Mine Till Midnight (8 page)

“That’s one of the stories,” Rohan admitted with a grin. “But in other accounts, the pooka only wants to take you on an adventure … fly you to places you can only see in dreams. And then he returns you home.”

“But the legends say that after the horse takes you on his midnight travels, you’re never the same.”

“No,” he said softly. “How could you be?”

Without realizing it, Amelia had slowed their pace to a relaxed amble. It seemed impossible to walk with brisk efficiency on a day like this, with so much sun and soft air. And with this unusual man beside her, dark and dangerous and charming.

“Of all the places to see you again,” she said, “I would never have expected Lord Westcliff’s estate. How did you come to be acquainted? He’s a member of the gaming club, I suppose.”

“Yes. And friends with the owner.”

“Are Lord Westcliff’s other guests accepting of your presence at Stony Cross Manor?”

“You mean because I’m a Roma?” A sly smile touched his lips. “I’m afraid they have no choice but to be polite. First, out of respect for the earl. And then there’s the fact that most of them are obliged to come to me for credit at the club—which means I have access to their private financial information.”

“Not to mention private scandals,” Amelia said, remembering the alley fight.

His smile lingered. “A few of those, too.”

“Nevertheless, you must feel like an outsider at times.”

“Always,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’m an outsider to my people, as well. You see, I’m a half-breed—
poshram,
they call it—born of a Gypsy mother and an Irish
gadjo
father. And since the family’s lineage goes through the father, I’m not even considered Roma. It’s the worst violation of the code for one of our women to marry a
gadjo.
”

“Is that why you don’t live with your tribe?”

“One of the reasons.”

Amelia wondered what it must be like for him, caught between two cultures, belonging to neither. No hope of ever being fully accepted. And yet there was no trace of self-pity in his tone.

“The Hathaways are outsiders, as well,” she said. “It’s obvious we’re not suited to a position in polite society. None of us have the education or breeding to carry it off. Supper at Stony Cross Manor should be a spectacle—I’m sure it will end with us being tossed out on our ears.”

“You may be surprised. Lord and Lady Westcliff don’t usually stand on formality. And their table includes a great variety of guests.”

Amelia was not reassured. To her, upper society resembled the ornamental tanks used for exotic fish-keeping in fashionable parlors, filled with glittering creatures who darted and circled in patterns she had no hope of understanding. The Hathaways might as well attempt to live underwater as to belong in such elevated company. And yet they had no choice but to try.

Spying a heavy growth of watercress on the bank of a wet meadow, Amelia went to examine it. Grasping a bunch, she pulled until the delicate stems snapped. “Watercress is plentiful here, isn’t it? I’ve heard it can be made into a fine salad or sauce.”

“It’s also a medicinal herb. The Rom call it
panishok.
My grandmother used to put it in poultices for sprains or injuries. And it’s a powerful love tonic. For women, especially.”

“A what?” The delicate greenery fell from her nerveless fingers.

“If a man wishes to reawaken his lover’s interest, he feeds her watercress. It’s a stimulant of the—”

“Don’t tell me! Don’t!”

Rohan laughed, a mocking gleam in his eyes.

Giving him a warning glance, Amelia brushed a few stray watercress leaves from her palms and continued on her way.

Her companion followed readily. “Tell me about your family,” he coaxed. “How many of you are there?”

“Five in all. Leo—that is, Lord Ramsay—is the oldest, and I am the next, followed by Winnifred, Poppy, and Beatrix.”

“Which sister is the frail one?”

“Winnifred.”

“Has she always been that way?”

“No, Win was quite healthy until a year ago, when she nearly died from scarlet fever.” A long hesitation, while her throat tightened a little. “She survived, thank God, but her lungs are weak. She has little strength, and she tires easily. The doctor says Win may never improve, and in all likelihood she won’t be able to marry or have children.” Amelia’s jaw hardened. “We will prove him wrong, of course. Win will be completely well again.”

“God help anyone who stands in your way. You do like to manage other people’s lives, don’t you?”

“Only when it’s obvious I can do a better job of it than they can. What are you smiling at?”

Rohan stopped, obliging her to turn to face him. “You. You make me want to—” He stopped as if thinking better of what he’d been about to say. But the trace of amusement lingered on his lips.

She didn’t like the way he looked at her, the way he made her feel hot and nervous and giddy. All her senses informed her that he was a thoroughly untrustworthy man. One who abided by no one’s rules but his own.

“Tell me, Miss Hathaway … what would you do if you were invited on a midnight ride across the earth and ocean? Would you choose the adventure, or stay safely at home?”

She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from his. The topaz eyes were lit by a glint of playfulness, not the innocent mischief of a boy, but something far more dangerous. She could almost believe he might actually change form and appear beneath her window one night, and carry her away on midnight wings …

“Home, of course,” she managed in a sensible tone. “I don’t want adventure.”

“I think you do. I think in a moment of weakness, you might surprise yourself.”

“I don’t have moments of weakness. Not that kind, at any rate.”

His laughter curled around her like a drift of smoke. “You will.”

Amelia didn’t dare ask why he was so certain of that. Perplexed, she lowered her gaze to the top button of his waistcoat. Was he flirting with her? No, it must be that he was mocking her, trying to make her look foolish. And if there was one thing she feared in life more than bees, it was appearing foolish.

Gathering her dignity, which had scattered like bits of dandelion fluff in a high wind, she frowned up at him. “We’re nearly at Ramsay House.” She indicated the outline of a roof rising from the forest. “I would prefer to go the last part of the distance alone. You may tell the earl that I was safely delivered. Good day, Mr. Rohan.”

He gave a nod, took her in with one of those bright, disarming glances, and stayed to watch her progress as she walked away. With each step Amelia put between them, she should have felt safer, but the sense of disquiet remained. And then, she heard him murmur something, his voice shadowed with amusement, and it sounded as if he had said, “Some midnight…”

Chapter Six

The news that they were to have supper at the home of Lord and Lady Westcliff was received with a variety of reactions from the Hathaways. Poppy and Beatrix were pleased and excited, whereas Win, who was still trying to regain her strength after the journey to Hampshire, was merely resigned. Leo was looking forward to a lengthy repast accompanied by fine wine.

Merripen, on the other hand, flatly refused to go.

“You are part of the family,” Amelia told him, watching as he secured loose paneling boards in one of the common rooms. Merripen’s grip on a carpenter’s hammer was deft and sure as he expertly sank a handmade nail into the edge of a board. “No matter how you may try to deny all connection to the Hathaways—and one could hardly blame you for that—the fact is, you’re one of us and you should attend.”

Merripen methodically pounded a few more nails into the wall. “My presence won’t be necessary.”

“Well, of course it won’t be necessary. But you might enjoy yourself.”

“No I wouldn’t,” he replied with grim certainty, and continued his hammering.

“Why must you be so stubborn? If you’re afraid of being treated badly, you should recall that Lord Westcliff is already acting as host to a Roma, and he seems to have no prejudice—”

“I don’t like
gadjos.
”

“My entire family—
your
family—are
gadjos.
Does that mean you don’t like us?”

Merripen didn’t reply, only continued to work. Noisily.

Amelia let out a taut sigh. “Merripen, you’re a dreadful snob. And if the evening turns out to be terrible, it’s your obligation to endure it with us.”

Merripen reached for another handful of nails. “That was a good try,” he said. “But I’m not going.”

*   *   *

The primitive plumbing at Ramsay House, its poor lighting, and the dinginess of the few available looking glasses made it difficult to prepare for the visit to Stony Cross Manor. After laboriously heating water in the kitchen, the Hathaways hauled buckets up and down the stairs for their own baths. Everyone except Win, of course, who was resting in her room to preserve her strength.

Amelia sat with unusual submissiveness as Poppy styled her hair, pulling it back, making thick braids and pinning them into a heavy chignon that covered the back of her head. “There,” Poppy said with pleasure. “At least you’re fashionable from the ears upward.”

Like the other Hathaway sisters, Amelia was dressed in a serviceable bombazine gown of twilled blue silk and worsted. Its design was plain with a moderately full skirt, the sleeves long and tightly fitted.

Poppy’s gown was a similar style, only in red. She was an uncommonly pretty girl, her fine features lit with vivacity and intelligence. If a girl’s social popularity were based on merit rather than fortune, Poppy would have been the toast of London. Instead she was living in the country in a rattletrap house, wearing old clothes, hauling water and coal like a maidservant. And she had never once complained.

“We’ll have some new dresses made very soon,” Amelia said earnestly, feeling her heart twist with remorse. “Things will improve, Poppy. I promise.”

“I hope so,” her sister said lightly. “I’ll need a ball gown if I’m to catch a rich benefactor for the family.”

“You know I only said that in jest. You don’t have to look for a rich suitor. Only one who will be kind to you.”

Poppy grinned. “Well, we can hope that wealth and kindness are not mutually exclusive … can’t we?”

Amelia smiled back at her. “Indeed.”

As the siblings assembled in the entrance hall, Amelia felt even more remorseful as she saw Beatrix turned out in a green dress with ankle-length skirts and a starched white pinafore, an ensemble far more appropriate for a girl of twelve instead of fifteen.

Making her way to Leo’s side, Amelia muttered to him, “No more gambling, Leo. The money you lost at Jenner’s would have been far better spent on proper clothes for your younger sisters.”

“There is more than enough money for you to have taken them to the dressmaker,” Leo said coolly. “Don’t make me the villain when it’s your responsibility to clothe them.”

Amelia gritted her teeth. As much as she adored Leo, no one could make her as angry as he, and so quickly. She longed to administer some heavy clout on the head that might restore his wits. “At the rate you’ve been going through the family coffers, I didn’t think it would be wise of me to go on a spending spree.”

The other Hathaways watched, wide-eyed, as the conversation exploded into a full-on argument.

“You may choose to live like a miser,” Leo said, “but I’ll be damned if I have to. You’re incapable of enjoying the moment because you’re always intent on tomorrow. Well, for some people, tomorrow never comes.”

Her temper flared. “
Someone
has to think of tomorrow, you selfish spendthrift!”

“Coming from an overbearing shrew—”

Win stepped between them, resting a gentle hand on Amelia’s shoulder. “Hush, both of you. It serves no purpose to make yourselves cross just before we are to leave.” She gave Amelia a sweet quirk of a smile that no one on earth could have resisted. “Don’t frown like that, dear. What if your face stayed that way?”

“With prolonged exposure to Leo,” Amelia replied, “it undoubtedly would.”

Her brother snorted. “I’m a convenient scapegoat, aren’t I? If you were honest with yourself, Amelia—”

“Merripen,” Win called out, “is the carriage ready now?”

Merripen came through the front door, looking rumpled and surly. It had been agreed that he would drive the Hathaways to the Westcliffs’ residence and return for them later. “It’s ready.” As he glanced at Win’s pale golden beauty, it seemed his expression turned even surlier, if such a thing were possible.

Like a word puzzle that had just solved itself in her brain, that stolen glance made a few things clear to Amelia. Merripen wasn’t attending the dinner that evening because he was trying to avoid being in a social situation with Win. He was trying to keep a distance between them, while at the same time he was desperately worried about her health.

It troubled Amelia, the notion that Merripen, who never displayed strong feelings about anything, might be entertaining a secret and powerful longing for her sister. Win was too delicate, too refined, too much his opposite in every way. And Merripen knew that.

Feeling sympathetic and maudlin, and rather worried herself, Amelia climbed into the carriage after her sisters.

The occupants of the vehicle were silent as they proceeded along the oak-lined drive to Stony Cross Manor. None of them had ever seen grounds so richly tended or imposing. Every leaf on every tree seemed to have been affixed with careful forethought. Surrounded by gardens and orchards that flowed into dense woods, the house sprawled over the land like a drowsing giant. Four lofty corner towers denoted the original dimensions of the European-styled fortress, but many additions had given it a pleasing asymmetry. With time and weathering, the house’s honey-colored stone had mellowed gracefully, its outlines dressed with tall, perfectly trimmed hedges.

The residence was fronted by a massive courtyard—a distinctive feature—and sided by stables and a residential wing. Instead of the usual understated design of stables, these were fronted by wide stone arches. Stony Cross Manor was a place fit for royalty—and from what they knew of Lord Westcliff, his bloodlines were even more distinguished than the Queen’s.