a cheroot, she realised as a faint scent of tobacco reached her on the breeze. He turned his head in her direction and Faye quickly whipped her face away, not wanting him to catch her staring at him for the second time that day.
Claire waved at her friend Peggy, their housekeeper’s niece, and with a quick promise not to be gone long dashed away to talk to her. Michael had also spotted a group of chums and loped off in the opposite direction. Left alone, Faye became aware of her heart thudding beneath her embroidered bodice. An odd thrill was shooting iced fire through her veins. When their eyes had fleetingly met Mr Kavanagh had appeared aware of the unsettling effect he was having on her. His subtle smile had annoyed Faye as well as intrigued her. Yet there had been nothing in his behaviour that declared him to be the reprobate he’d been painted. His demeanour alone proclaimed him to be of wealth and status, and he was quietly minding his own business. But why was he here at all? He didn’t seem interested in the fair—in fact, he seemed bored. And then Faye spotted the reason for him idling on the grass. He was waiting for his mistress to finish browsing the fairground stalls.
The lovely young lady was just ahead, making purchases from a vendor and handing over the packages to her maids. Yes, not one but two bombazine-clad servants were dancing attendance on her while her beau waited patiently at a distance for her to sufficiently enjoy herself.
For a moment Faye couldn’t drag her eyes from Ryan Kavanagh’s paramour. She was struck by the young woman’s exquisite and rather exotic looks; the profound darkness of her hair and eyes were set off by the pale gold colour of the fine day dress that encased her perfectly proportioned figure. Her clear olive complexion was protected from the sun by her bonnet brim and a lacy parasol that one of the maids was diligently holding aloft and tilting to and fro. Aware that she had been standing quite still, staring, Faye propelled herself in the opposite direction, determined to forget all about the new master of Valeside and his entourage!
‘Tell your fortune, my lady?’ The voice was pleasantly accented. A weather-beaten face, with sharp dark eyes, was turned up to Faye’s. The woman had plaited tresses resembling a sable snake on her crown and she was extending a hand to take Faye’s palm in hers.
Ruefully Faye shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I’m not sure I’m brave enough to know it.’
The crone gave a gap-toothed smile and grasped Faye’s fingers so she couldn’t escape. The abrupt movement set her hoop earrings dancing against her leathery neck. ‘This isn’t the hand of a coward, though you’ve hurdles in front of you and no denying. You’re certainly of an age to be wed, but aren’t.’ She grinned. ‘And I didn’t know that from your bare fingers as I’ve not seen them yet.’ She pulled off the cotton glove covering Faye’s right hand and examined her palm. ‘But you’ll be happy and loved and give back those feelings to your man. Marriage and children are written for you here.’ She traced a dirty fingernail on a zigzagging path across Faye’s soft skin. Then she paused, frowning before raising her almond-shaped eyes. ‘And your lover is very close by today. He’s here with you...a good man...’
Faye’s fingers curled to conceal her palm and she jerked free. Quickly she handed over some coins got from her pocket. Usually she would have chuckled at such fanciful nonsense and it confused her why she had not. She swiftly moved on, keeping her brother and sister in sight as they mingled with their friends in the crowd. But the gypsy’s words were haunting her mind, urging her to glance back. The old woman had turned to watch her and nodded in a portentous and oddly reverential way. When Faye next tried to find her brother and sister, she found she couldn’t locate either of them in the throng.
Determined to enjoy herself, Faye marched up to a stall and bought some lemon ribbon and pearl buttons for a favourite, but well-worn, gown that would benefit from being spruced up. She wandered on, feeling tempted to purchase a meat pie from a woman carrying a tray laden with pastries. The savoury aroma was appetising, but she decided to resist and wait until the children came back so they could all sit together on the grass and enjoy a picnic. She examined some pretty gewgaws on another stall, then selected a hair comb crafted in tortoiseshell that she thought Claire might like. A pewter inkstand also caught her eyes and she purchased that, too, for Michael to take back to school. She was placing the gifts in her reticule when she sensed a looming figure close by, then a heavy hand was on her arm.
‘Mrs Gideon said I’d find you here...’
Faye spun about at the familiar baritone, then gasped in surprise and pleasure.
‘Peter! I had no idea you were coming. Why did you not write and let me know to soon expect you?’ She chuckled. ‘Had you sent word I would have given you pork chops for dinner, you know. As it is, the butcher’s not due until Thursday.’
Peter Collins grasped her outstretched fingers and brought them to his lips. ‘I wanted to surprise you, my dear.’
‘You have certainly done that.’ She paused. ‘Although I had my fortune read a moment ago and the woman did say my sweetheart was close by... I thought it all nonsense, too.’
‘It is nonsense,’ Peter dismissed, top lip curling. ‘You should avoid such people.’
‘That is easier said than done at a summer fair.’ Faye chuckled. ‘You will stay and dine with us later?’ She smiled up into his hazel eyes.
‘Of course, I’d be glad to, pork chops or no.’ Again his mouth brushed her knuckles. ‘I’m putting up at the White Hart in Wilverton for a few days.’ Peter drew Faye to a quieter spot so they might promenade and chat more easily on the edge of the crowd.
Slipping her hand through her fiancé’s arm, Faye discreetly hugged him, feeling oddly relieved as well as happy to have his company. But there was one thing niggling at her: she had expected some notice of his arrival so she might get straight in her mind how to tell him of her meeting with Westwood. She didn’t want Peter to feel guilty for having put her in touch with the lawyer, yet he was bound to feel disappointed that the best part of her dowry had gone. The Collins family were well-connected gentry, but Peter had told her that his mother complained they were poor as church mice.
‘What is it?’ Peter looked down at her, his smile fading on noticing her frown.
‘Oh...nothing that can’t wait till later. Let’s enjoy ourselves while the sun’s shining. It might storm later, according to Mr Gideon.’
‘Where are the scamps?’ Peter asked, referring to Faye’s siblings.
‘Oh, they’ve gone off to see their friends,’ Faye answered as they began to promenade arm in arm. She nodded to a spot where Michael and a chum were now throwing balls at skittles. Even at a distance she could hear the boys’ whoops of glee.
‘And where is Claire?’ Peter turned his head, seeking her.
Faye also looked about. She came to a halt and pivoted on the spot, but still she couldn’t spot a blue-beribboned bonnet anywhere. She realised it had been some time since she’d last caught a glimpse of her sister.
‘She was chatting with Mrs Gideon’s niece earlier. I expect they have found a shady spot to sit down. It is very hot...’ Despite her explanation, Faye felt a frisson of uneasiness. Claire had said she would only be gone a short while. ‘Michael might know where she’s gone.’
‘There she is!’ Peter drew Faye’s attention to a copse; Claire and Peggy were emerging from between two brightly painted caravans.
Slipping her hand from Peter’s arm, Faye set off towards them, her heartbeat accelerating in alarm. They had the furtive look of people who feared being spotted doing something they shouldn’t.
‘I have been looking for you. Where have you been?’
Claire spun about with a guilty gasp, her cheeks reddening. ‘I...we have only been looking at the ponies.’
Faye glanced at the squat piebald animals tethered to the low branches of trees, sedately cropping grass. ‘You should have said you were going off the beaten track.’ She hadn’t really believed Claire might come to harm on this sunny afternoon, yet still uneasiness