inheritance, to be sure; the ability to walk in death and ten years of unanswered pleas for forgiveness.
Mother had never given up hope that someday her family would relent and invite her home. Not for her sake, but for Callista’s, whose gift marked her as a daughter of their house despite their refusal to recognize her as such.
It had been a hope unrealized, but never forgotten.
Aunt Deirdre was Callista’s last chance to make her mother’s dream come true, and Dunsgathaic represented her last chance to escape Branston’s manipulations and Corey’s malice.
David had grown incredibly dear to her: a companion, a friend, and now a lover. And while she refused to regret last night, she would do well to keep a tight hold on both her heart and her head. Common sense warned her that whatever she might think she felt this morning, forever was more than kisses in the dark. It was sacrifice and pain and finding your way hand in hand through life’s heartbreaks. David had promised her nothing beyond those few blissful hours. She wanted nothing more.
A knock at the door jolted her back into herself.
“Cally? Are you feeling all right?”
“Coming.” She placed the letters back in the box, closed the lid with a roll of the tumblers, and stuffed it back in the heavy satchel. Casting one last glance in the mirror, she stuck her tongue out at her flushed, sparkle- eyed reflection. Cautions aside, heart, head, and every other cell in her body were in serious danger.
The door opened, and Nancy stuck her head in the gap, brows arched in question. “Are you feeling all right? You’ve been closeted in here for over an hour.”
“I was just . . . tidying up,” Callista explained, scurrying around, flinging bits of clothing into a pile, straightening the tiny bunk, banging her head on the low-hanging lamp. “You know how messy men are. Like pigs in a barnyard.”
Despite Callista’s furious bustling, Nancy stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “I know this is none of my business, but do you know what you’re doing?”
Callista looked up, a pair of stockings in her hand, an expression of bland innocence plastered on her face. “Cleaning?”
“I mean with St. Leger? Are you sure he’s”—Nancy huffed an angry breath—“are you sure you want to continue on with him to Scotland?”
For one life-flashing moment, Callista was certain Nancy could read every one of last night’s sinful acts on her forehead. Her guilt blossomed in hot splotchy blushes all over face. “Of course. I mean, I love him. Madly. Desperately. Don’t I look breathtakingly happy? And . . . and thoroughly content . . . if you know what I mean.”
Nancy regarded her as if she’d lost her mind, which, if she were being completely honest with herself, she would have to admit was probably true. “If you change your mind, you can stay on with us. There’s room, and we can always use you at the fairs. I watched you read Sally’s future last night. You’d earn more money in a week than Polly and her silly crystals could in a month.”
A shiver of cold slid up Callista’s spine, but she easily shook it off. What she’d told David was true: a bright morning was the best medicine for a black night. And this morning was particularly fabulous. Birds singing, flowers blooming. Even the breeze had warmed from the earlier chill that misted the valleys and glazed the high meadows with frost, as if the troupe had brought spring with them from London.
Callista continued to bundle stockings, three pairs of gloves, and a petticoat into a ball, looked around for somewhere to stuff them, and finally shoved them under a pillow. “If I stayed on, what would David do? He’s not exactly suited to the life of a packman.”
Nancy blushed but didn’t back down. “No, but Sam is.”
Callista swallowed. She really didn’t want to have this conversation. Nancy had always been kind to her. It was hard to dash her hopes, but dash them she must.
Nancy didn’t give her the opportunity before laying out her case. “I know Sam’s a bit moody and scruffy as a bear, but he’s a hard worker, he’s respected, he’s got a little money saved, and he has plans.”
“I know, but—”
“He wants to set up a school in London. Teach boxing like Gentleman Jackson or give lessons in pistol play. All the wealthy nobs would come to him.”
“A fine idea, if only—”
“You’d be a respectable married lady with a home and a housekeeper and a cook and maybe even a footman to carry your packages. How does that sound?”
“It sounds lovely, Nancy, except for one very big hitch. I don’t love Sam.”
“No,” Nancy answered tartly, “you love David St. Leger. Is that right?”
“I’m running away with him, aren’t I?”
Nancy merely offered her a sterner stare. “Or are you running
Out of clothing to fold or refold, Callista sank down on the narrow bunk. “What do you want me to say, Nancy? I can’t make my heart obey common sense. It doesn’t work that way and you of all people should know as much.”
She sucked in a breath. Had she really just said that out loud?
If Nancy’s needle-sharp gaze was an indication, the answer would be yes. Callista had an overwhelming wish for a hole to open up beneath her feet before the other woman tore her into itty-bitty pieces.
Instead Nancy nodded as if she knew Callista would say this and was prepared for it. “I wasn’t going to say anything, not until I talked to you, but I think you need to see this before you make a huge mistake.” She handed Callista a piece of heavy paper folded and refolded again. “I saw it on a signboard in the last village.”
Callista unfolded the broadsheet to find herself staring at a crude penciled likeness of David. She scanned the paragraph beneath with a sinking stomach. “It’s not true,” she said firmly.
“Which? The murder, the kidnapping, or the embezzlement?”
“These are lies spread by Branston. He’s hoping someone will turn us in for the reward offered.”
“Why does he want you back so badly? I thought he hated you.”
“He did . . . he does.”
“That money’s enough to keep our troupe in funds for a year.”
Callista crushed the notice in her hand. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Nancy shrugged. “I wanted to talk to you first. See if I could get you to come to your senses and realize St. Leger’s not the man for you. But he’s dazzled you stupid. Just remember”—she waved a hand over her stomach —“this is what life looks like after he’s deserted you for greener pastures.” She wrenched open the door.
“Wait!”
Nancy turned back.
“Give me time to think about what you’ve said before you make a decision about turning him in. Just pretend you don’t know anything and haven’t seen the notice. Can you do that?”
“I’ll give you a day, but then I’m going to Sam to tell him what I know,” Nancy said before departing with a hard slam of the wagon door.
Callista dropped her head in her hands, as drained as if she’d fought a battle. Just when she thought she’d slipped his grasp and was finally free of him, Branston managed once again to cast his sinister shadow. It had always been this way. She’d escaped three times and never reached farther than a few streets from home before he pulled her back into his seedy and scheming world. David’s arrival had changed that. His arrival had changed so many things.
And now he was in danger because of her.
Should she show him the notice? Should she hide it while she decided whether or not to accept Nancy’s offer? Should she tear it into bits, in the hope that it was the only one of its kind?
A knock brought her head up. “I’ll be out in a minute, Nancy.”
But it wasn’t Nancy who opened the door.
It was David.
“Nancy said you needed to speak to me.” He looked as sheepishly ill at ease as any man could.
She sighed. “You might want to see this.”
