GypsyDukeEpub (37 page)

"The question is...whether or not they will trust him. He is not one of their contacts. They have no reason to expose themselves to a stranger."

John couldn't let Robert take risks like that for his family...his new family. With the evidence against his uncle on its way, Kitty would be safe.

"I'll go with you."

They regarded each other for several seconds. Months of mistrust had been replaced by an uneasy truce. John knew Newport to be a capable fellow.

Newport held out his hand. "I accept. And when we return to England, we won't rest until your uncle is convicted and your lands returned."

The voyage across the Channel had not been a pleasant one. Kitty's stomach churned along with the pitching waves. Many times, she'd leaned over the side of the boat, staring at dark, murky waters as she lost the contents of her stomach.

By morning, she felt as though she never wanted to see another boat, or food, for that matter.

Ardaix remained quiet throughout the ordeal of their travels, leaving Michel to deal with the matter of transportation when they reached dry land.

No coach waited for them, as there had been in France. Another evidence of John's abandonment. He'd arranged everything on the last crossing. Now they fended for themselves. It mattered not to Kitty that he'd left them sufficient coin to do so.

After hiring a coach and loading their meager belongings, Michel approached Kitty, where she waited on a bench with Ardaix.

"Well, mistress, where are we going? London? Somerset Park? The gypsy camp? What is your desire?"

His smile invited her to forget her ills, but she would not.

"It matters not. The country, I suppose. That is where my parents and the duchess will reside."

"As my lady commands." Michel gave her a deep bow. He really was doing his best to raise her spirits.

They could have placed her on the coach and left her, but they were going to the trouble to accompany her safely home. Then they would have the added trouble of finding their clan.

Not once had they complained, though Rasvan seemed restive when trapped in the coach for long hours, but he managed to smile at her from time to time.

They all smiled at her, even Ardaix, which made her want to scream. She didn't want their pity. She was more inclined to blame them for telling John of his true past.

But blame was not the answer. She had spent enough hours in prayer to realize that in the new situation she found herself, she would have to trust God...as she had all the years John had been away.

Her anger with him dissipated as well. If only she could return to that one moment by the coach and tell him she would wait forever, that she believed in him. Instead, she had let him leave, thinking it over, when it would never be over, not for her.

On the way to Somerset Park, they were forced to stop the coach many times. What had started as a simple case of seasickness, now held more perilous indications.

By the time Kitty reached Somerset Park, she was quite certain she was with child. Nothing else could explain the strange bouts of nausea she experienced when in a moving conveyance.

When they stopped for the night, she recovered quickly. But the next morning, after they got on the road, it was not twenty minutes before she was casting up her accounts.

Three gypsies looked at her with knowing eyes, adding to her
frustration.

After a particularly difficult bout of sickness on the side of the road, with Michel holding her hand and Rasvan holding back her hair, Kitty came to a decision.

"I forbid you to tell him."

Not one of them reacted. Typical!

She scowled. "You know to what I refer. This secret is mine. I forbid you to tell him. He will come back on his own...or not at all."

Rasvan was the first to answer. "I feel under no compulsion to oblige you. I will tell him what I must."

Kitty wanted to stomp her foot. Granted, she knew Rasvan the least, but she'd hoped they'd formed some sort of accord. She should have known gypsies would stick together.

Michel elbowed Rasvan in the side. "We will keep your secret. Will we not, Father?"

Ardaix stared at Kitty with those deep blue eyes so like John's. "He will not hear of it from Roma."

And that was that. They dropped her at Somerset Park, saw the duchess for perhaps two minutes, and disappeared on horses from the stables. The duchess insisted. As a result of their adventure in France, they'd lost their own, and the Somerset stables had plenty to spare.

When they reached the interior salon, Kitty took one look at the duchess and crumpled into tears. She was bustled to a bath and bed with nary a word.

Weeks passed. Her mother arrived for daily visits, even her father had been to see her. They were all thrilled with the pregnancy. They were not thrilled with her decision not to tell John, but she remained adamant.

"I will not put that burden on him. His life is in danger in France. We do not even know if we could locate him. 'Twould be perilous indeed to send someone with such a message. He will return when he can. Robert probably needed him."

She'd told them of the long-lost gypsy in the Conciergerie but not the confession that John was a bastard gypsy, though the duchess had given her some hard looks.

The earl patted her hand. "Kitty is probably right, though I hate to admit it. Now that Somerset is near the end of this nightmare, we dare do nothing to bring disaster. Surely it won't take nine more months."

Two months had passed since her return to Somerset Park. Kitty ended up sending a score of letters to John's London townhouse, to Robert's London address, then to John's solicitor, and finally to the gypsies,
hoping for some word of John. She didn't speak of the pregnancy, just asked for news of John.

Not one word came back to her. John had disappeared and taken Robert along with him.

Neither her parents or the duchess could think of anything to cheer her. Then the official notice came.

Kitty walked through the front door, hand held tightly to her slightly rounded stomach. She saw it lying in a silver salver on the side table. She'd just been to the dowager house to see the duchess, who steadfastly refused to move back into the main house.

Kitty grabbed the thick vellum, breaking the seal with her thumb and forefinger. As she tried to straighten out the folds of paper, her hands shook. The top of the first sheet showed the royal insignia, followed by the crest of the House of Lords.

We regret to inform you, the prior lord, John Banner, his grace, the Duke of Somerset, Baron Seymour, the loss of…

A dark fog descended on Kitty. John lost! Dead!

The letter fell from her lax fingers as she slid to the floor, oblivious to the screams of the dowager duchess, rounding the door behind her.

Paris teemed with every sort of person you would wish not to find. The men considered more heroic served on the front lines. Those aristocrats who hadn't lost their heads to the French Revolution had fled the war or thrown themselves into riotous living once again. Those peasants who remained were up to no good.

It took weeks for them to make their way from the south of France to Paris. Long before they reached the famed city, John doffed his gypsy attire. He was better off not attracting attention as a duke.

After visiting the prison for a first-hand look at security, Newport led them through alleys filled with unimaginable filth. A more offending smell, John had never known. They trailed up one street and down another until he felt utterly lost.

He felt inclined to vocalize his protest when Newport paused.

"We're being followed."

John whirled to look behind him. He found no one, but a steadily growing sense of unease led him to trust Newport's opinion. He pulled his knife and a pistol.

He would use the knife if he could. No sense drawing more attention to their presence.

They drew back into the shadows, waiting.

Robert Westley strolled calmly into view.

"John! John Seymour, I know you're here. Come out or I'll leave you here to rot."

John chuckled as he stepped into view. "Leave me here, would you? After we came to rescue you?"

"I've been here two months. Do you not think I've been successful yet?"

The absent manner Robert usually affected had disappeared, along with the carefully dressed aristocrat. He hadn't shaved or trimmed his hair in weeks. A thick, ruddy beard covered his chin, and long bangs hung over his eyes.

"I say, Rob, you're a sorry sight!"

Robert looked down at his apparel which was scarcely better than John's, dark breeches, a white linen shirt that had seen better days, an unbuttoned vest, and a dark waistcoat. "I hadn't noticed. Come along, then, unless you have somewhere to stay."

John looked at Newport, who shrugged. They followed Robert back through the alley to the main street.

"So," said Robert, as if he'd just seen them the day before, "did Kitty get off all right? Did you deliver your message?"

"Yes, on both counts. I also obtained the evidence I need to regain my estates."

"What jolly good news."

For a moment, he wondered if Robert had reverted to his empty-headed façade, but Robert wasn't actually paying him any heed as he leaned around a corner, peering down the street.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Kitty fine, message fine, estates fine."

He almost laughed at Robert's haphazard answer, but his friend was already staring down the street again.

"What are you doing?"

"Watching."

"Any particular reason?"

"Oh, quite. I met this jolly chit. She's about to set a wagon at the side of the prison, and we have to be ready to remove your uncle."

"What!" Newport yelled in John's ear.

Robert frowned at them. "Not so loud. You're attracting attention. I'm not ready to do that yet. When I saw you wandering outside the
prison, I was afraid you'd endanger our plans. Should I leave you somewhere safe?"

John chuckled. This was nothing like the Robert he knew, the Robert who planned everything down to the last second. Something momentous had happened, and John recalled the mention of a girl.

"Tell me about this lady, Robert. What's she like? Something like Kitty?"

Robert kept his gaze fixed firmly down the street. "Not a'tall."

"So, she likes red hair?"

That got a reaction out of him. He turned and scowled at John. "I do not have red hair; it's russet. And if I have to send you away, I will."

John turned his head to Newport, who held a fascinated, or, perhaps horrified, look on his face. He didn't know whether to abandon Robert as a lost cause or knock him on the head and drag him home.

"He's wearing the willow for some chit," said Newport with disgust.

"It would appear so."

"I can hear you both, you know. And I have not lost my heart to some gel. She's an accomplice."

At that moment, a horseless wagon careened down the hill with a wild gypsy girl screaming after it.

Robert held up a hand. "That's our cue."

"Her? But…she's a gypsy," said John.

Robert looked at him as if he were quite dense. "Of course, did I not say so? Her father's in the prison. The lady is your cousin."

John had thoughts about ever terming that wild termagant a lady. Her coarse, guttural French was used only by the poorest peasants, which she resembled in her threadbare blouse and skirt that revealed a great deal more than ankles. A fact duly noted by the group of guards moving to surround the wagon.

Robert slipped past the guard at the door, John hard on his heels, but Newport wasn't so lucky. The girl took one look at him as he sneaked by and screamed even louder, pointing her finger in an animated gesture sure to draw the most attention.

John hesitated only a moment. Surely she knew what she was about. He left Newport and followed Robert.

Robert hurried through a maze of twists and turns, never pausing for an instant.

John held little doubt, should he attempt to find his way out, he'd become hopelessly lost. He concentrated on the back of Robert.

The smell in the prison resembled the worst sections of London in the heat of summer when garbage piled up. It was enough to turn the stomach, but the excitement of their endeavor kept John's stomach from heaving.

They passed many empty cells, but more often than not, the cells overflowed with the most ill-used persons John had ever seen. Their clothes little more than rags, hair unkempt, and unimaginable filth on their bare arms. How could anyone live like that? Their cries, as he passed, tore at him.

A guard or two gave them suspicious glances, which would have given John pause, but not Robert. He continued on his way, ignoring them completely.

At last, he slowed, coming to a stop before a cell housing only three men. He paid them no heed, turning his attention to the lock on the cell. He pulled a small corded pouch out of his pocket. The contents, he hurriedly poured into the large keyhole of the cell door.