Chapter 12

Rolland exited the carriage first. He scanned the length of the Roma camp. At least a dozen tents sprawled across the meadow bordered by the moors, and the sound of larks chirped in the distance. He'd seen the crude makeshift homes in passing from a distance but never up close. Some were domed with bent branches, and a few fire circles dotted between the flimsy shelters sent faint waves of woodsmoke into the air.

He'd traveled to many unique coastal villages in the navy—many poor and humble—so the only discomfort he felt here was that this was where Theresia was staying. He offered his hand to her and assisted her from the carriage. Her dainty steps were yet another testament to her refined upbringing. At least once she had been of some social standing. She clearly did not belong here. And yet that was the way of things for the impoverished. Her family must've fallen on hard times or left her with no resources or proper connections after their demise. Whichever it was, he was sorry for her.

An older woman with a large shawl and her hair pulled back under a scarf stirred a pot hanging from a spit over the fire nearest them. A yellow dog lay near her feet. Or was it orange? The woman had glanced at him before, but when she saw Theresia step out of the carriage, she wiped her hands on the apron over her skirt and rushed over to them, the dog on her heels. Her short legs made her progress slow, and her expression was most displeased.

"My foolish dívka! Who is this man? And why do you travel alone with him?" She clucked her tongue and pulled Theresia away from his side.

He felt oddly protective of Theresia and wanted to pull her back, but this was her friend, was she not?

"Mrs. Bedrich, this is Captain Reese. He is staying at Ashbury Court and has promised to help me find Papa's vase."

The older woman squinted at him. "How do you know you can trust him?"

"Because I knew him before I came here." Theresia lifted her gaze to him. "He stopped a thief and returned a purse to an old man."

He blinked. So she did remember their first meeting? Neither of them had acknowledged that day to each other. The image of that morning came racing back: her brave spirit in going up against a full-grown man to help someone in need and his arms tugging her tight to his chest to protect her from harm. He'd been drawn to her then and was undeniably so now. Was it because she needed his help? Was that all this was?

Mrs. Bedrich clucked her tongue again. "So he followed you here, did he?"

"Not at all," Rolland said quickly, but he could not answer for fate and why they were together again.

Mrs. Bedrich lifted her chin and examined him more thoroughly. "I do not like the ones who are too prideful to be forthright with their feelings." She shook her head. "You cannot always trust the handsome ones, my zlato. I will decide whether he is worthy or not. Come, Captain. One meal is all it will take."

He shifted his weight from one side to the other. Worthy or not, he had not the time to please this suspicious old woman. "I thank you for the invitation, but I must return to Ashbury Court right away."

"I thought you were a gentleman, sir." Mrs. Bedrich's condemning gaze raked over him again. "If you want to see my niece again, you had better join us."

The dog barked once in agreement.

His mouth parted to defend himself. He wasn't courting Theresia—just keeping her out of trouble.

"You had better listen, Captain," Theresia inserted before he could argue to the contrary. Mrs. Bedrich moved back toward the fire, and Theresia stepped in front of him, one hand on her hip. "After all, we know each other's secrets. We're friends now, and friends take meals together."

The saucy way she said it made him forget his arguments about leaving. He was curious to see more of the camp, too, needing to reassure himself that no harm would come to these two women. His feet followed Theresia away from the road into the Roma camp, the dog falling into step beside him.

"You too?" he asked the dog. Were they both trying to protect the same impulsive woman and instead ended up following her wherever she went?

They stopped at Mrs. Bedrich's fire. Rolland's eyes took in the layout of the other tents and searched for any possible threats. Speaking of threats, Mrs. Bedrich made good on hers, and before he knew it, he was sitting on a stool, holding a steaming bowl of spicy, reddish bean stew with chunks of rabbit in it. Mrs. Bedrich referred to it as goulash and added to it a steamed dumpling sliced like bread called knedlíky.

The unique dishes were more appetizing than at first appearance, and he ate silently while Mrs. Bedrich prattled on. Apparently her way of testing his trustworthiness was by doing all the talking. He didn't mind. It allowed him to learn a great deal about Theresia in a short amount of time, like the way she'd mastered her male cousin's schoolwork before he could as a child when she was supposed to be mastering her needlework. She'd pushed through every task like nothing was impossible. He could well imagine both.

He'd long believed the best way to conquer an enemy was to study them. In this case, if he wanted to get Theresia from his thoughts, he had to learn about her first. Just as he studied the sizes of French ships and the number of men and guns they held in preparation for meeting them, he would apply the same process here. Only then could his mind be at ease. And with her in his direct sight, sitting prettily on a stool across the fire from him, it was no arduous task.

"Theresia was only eight when she came to England with her papa. Several families from Bohemia followed him with the promise of greater fortune, including us. Mr. Dvorak was a generous employer, investing in my son as if he were his own. No one else was like him. Everything Mr. Dvorak touched turned to gold. Until he died. Nothing has gone well for us here since, I am afraid."

So her surname was Dvorak, not Smith, and she was from the Austrian Empire. Rolland would send some inquiries to London about her and Miss Stone's seminary she had attended when he returned to Ashbury Court. It would take some weeks to receive a response, but his curiosity was mounting. Despite his better judgment, he could not believe she was working with their elusive traitor. But he did wonder if he could use her to lure the man in. He would have to speak with Marcus and Lewis about his farfetched idea before he dared apprise her of it.

When he finished his goulash, he thanked Mrs. Bedrich and stood. "I had best be off."

Mrs. Bedrich set his bowl aside and stole his arm. "You cannot think I am finished taking my measure of you yet. Besides, you came all the way to a Roma camp and did not have your fortune read."

"Another time, perhaps."

"It won't cost you a farthing."

"Mrs. Bedrich," Theresia argued. "Let him be. You have already taken an hour of his time."

"Everyone likes to have their fortune told. He'll thank me when he's through."

He stared from Mrs. Bedrich to Theresia. "On the contrary, I take no stock in such things. I will take my leave before I am missed."

"Do you want to see my zlato again?"

Theresia came around the fire to his side. "Maybe you should listen to her. She will make such a fuss if you don't, and we will need to interact until my vase is retrieved."

He scowled. "You cannot be serious."

"I admit I have never seen it done before, and I haven't the courage to try it myself. But it ought to be amusing seeing your future told."

"Theresia," he said between his teeth, hoping Mrs. Bedrich did not hear him slip on her given name.

"Rolland," she breathed back, her dark eyes teasing him. "This is the only way to be rid of me later."

Rid of her? Did he want that? She linked her arm with his free one, as if they had been friends since childhood, and the fight left him. This was not at all what he had imagined for his day. And he wouldn't even be able to lie about it to Marcus. There was no way either the duke or Lewis would believe that he was not taken with Theresia Dvorak.

They might even be right.

"Poutník, stay," Theresia told the dog.

"Poutník?"

She shrugged. "A name that means wanderer." Wanderer? Was that what Theresia was?

When they approached the worn tent at the back of the camp, Mrs. Bedrich spoke with the woman inside first. The air about this corner of the camp seemed heavy and strange.

Misgivings filled him. "I cannot believe I am doing this," he grumbled to Theresia.

"Neither can I." She stared at the woven blanket used as a tent door, a frown puckering her brow. "I wonder how well Mrs. Bedrich knows this fortune-teller. My cousin's musical troupe doesn't claim an acquaintance with any of the travelers here. They camp together for safety and comradery, but they are hardly friends."

When Mrs. Bedrich motioned them inside, he added in a low voice to Theresia, "What have I allowed you to talk me into this time?"

Her nervous giggle was her only answer.

The tent was dimly lit by the red hue from the sun against the fabric. His fortune-teller was even older than Mrs. Bedrich, with tanned skin, deep-set wrinkles, and gray hair mostly covered in a colorful shawl. She sat on a pillow and motioned them to sit on one of the many other pillows scattered about. He did so, but Theresia seemed hesitant. When she lowered herself to the ground, he noticed she sat back a bit, behind his shoulder. Did she hope he would protect her from this wizened woman? The very idea assured him that she did not belong here.

The fortune-teller eyed him for a long, uncomfortable moment before shuffling her cards and flipping them over on the ground in front of her.

Rolland cleared his throat. "I should tell you I do not believe in this sort of thing."

The woman's hands froze, and she glanced at Mrs. Bedrich, who only shrugged in response.

The wrinkled hands of the fortune-teller gathered her cards back into her hands. "How about a prediction and a blessing, then?" Her voice was throaty, her words scratching to be free.

Rolland almost shook his head, but he did not want to offend Mrs. Bedrich or the fortune-teller, so he nodded instead.

The dark eyes of the woman across from him blinked slowly. "I have been doing this for many, many years. I don't often have such a clear sight when I meet someone. You, however, are different." She scowled at him and turned her head sideways, examining him for some obvious flaw. Was this where Mrs. Bedrich had learned to do the same? And could he believe whatever prediction this woman spoke? It was all rubbish, wasn't it?

"You don't let yourself believe in much, do you?" The words were said like a direct answer to his thoughts. "The learned often think they know best," she continued. "The stubborn are worse. Like yourself, they don't care as they should. But do as you please. I could tell you that death lies ahead, but I am not certain you would listen."

"Death?" Theresia whispered behind him.

The fearless Theresia could not truly be frightened by a mere prediction.

"Death," the fortune-teller repeated, "must fall to at least one in your party. Danger too. For your lady," she said, looking at Theresia before dragging her gaze to him, "and for your friends. But will you be too thickheaded to see it?"

He did not correct her assumption that Theresia was under his protection and instead reviewed the strange prediction. Some of the officers aboard his ship had claimed having their fortune told was highly entertaining. There was nothing here that brought him an ounce of joy. "Thank you for the warning." He shifted to stand, but the fortune-teller's voice made him hesitate.

"Keep her close," she said, motioning to Theresia. "Your lady will not stay safe otherwise."

He wanted to hold out his arm and pull Theresia more fully behind him at the very mention of a threat, but it was absurd of him to buy into such a false claim. Rolland cleared his throat. "And the blessing?" He was eager to hurry this useless meeting to its end.

"Oh yes." Her demeanor softened, and when she smiled, it was like cutting a line into a dried prune. She raised her hands to sprinkle invisible dust on him and Theresia. "Your love for each other will be steadfast and true, followed by years of fertility. Your wedding will be followed by a dozen healthy and robust children. Mostly girls. Some boys. But mostly girls."

The back of Rolland's neck burned, and he cleared his throat again. Wedding? Children? Girls? "Thank you for your time. I really must go now." He jumped to his feet and helped Theresia stand. They could not leave the fortune-teller's tent fast enough. Mrs. Bedrich stayed behind for a reason he cared not to know. "Utter madness," he mumbled.

"Exactly. Twelve children?" Theresia put her hand across her middle. "Must I really bear so many?"

"You can have as many as you please," he said before catching himself. "With some other man, of course."

She glowered at him. "That was implied." Her steps slowed when they neared the carriage. "I know the blessing part was silly, but when she spoke about death, I had shivers run down my back. She seemed to really be able to see into the future. How else would she know about your house party and your friends?"

"It was easy enough to deduce, what with Their Graces' happenings being the talk of the town." If only everything could be seen so logically. For starters, he couldn't explain his strong desire to keep Theresia close in case of a real threat. She had proved herself recklessly brave but without any real ability to protect herself. He didn't like the idea of leaving her at the camp. Many Roma in England were known for their thieving and immoral, lawless behavior. He wanted to believe this particular group was in town to help with preparation for the harvest since Mrs. Bedrich and Theresia were good people, but he could not trust the entire camp so easily.

But why was he involving himself at all? After Theresia's vase was found, she would be out of his life forever. He must focus on what was within his control. "I will send word if I discover any news."

"Thank you."

He hesitated to accept her gratitude. "I should be the one saying thank you. I forgot to mention my appreciation for the bandages and herbs. Granger will appreciate not having to procure more for me."

"You found them so quickly?" She tangled her hands together. "I had thought only Granger would see them."

For all her improper behavior, there was no mistaking her heart. She was all that was good and kind, and somehow life had shown her its worst. Rolland hoped something someday would change that. If finding her vase meant a better future for her, then he wouldn't give up until it was returned.

He turned to ascend into the carriage but paused. Facing her again, he said, "One more thing. I will keep your name and your vase a secret since I know it is important to you, but I ask permission to share your theory of a Frenchman in our midst with His Grace. It might be pertinent to our investigation."

She pursed her lips. "Do you really think so?"

"I cannot say for certain. It's merely a hunch."

"Very well. If it is just His Grace. I've never been trustful of Englishmen, no offense intended."

"You are subject to your own opinions, Miss Dvorak."

She froze. "Miss Dvorak ?" Then she squeezed her eyes shut and muttered, "Mrs. Bedrich's stories!"

He nodded. "Forgive me for referring to you as such. I did say I would call you Miss Theresia. I shall not forget to do so again." He tipped his head and stepped up into the conveyance.

Her affronted expression and sputtering mouth improved his mood and kept him nearly smiling the entire way back to Ashbury Court. It wasn't like him to tease—especially a woman, but Theresia was different, and their acquaintance was anything but normal.

That thought alone should have sobered him. Any sort of familiarity with anyone but his future wife should be out of the question. He would have to do better to draw stricter boundaries in the future. For it was Miss Shields, not Theresia, whom he would marry.