Chapter Two
Six days later
RUNNING away was the best, most adventuresome idea Lyssa Harrell had ever had, and she was enjoying herself immensely.
For the first time in her life she was free.
Here, no patronizing lords or snobbish debutantes laughed that her hems smelled of Trade when they thought she wasn’t listening or gave her the “cut” because they enjoyed feeling superior.
Nor did anyone compare her to an elegant, beautiful stepmother who had completely supplanted Lyssa in her father’s life.
However, most of all, she was happy there was no insufferable Robert, Viscount Grossett, to let her know what a favor he was performing to offer her marriage. And she was more than tickled at the prospect of never setting eyes on his gambling-crazed, high-and-mighty mother again.
Ah, yes, freedom was a fine and wonderful thing.
Lyssa wrapped her blue-and-green plaid, the tartan of the Davidsons, around her and smiled into the campfire’s flames.
Traveling by Gypsy wagon was a wonderfully romantic way to reach her destination.
All was exactly as she liked it. She had new friends in Abrams and his wife, Duci, a motherly mentor in the guise of Abrams’ mother, Madame Linka, and a pleasant colorful mode of transportation where no one knew her or cared to ask questions, because Gypsies were rarely welcome anywhere.
She rather liked playing the role of an outcast, since she’d been one in Society for years.
Better still, anyone her father sent to hunt her down would not think to look for her here.
Oh, yes, she had engineered her running away as carefully as her father plotted shipping schedules.
In another day or two, they would arrive at Amleth Hall, the seat of her mother’s clan, the Davidsons, in the Highlands.
Her mother’s people would take her in, and fortune-hunting Robert could kiss her money good-bye.
Of course, she did have a pang of conscience over her poor papa worrying about her…but she also had a healthy respect for his ire. The smartest course she could take was to place plenty of England between herself and him…or would he even notice her missing?
He was so besotted with his “duchess,” especially now that she carried his “son,” it seemed he had little care for Lyssa anymore.
Yes, she was three and twenty, and the Duchess was right, she should think about marriage—but Lyssa wanted to pick her own husband.
And she missed how close she and her father used to be.
His new wife had stepped in between them. She’d pushed Lyssa’s father to force her out for a Season when Lyssa felt too old and too awkward. She’d orchestrated the courtship with Robert and had campaigned for Lyssa’s father to accept the marriage offer over Lyssa’s protests.
And all the while, she had expected Lyssa to befriend her. She’d even wanted Lyssa to call her Frances. Lyssa would never do that. To do so would be admitting that the Duchess had taken her mother’s place—and Lyssa would not let her.
Now, as Lyssa listened to the night chirping of frogs and crickets, she felt she had finally had the last say—no marriage. At least, not to Viscount Grossett…or anyone else of her stepmother’s choosing.
“It is time for sleep,” Abrams announced, returning to the ring of light around the campfire. He’d gone off in the woods for a moment alone. He would sleep in front of the fire while the women climbed into the cramped quarters of the red and purple painted wagon.
Duci and Lyssa rose dutifully; Madame Linka, however, did not move. Instead, puffing her pipe, she said, “I need my cards.”
Duci looked at Madame Linka in surprise. “Now?”
“Yes. I must read Viveka’s future. The time is at hand.
” “Viveka” was Madame’s name for Lyssa. Duci had told her it meant “little woman.” The name pleased Lyssa, and since she didn’t want anyone to know her identity until she was safe in the arms of the Davidson clan, she continued to use it.
Even Abrams and Duci called her by this name.
“It is late, Madame,” Abrams protested wearily. “We have a long day ahead of us on the morrow. Certainly this can wait?”
“No. Now.”
The tone in her voice brooked no argument.
The hairs tingled at the back of Lyssa’s neck and she knew she wasn’t alone.
Duci’s eyes widened and even Abrams appeared surprised.
From the beginning of the trip, Lyssa had been begging Madame Linka for a reading.
She’d even offered to pay a goodly sum—and been refused.
So why did Madame wish to do one now?
Abrams did not question his mother a second time. “I will fetch your tray and your cards.”
While her husband climbed into the wagon, Duci asked, “Do you wish a drink of gin, madame?”
Madame Linka shook her head. “Sit here, Viveka. I need you to watch my hands move over the cards.”
Lyssa sat on the log stool across from Madame’s chair.
They were as close to the fire as they could be for the light.
Abrams set up a folding table and then reverently handed Madame her tarot.
He was very proud of this ability of hers.
He’d told Lyssa that Madame had predicted his meeting Duci and everything else of importance in his life.
He said she’d once given a reading for the king of Spain, who’d been so taken with what her cards had revealed, he’d gifted her with the gold ring that hung on a chain around her neck.
Madame removed the deck from their velvet box. “Here, Viveka, shuffle the cards.”
“For how long?”
“You will know,” was the enigmatic reply.
Lyssa’s fingers trembled in anticipation.
The tarot were more than ordinary cards.
Abrams had told her this set had been handed down from one fortune-teller to another amongst his tribe.
No one knew how old the cards were, but they could only be given to one who had the “gift.” The medieval characters on the faces were hand painted, and the gilded edges and bright colors of the cards, with their legends in French and Arabic, had been dulled by the passage of time.
The large size of the cards made shuffling difficult. Lyssa shuffled once, then started to shuffle again but stopped. A whisper of a voice in the recesses of her mind said This is enough.
Lyssa set the stack of cards facedown on the table.
Madame Linka smiled. “Good.”
Duci and Abrams had pulled up a log for seats for themselves. Now, they held their breath just as Lyssa did as Madame lifted the top card from the deck and place it and two other cards face down.
“This is the Past,” Madame said. “Here is the Present.” She laid a row of three cards beneath the first. Then, she took the next card off the deck and pressed it into Lyssa’s hands. “This is your Future. Hold it tightly and do not look until I am ready.”
Lyssa nodded, conscious of the power of the card in her hand.
“Why do you not give her three cards for her Future like you have for the Past and Present, Mama?” Duci asked. “I have not seen you do this before.”
“I do as the cards bid,” Madame replied dismissively and turned over the first card in the row signifying Lyssa’s past. Her eyebrows came up and she made a soft sound of acknowledgement. “The Seven of Cups.” Her dark gaze met Lyssa’s. “The Lord of Debauch.”
Lyssa stared at the drawing of seven cups spilling their contents into what appeared to be a river of wine. “What does it mean?”
“That you have been surrounded by a multitude of many pleasures in your past. Pleasures that perhaps you don’t trust and may even fear.”
“This is true,” Lyssa whispered under her breath.
She did fear the ton, their many excesses, their different codes of conduct and double standards.
In spite of her father’s wealth and the grand home and beautiful clothes, she preferred a simpler life.
Her books were her most valued possessions.
Nor did she like the idea of being married to a husband who thought about nothing but spending money.
She wanted a man like her father had been, one who had cherished the memory of his wife, until he became besotted of that woman.
Madame turned over the second card. Her smile turned grim as if she were not surprised. Ten silver staffs crisscrossed yellow-orange flames. “The Lord of Oppression. You have felt frustrated, angry. You want to be free.”
“I want to find my roots,” Lyssa acknowledged. “I want to meet my mother’s clan.” She leaned forward. “Will I?”
“We still have a card in your past,” Madame replied and flipped over the last in the row with the tip of her nail.
A huge wheel covered the face of the card.
Tapping the card, Madame said, “The wheel of fortune turns and we poor mortals struggle.” She shook her head.
“I don’t know why. There is abundance enough for all in the world.
This card holds the secret of turning events to your advantage.
And that is what you have done in leaving your past.”
Reverend Billows might claim fortune-telling was nonsense and even heresy but Lyssa felt immense relief that the cards seemed to be saying she’d made the right decision when she ran away.
Smiling now, Madame flipped over the first card of Lyssa’s Present and then frowned.
Duci gasped and said, “Death.” Abrams crossed himself.
Lyssa did not like the picture of a grinning skeleton that appeared to be dancing on a grave. “What does it mean?”
“Nothing like what you fear it does,” Madame hurried to assure her. “When Death appears, it means there will be a change in your life, the kind of change that will alter you forever.”
“Well, that’s what I have right now,” Lyssa responded, relieved.
Madame shook her head. “No. Death would be in your Past if that were its meaning. Here, it is telling us something completely different. The change is now. This moment…and something beyond our simple camp.”