that she had not worn it yet. Her disguise must be
effective. Isabella showed no sign of recognizing her
from the Denbigh’s party years ago.