“Yes, Lady Charlotte?” she asked with suspicion.

  “Well, I heard tale that there were gypsies on Keyvnor land. Is there any truth to that?”

  “The Earls of Banfield have always welcomed their lot,” Mrs. Bray replied. “They have a camp near Hollybrook Park.”

  “That is delightful.” Charlotte grinned at the news.

  “You best not be disturbing them,” Mrs. Bray warned. “We stay away from them, and they stay away from us, even if his lordship welcomed them.”

  “Yes, of course.” Charlotte schooled her features. “I was simply curious. I would never dream of visiting gypsies.”

  The older woman shrugged and then departed as Charlotte fell back onto the settee. “I can’t wait to have my fortune told.”

  “I think you’ve lost your mind.” Cassy shook her head, and that nasty little dog barked.

  As much as she wanted to go, it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun if she were alone; and with that thought, Charlotte slid forward in her seat. “It’ll be a grand adventure, Cassy, just think! A band of marauding gypsies telling tales by the fire. It’s just a lark, of course. Something to pass the time while we’re here.”

  “It sounds perfectly horrid.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. “You are too stuffy by half, did you know?” She should have known Cassy wouldn’t go with her. After all, her cousin never did anything daring.

  “You think I’m stuffy? I can’t wait to hear you tell Anthony, Harry, and Michael that you mean to visit a band of gypsies.”

  She wouldn’t tell them, would she? Cassy and she may not enjoy the same pastimes, but they’d always held each other’s confidences. “You can’t tell them!” Charlotte insisted. “They’ll ruin any bit of enjoyment there is to be had here.”

  “We’re here for the reading of a will, not enjoyment.”

  She sounded like Papa. “You can find enjoyment anywhere,” Charlotte claimed. “Or at least you can if your overbearing brothers don’t know what you’re about.” Even though Harry didn’t appear to be overbearing, she wasn’t about to chance this either. “You must promise me not to tell them.”

  “I’m not going to tell them,” Cassy vowed. “But I don’t think you should visit the gypsies. It could be dangerous, and I have an awful feeling about Keyvnor. Don’t you feel it too?”

  Where Charlotte craved adventure, Cassy’s imagination was as adventurous as she got. “I think your imagination is running wild again.”

  Oscar barked, hopped off Cassy’s lap and bolted towards the doorway. Charlotte glanced up, hoping Mrs. Bray hadn’t returned, but found Lord St. Giles leaning against the doorjamb instead. Dear Lord, she hoped Michael wasn’t nearby. He’d ruin everything.

  The poodle sat before the baron and panted up at him as though waiting for a treat.

  Nasty little beggar.

  Then, St. Giles winked at Cassy, completely taking Charlotte by surprise, before he gave a small bite of something to the dog. Had St. Giles taken an interest in her cousin? Charlotte wasn’t sure if she should warn him away or be delighted and watch how the situation progressed. St. Giles did have a certain reputation, not much better or worse than Michael’s, and they both left broken hearts in their wake.

  “What did you give him?” Cassy pushed off the settee.

  “Charmed a scullery maid for a bit of pheasant.”

  Charlotte nearly snorted. Charm should be St Giles’s middle name, and the same could be said of Michael.

  “Are you attempting to bribe my dog?” Cassy demanded.

  “Bribe? What an ugly word.” St. Giles gave her cousin an unrepentant grin. “Simply making a new friend. You can never have too many, after all.” Then he glanced towards Charlotte. “And your secret is safe with me, my dear. None of your brothers will hear of your expedition into gypsy territory from my lips.”

  Blast, he had heard and her face heated with embarrassment. “Lord St. Giles,” she greeted him.

  The baron stepped further into the sitting room. “I am a firm believer in having a bit of fun every now and then, so I certainly wouldn’t stand in the way of you having yours.”

  Perhaps St. Giles had more substance than she’d given him credit for. Just because he was a good friend of Michael’s didn’t mean there wasn’t some worth to him. Besides, she could do far worse in having someone to take her side should her brothers learn of her plans. As he said, you could never have too many friends. She just never thought to consider him as such. “Thank you.”

  “You sent for me, Puri daj?” Adam Vail asked his grandmother as he stepped into the gypsy camp.

  “It’s going to rain,” she announced. Her back was permanently hunched from age and years of bending over palms and telling fortunes. Her once black hair was more grey and white, though she tried to smooth her frazzled mane back into a knot behind her head.

  “You summoned me to tell me it’s going to rain?” She was getting on in years, ancient even, though Adam could only guess at her age. Grandmother had never summoned him for something as trivial as the weather.

  “You’ll be needed.”

  He glanced around. The brightly painted wagons were pulled into a half circle and the small cottages along the tree line were lit from within, except for one. It belonged to his grandmother. Adam had had it built, but she refused to live in something so permanent. This was where the gypsies, his mother’s family, would spend their winter. It had been this way since his father married Lela Boswell, daughter of the woman who had sent for him.

  A large fire burned at the center of the camp, and many of his relatives moved about preparing food and settling in. They’d only arrived a few days earlier, and he was glad they were once again where they belonged. Or at least near where they belonged.

  “Exactly how will I be needed?” he asked.

  “You shall see.” His grandmother was often cryptic, and many times it irritated him to no end. But Adam still did as she asked.

  He glanced to the sky. It had been overcast all day, but not a drop of rain had fallen. He wasn’t about to argue with his grandmother, however. If she said it was going to rain, then it was going to rain and he’d be needed here. He’d long ago stopped questioning her premonitions because she was never wrong. The gift of second sight, his mother had claimed. One he had not inherited.

  “What are you working on?” His grandmother sifted through beads, feathers, shells and gems. Selecting some, discarding others, and pushing the ones she approved into a small leather pouch.

  “Making a talisman.”

  “Why?”

  “A young lady will need it to protect her at Castle Keyvnor.” His grandmother sighed. “The vision is not yet clear. I’ll know more when we meet.” She dropped a feather into the putsi.

  “Just because Banfield allowed you to live on his land does not mean you can go about handing out talismans to the castle’s guests.” Several of Banfield’s relatives had recently arrived to attend the reading of the late earl’s will. Adam couldn’t remember the last time so many had been at the castle at one time, if ever.

  “She will come to me,” his grandmother insisted, not bothering to look at Adam as she continued sifting through charms. “You know we never venture inside the walls, and I don’t like it when you do either.”

  Though how a putsi could protect anyone from anything was beyond Adam, yet he was never without his, the one Grandmother and his mother had made upon his birth. Too often she was correct about the unexplained, and at a young age, he learned to trust in her counsel when it often had no meaning and was beyond his understanding. There were simply things in the world, and particularly at Castle Keyvnor and in this corner of Cornwall, that could not be explained away with reason. If his grandmother believed that evil dwelled within the walls, Adam believed her. Not that he’d experienced anything evil on his visits, but the place was certainly haunted.

  “Aren’t you concerned that once the will is read you’ll be without a winter home?” The Earl of Banfield was now dead, and Adam knew nothing about the heir.

  “There is no reason to worry about things that cannot be changed.” This was often his grandmother’s approach about anything. But in his twenty-seven years, she’d also not had to worry about where her family would spend the winter.

  “What if he has you removed?”

  She finally glanced up at him, her dark eyes clouded with age. “Dear boy, all things will be as they should be, as it always is.” His grandmother patted his hand.

  If things were as they were supposed to be, his gypsy relatives would be living at Hollybrook Park, but his cantankerous grandfather refused to allow them safe harbor. His mother’s people should be on his father’s land, not just on the other side of the border, living off the generosity of a neighbor.

  “You have not shaved,” she nodded in approval.

  “As is custom.” Adam hadn’t followed all the Gypsy customs upon the death of his older brother, but he’d not taken a razor to his face and would not until after Thomas was placed in the ground. On second thought, he might not shave until next spring, when he returned to London, only to further irritate his grandfather.

  “You will wear white!”

  “I will wear black,” Adam corrected. There would be mourners at the cemetery, and they might believe he’d lost his mind.

  “Red handkerchief and waistcoat,” she proclaimed.

  Mourners were to wear white for purity or red for vitality. As there was nothing even remotely pure when it came to Thomas, or Adam for that matter, he’d wear red.

  “Your stepmother, sisters, and brother? Have they returned?”

  His stepmother had taken her children, four daughters and a son, from Hollybrook Park as soon as Thomas returned home. She feared them becoming infected somehow. That was nearly two years ago and he hadn’t seen them since. “No.”

  If something happened to his grandfather, his five younger half-siblings would become his responsibility. Adam’s stomach churned at the very thought, though they apparently were doing well without him or their grandfather.

  Grandmother pursed her lips in disapproval and shook her head. “You asked for forgiveness?”

  “Yes, Puri daj, as you instructed.” Not that his older brother had been in a state of mind to accept any apologies, and Adam had been hard pressed to find something he was sorry for. It was his brother who should have been seeking compassion, but his mind was already gone.

  She nodded. “It is good. You will make a better viscount.”

  “I never wanted to be a viscount.” His life was simpler before Thomas became ill. Hopefully his grandfather was too stubborn to die, and Adam wouldn’t have to assume the title, or responsibility to the estate, town and smugglers for many, many years.

  “A man like Thomas did not deserve to be viscount.” Her dark eyes looked into Adam’s. “He was one of them.” She practically spit out the word. “You, my dear boy, are one of us. A Rom.”

  If anyone else referred to him as a dear boy, Adam would take issue. But, this was his grandmother.

  And, he was Rom. It was in his bones. He much preferred the life of a gypsy, though that wasn’t his lot in life. He was destined to be the next Viscount Lynwood.

  Historical Romances by Jane Charles

  The Tenacious Trents

  Compromised for Christmas

  A Misguided Lord

  A Perfect Gentleman

  A Lass for Christmas

  A Reluctant Rake

  Lady Revealed

  Lady Disguised

  Lady Concealed

  A Tenacious Trents Wedding

  Lady Admired

  * * *

  Tenacious Trent Connected Novellas

  Landing a Laird

  Devil in Her Dreams

  * * *

  Love of a Governess

  Desiring the Governess

  Tempted by a Governess

  Pursuing the Governess

  Enticed by a Governess (coming soon)

  * * *

  Scot to the Heart

  Courting the Scot

  Kissing the Lass

  Once Upon a Midnight Masquerade

  Mistletoe, Whisky and a Rogue

  * * *

  The Other Trents

  The Forgotten Marquess

  Lord Maxwell’s Quest

  * * *

  The Spirited Storms

  Christmas Spirits

  Weathering Captain Storm

  Ruined by a Lady

  A Very Merry Viscount

  Lady Hannah’s Holiday

  * * *

  Muses

  Her Muse, Lord Patrick

  Her Muse, Her Magic

  Her Muse, Her David

  Her Muse, His Grace

  * * *

  Magic & Mayhem

  Her Gypsy Lord

  His Mistletoe Miss

  A Spirited Courtship

  The Ghost & Miss Miranda

  Bewitched by a Miss

  Observations of a Wallflower

  Lady Lucinda’s Lords

  Courtship of Convenience

  The Wiggons’ School for Elegant Young Ladies Series

  To Walk in the Sun

  Ghosts from the Past

  The Witching Hour

  Curse of the Mayfair Mummy

  * * *

  A Gentleman’s Guide to Once Upon a Time Series

  His Impetuous Debutante

  His Contrary Bride

  His (Not so) Sensible Miss

  His Christmas Match

  * * *

  Garden Brides

  Lily, One Lord’s Temptation

  Contemporary Romances by Jane Charles

  The Baxter Boys ~ Rattled

  Rattled

  Still Rattled

  The Rattle Box

  All Horns & Rattles

  Shake, Rattle and Roll

  Rattling Around

  The Christmas Rattle

  Slightly Rattled

  Hard to Shake

  The Rattle Box

  * * *

  Baxter Academy of Art

  Colors of You

  Shadows of Memory

  Casting Doubt

  Between the Lines

  * * *

  Baxter Legacy

  Valentine Wishes

  About Jane Charles

  USA Today bestselling author Jane Charles is a prolific writer of over fifty historical and contemporary romance novels. Her love of research lends authenticity to her Regency romances, and her experience directing theatre productions helps her craft beautiful, touching stories that tug at the heartstrings. Jane is an upbeat and positive author dedicated to giving her characters happy-ever-afters and leaving the readers satisfied at the end of an emotional journey. Lifelong Cubs fan, world traveler and mother of three amazing children, Jane lives in Central Illinois with her husband, two dogs and a cat. She is currently writing her next book and planning her dream trip to England. Be sure to join Jane on Facebook @JaneCharlesAuthor.

 

 

  Jane Charles, Bewitched by a Miss

 

 

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