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Amelia’s narrowed eyes attested to the effectiveness of her ploy.
Victoria again moved close to him. “You were right, Amelia. Such a lovely day for a stroll. But even better for a picnic, don’t you think? Why don’t we serve tea on the green?” Her sister positively loathed picnics, believing it uncivilized to eat out in the open. Anything fun was uncivilized, in her opinion.
But Amelia’s face was perfectly serene as she turned and waved a careless hand. “Whatever you like, dear. I’m sure the grass has dried adequately since yesterday’s rain.”
Her tone said otherwise, but Victoria was determined. She summoned a gardener to bear a message back to the house, and not long after, an army of servants came trooping out to set up tea on the lawn.
“I feel just like a Gypsy!” Victoria exclaimed brightly as they settled on the patchwork of colorful rugs and blankets spread out beneath the trees. “Have you ever seen a Gypsy?” she asked Withington.
He shook his head as he accepted a delicate china cup painted with tiny violets. “I haven’t seen any, but Cavendish has.”
Both she and her sister looked at Cavendish in surprise.
“Indeed I have,” he said. “I stayed with a caravan of Romani for a time when I visited Budapest.”
He called them Romani rather than Gypsies…Impressed, Victoria leaned forward, forgetting that she was supposed to find him stuffy and dull. “Really? Tell me about it.”
“Wonderfully hospitable people, provided you respect their customs and honor their traditions,” he replied. “They’re a cautious people, of course, but once you’ve earned their trust they’re generous to a fault. By chance, I happened to save the life of the kumpania leader. Upon reaching his camp, he held a big celebration in my honor.”
She raised a brow, but said nothing.
“There was music the likes of which I’ve never heard anywhere else, and such dancing and singing,” he continued, his eyes full of the memory. “In the morning, they invited me to travel with them and share their food, shelter, and evening fire until I reached Budapest. I was young and curious, and so I agreed. A pair of brothers shared their vardo—that’s their term for the wagons they call their homes—with me. I stayed with them nearly a month.”
“So long?” she asked, surprised.
“Indeed, it took that long to reach my destination. Such a large group with women and children cannot travel swiftly. Over the course of our journey, we became quite friendly. In fact, the man I’d saved liked me so well that he tried to persuade me to stay with them by offering one of his granddaughters in marriage. I don’t mind saying I was half tempted to accept.”
“Friendly, indeed,” Victoria scoffed, finding his appreciative chuckle somewhat irritating. “Our family has allowed the Romani to camp on our lands for generations, and still they are secretive and untrusting, especially of strangers. I find it most surprising that they would welcome you into their camp so quickly, much less offer to take you for their own, even if you did save the life of their leader.”
“Things are different on the Continent,” he explained, warming to the subject. “Here, the Romani have mostly diminished into smaller tribes of itinerant tinkers and entertainers, but there they still gather in large kumpanias. While they often find a cold welcome in England, their presence is quite strong across the channel, especially as you travel farther east. The villages along their trade routes anticipate their arrival each year with gladness. They’ll stay for a time, earning their living as blacksmiths, artisans, craftsmen, and traders until the work dries up. Then they move on. They hold annual horse fairs, too, and people travel from far and wide to attend, for they bring the finest beasts from the Saracen lands for sale.”
Excitement stirred within Victoria’s heart at the mention of the horse fairs. “I should very much like to see that.”
A loud sigh erupted from Amelia. “Now you’ve done it.”
Both men turned to her with raised brows.
“She’ll talk of horses until we’re all blue with boredom,” her sister explained.
“Do you not like horses, my lady?” asked Cavendish.
“Oh, I like them well enough,” answered Amelia. “But Victoria is obsessed. She’d spend all day in the stables or riding the downs, were it permitted. She has six horses of her own. Six. And despite Papa’s efforts to discourage it, she insists on caring for the beasts herself, grooming them, exercising them, even feeding them. On several occasions, I’ve actually caught her talking to the beasts.”
“The Romani say that horses can understand much more than most people think and that they possess the same emotions we do,” Victoria shot back, giving her sister a dark look. Patrin, the leader of the Romani she’d known since she was a child, had told her as much. “They talk to their horses, and no one makes fun of them.”
Withington’s smile was wry. “I’ve heard the old adage that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but never that the way to a woman’s heart was through her horses. Lady Victoria, you are turning out to be more unusual by the minute.”
Amelia jumped at the opening. “Indeed, I’m afraid she is a bit peculiar in her habits,” she said apologetically, her pained look clearly saying that “a bit” might just be stretching things.
Victoria opened her mouth to refute the accusation, but Withington came to her rescue first. “I am also a horse enthusiast. And I find your ‘peculiarities’ completely charming,” he said, smiling warmly. “But then, I suppose I have a rather atypical appreciation for the unconventional.”
Though she knew it was all a sham, Victoria could not help the flush that rose to her cheeks at his tone. Oh, he’s good. Really good.
Amelia’s face had reddened as well. The instant he turned back toward her, however, her expression changed to one of cool detachment, though the effect was completely ruined by her blotchy cheeks. “Her audacity stems from her inexperience in the world,” she said in an insinuating tone. “She’s still an impetuous child now, but Society’s crucible will quickly refine her into a proper young lady.”
A gasp of indignation burst forth from Victoria. How dare she speak of me in such a manner, as if I wasn’t sitting right here!
Withington, however, didn’t miss a beat. “I pray it never happens, my lady. Her impulsive honesty and passion for life are what drew me to her. She is like living, breathing fire in a world of dull, grey shadows,” he said, waxing dramatic. “If she has a love of horses, then I shall gladly indulge her in it.”
