Lady Isabella's Splendid Folly: a Fortune's of Fate story (Fortunes of Fate Book 7) Read online

  “But none who connect with your soul,” the fortune teller finished for her.

  “Indeed.” Isabella nodded with enthusiasm. She waved a hand and her violet reticule swung from her wrist. “However, my mindset has changed since I last saw you. I don’t believe love is in my future. And I… might wish for something else.”

  A mysterious grin tugged at the corners of Madame Zeta’s mouth. “You haven’t found your path.” She gestured to a matching chair. “Sit.”

  Isabella did so with a sigh while her sisters stood off to the side, a few paces away to give her privacy. She arranged the skirts of her jonquil dress about her legs. It was a pretty color and contrasted nicely with the violet spencer, reticule and dainty umbrella. “I fear my path is straight to spinsterhood.”

  Madame Zeta arched her eyebrows. “If that is where fate guides you.”

  “Don’t misunderstand. I am perfectly fine with things as they are.” Liar. But only she knew the truth.

  “Fate isn’t in agreement with that statement, miss,” the gypsy said in a soft, melodious voice. Slowly, she slid a small, shallow bowl of red-painted clay over the tabletop toward Isabella. “Offer what you believe a fortune is worth.”

  More mature than she’d been the last time she sat with the woman, Isabella promptly pulled a gold sovereign from the depths of her reticule. She dropped it into the bowl with a satisfied smile. “I saved my pin money for just this occasion.”

  “Very well.” Madame Zeta pulled the bowl back toward her side of the table. “Let’s move on to your fortune, miss.” She held out a hand, the long slender fingers calloused from years of work. “Your palm, please.”

  With a sense of anticipation, Isabella slipped her hand—palm upturned—into the other woman’s. “I hope it’s a good one.”

  Madame Zeta’s eyes took on a faraway look, as if she saw, not exactly into the future but someplace not quite in the present. “Many paths still stretch before you,” she said in a quiet, sing-song voice.

  In silence and with a rapidly-beating heart, Isabella waited, for there had to be more.

  Then the fortune teller spoke again. “A dark-haired man will not arrive by traditional means, and he will have a mark only you will recognize. Heed me, girl: he is dangerous. You must make a choice.”

  “A choice? What sort of choice? And how will he be dangerous?”

  “That is not for me to say, miss. Many paths are present for you.” Madame Zeta blinked. With a slight shake of her head, she returned her focus to Isabella’s face. “I trust this fortune is more to your liking than last time?”

  “No, actually.” Isabella took her hand back with a frown. “It tells me nothing, so is there some sort of insurance I could procure in the event my fortune falls flat or goes afoul?” After all, a gold sovereign should have bought a better, more insightful fortune.

  “Of course not. Life doesn’t work that way.” An enigmatic grin lingered on the gypsy’s lips.

  Isabella’s huff ruffled the baby fine curls on her forehead. “I want protection from disappointment and possible hurt.” And boredom. Definitely that.

  “Don’t we all, miss?” The madam shook her head. “Fate and fortune don’t work that way either. We must weather what we’ve been given and shine regardless.”

  The muscles of her stomach clenched. “Nothing you saw in my palm told of romance or even a grand passion?”

  For long moments, Madame Zeta held Isabella’s gaze. “What are you afraid of, miss?”

  “I am not afraid.”

  One finely arched eyebrow rose. “You can lie to me but not to yourself.”

  “Fine.” Isabella heaved another exasperated breath. “I’m afraid of settling, of consigning myself to a dull life, either married or not. I’m afraid of missing happiness because I cannot see it, or of making a wrong decision that takes me away from what I need the most.” A certain level of relief slid down her spine from the admission. Too long she’d carried it around with her.

  Madame Zeta nodded and the spangles over her forehead twinkled. “Happiness is a feeling that comes from within and being content with your place in the world. It is not something you plan for.”

  “How will I know whatever decision I make will lead to happiness?”

  “You will know in your heart.”

  She sighed. That told her nothing. “None of my suitors make me happy.”

  “Then they are not for you. Also, do not depend on a man to bring you happiness. Find it in yourself.”

  “Myself is boring.” Isabella stared at the fortune teller. “I long for adventure, for something delicious and scandalous before I become an old maid.”

  “Then go in search of it.” Madame Zeta shrugged. “Those things are always in the offing.”

  “Perhaps, but when spoken aloud, it sounds silly and impractical.” Perhaps I’m just the dullest of the Fortescue girls. Louisa had married and reformed a roguish viscount. Mariana was on the verge of bringing a duke’s son up to scratch. And she? Well, she had dismissed a whole parlor full of men because none of them made her heart flutter or seem like they fit in with a forever-type scenario.

  “Silly is good for the mind, child. Everything else, pain and heartache—even joy—builds character. They forge the soul into who we need it to be and equip it to survive the life we choose.”

  Back to a choice again. Isabella frowned. “I will still be myself regardless of what I do or where I go.”

  Madame Zeta nodded. “Perhaps, but each choice will make you grow into the person you will ultimately become.”

  “What if I’m happy with the person I am now?” Talking in riddles made no sense to her.

  “If you were happy with her, you wouldn’t have come to see me today.” Amusement sparkled in the gypsy’s eyes. “You are obstinate. That clutters your path.”

  A laugh escaped Isabella. “You have no idea.”

  “I think I might.” A wide grin curved the other woman’s lips, brightening her face. “Remember, miss, sometimes folly is a good thing; I highly encourage it. For folly can bring about exactly the path you might be missing.”

  “Yet you cannot tell me what that might be.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I cannot. You must discover it yourself.” Then the smile faded. “Might I ask you a question, miss?”

  “Of course.” Isabella leaned forward.

  “In your travels between London and here, have you seen a young lady with creamy skin, a mixed race woman? I have been searching for her and wish terribly to find her.” Wistfulness combined with grief in her brown eyes that spoke of a story.

  “I have not. Is she important?”

  “Invaluable.” Then the gypsy shook her head. “I will prevail. On one of the paths before me, I will meet her.”

  “How do you know?” Isabella almost envied the woman.

  “I have faith that everything will come about as it should.” Again, she lifted an eyebrow. “So should you.”

  “Best wishes,” Isabella murmured as she stood.

  “To you as well, miss.” Then the gypsy waved a hand toward the rear of her wagon. “Take a trinket as a memento of your time with me.”

  “Thank you.” As she sorted through jewelry and other baubles over two trays, another woman asked the gypsy to read her palm.

  Finally, Isabella selected a small gold pin that, at first glance, resembled the opened petals of a rose, but when she took a second glance, it looked like interwoven threads without a clear beginning or ending.

  Louisa scoffed from behind her. “I’m quite certain that isn’t real gold.”

  “It doesn’t need to be. I think it pretty.” She quickly pinned the brooch to her bodice beneath her spencer and grinned. “Now, let us go enjoy the remainder of the fair. I’m of a mind to eat something oh so bad for me and perhaps indulge in a lark that will make me laugh.”

  The fortune was a great joke, of course. No one could know another’s future, but it was interesting to contemplate. After today, she w
ould retire from the Marriage Mart and make inroads into finding a scandal before spinsterhood overtook her.

  Chapter Two

  April, 1801

  Kingston, Jamaica

  Peregrine St. John breathed deeply of the warm, tropical air the second his boots touched land. “God, it feels good to walk about someplace that’s not a pitching deck.”

  As a young man of eighteen and having just attained the rank of midshipman in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, Perry was quite full of himself, but he didn’t care. He’d worked hard to earn that promotion, and it was only the first of what he’d planned for his life.

  John Anderson, his friend and companion, also of the same new rank, snorted. “Don’t get too used to it. We’re only here for the night. Resupply won’t take long and it’ll be back on the ship we go.”

  “Ah, but I plan to live it up with what time we do have, and I’ve got coin burning a hole in my pocket.” Perry propped his hands on his hips, unmindful of the other men who jostled his elbows as they came off ship. Once they completed the resupply, their mission was to chase down pirates who infested the waters of the Caribbean. He couldn’t wait, for adventure on the high seas was just what a man needed. “Wonder what trouble we can find?”

  “None, I hope, gentlemen.” Captain Beauregard came up behind them both and dropped a heavy hand on each of their shoulders. The breeze ruffled his salt-and-pepper hair. “I have been invited to dinner at the governor’s house this evening, and I’ve decided to have my officers accompany me—as well as the two of you.”

  Perry glanced at his buddy and felt his eyes widen. This was a high honor, indeed, being asked by the captain of the Intrepid to go anywhere, and with his officers to boot. “You must have a fair amount of trust in us, sir,” he said, unable to hide the fair amount of awe in his voice.

  I must look the complete rube.

  The captain chuckled. “You have potential. I think you boys will do quite well under my command and on this mission. Keep your noses clean and mind your steps while in port. A man who wants to advance in the navy doesn’t go looking for trouble so early in his career. I’ll see you later.” Then the captain strode away, leaving the two of them more or less alone.

  John heaved a sigh. “I guess that means no seeking out a couple of willing women?”

  Perry shrugged. “Do it if you want. I’m not about to let temptation ruin what could be a promising stint in the navy.” It was the one thing of his own he had to his name. “I mean to make something of myself.”

  “But…women, Perry. We’re men now.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Don’t you want to build your skills in the sheets?”

  Heat crept up the back of his neck. “There will always be women around.” Peregrine waved a hand as he scanned the bustling port, skimmed the palm trees with his gaze. “Don’t do anything stupid and you’ll be fine, but mind, those women have enough disease to fell a man. Best you don’t bring it onboard with you.” Between that, the threat of scurvy while on the sea, starvation, storms, and pirates, he’d rather not take risks that he could avoid. “What’s it going to be?”

  John grumbled. He tossed his head, and a shock of blond hair flopped over his low forehead. “Forget the whores. This time.” He rolled his eyes. “Can we at least find a tavern instead? I want rum.”

  A laugh escaped Perry. “You always want rum.”

  “Hey, it helps keeps scurvy at bay.”

  “That it does, my friend.” Together, they ambled through the port, their destination unknown but their whole lives ahead of them.

  Later that night, as he sat around a long dining table of shining mahogany in the sprawling governor’s mansion, Peregrine couldn’t imagine his life any better. The captain, as well as every other navy man, had dressed in the uniforms of their stations, and interspersed among them sat the governor, his three daughters, and various other ladies. Candlelight gleamed and gems glittered. Laughter and witty repartee bounced about the table. Never had Perry attended such a fine affair.

  “For your entertainment as we eat, I have engaged the services of a fortune teller,” the governor announced. He wore the old-fashioned gray, curled wig that was no doubt prominent and in style when he’d been a young man. As he talked, a door to one side of the room opened and a striking woman in colorful skirts entered the room. “She is a favorite on the island, bringing good fortune to all.”

  One by one, as course after sumptuous course was put before them, the navy men had their palms read by the fortune teller with the soft voice and mysterious eyes. It was such a lark that Perry laughed and gawked by turns as the woman made her way about the table.

  When she arrived at his side, she offered her hand. “Your palm, sir.” The slight accent, reminiscent of the Caribbean islands, coupled with her soft voice added to the intrigue of the lark.

  “Sure. It’s all in good fun,” he said as he caught the eye of his friend across the table. He surrendered his hand, palm upward, and she took his hand in hers, though his gut clenched. Such a waste of time. No one could tell fortunes.

  After a few seconds of tracing the lines with a forefinger, she offered a smile. “Love will arrive in a tempest. Be prepared for it’s difficult to hold.”

  He and his fellows laughed, and he’d offered her the few coins he had for her services. Perry didn’t think much of the fortune, for it was done in jest as a courtesy to the guests. The woman was a parlor act of the first order, but he’d remember the night indeed.

  After dinner had concluded, and he’d flirted with a couple of the governor’s daughters, even danced with them a time or two, he and his friends adjourned to the tavern once more to spend the remainder of their liberty quite firmly entrenched in their cups, which earned him a brand-new tattoo on his left shoulder of an intricate knot whose origin and design history he hadn’t thought to ask.

  As the years passed, Peregrine forgot about the fortune as he moved through life and up the ranks in the navy. He’d had a few liaisons and affairs. What man wouldn’t? Only one relationship had stuck and bloomed into marriage.

  Just like the fortune teller had predicted, that love arrived in a tempest and he most assuredly couldn’t hold onto it.

  Coincidence, nothing more.

  Late May, 1818

  Buckinghamshire, England

  Since the day was fine and the spring weather fair enough, Peregrine had his favorite horse saddled.

  “Where are you off to today, Captain St. John?” the stable master asked. His eyes beneath bushy blond eyebrows gleamed in the sunshine.

  Ah, if only I truly captained my ship instead of allowed people to use the title as a courtesy now. He pushed the maudlin thought away. Besides, he’d been retired for all of a month. It didn’t hurt to hang onto that bit of his past of a while longer. “I thought I’d make use of the weather and ride through the countryside. Familiarize myself with the area.”

  He’d been in Buckinghamshire a month, and for the bulk of that time, he’d kept himself closeted in the manor house, refusing visitors—not that there were any. The closest neighbor whose manor sat a mile south and bordered his land, certainly hadn’t called.

  All to the good. He didn’t wish to entertain as he acclimated to retirement.

  “Beautiful countryside hereabouts,” the stable master said. He, as well as the servants and the manor had been gifted to Peregrine from the Crown for bravery rendered in service. “I’ve heard tell there’s a gypsy fair not far from here. Bound to contain something interesting.”

  Peregrine allowed a small smile in acknowledgement. “I’m not certain it appeals to me, but if it does after my ride, I’ll be sure to stop by.” He nodded at the other man. “Thanks for saddling Ares.”

  The stable master grinned and touched the brim of his slouch-style cap. “A pleasure, Captain. It’s good to have life back in the house after so long vacant.”

  I imagine it is. Everyone must have some sort of task to feel useful. “I shouldn’t be out more than an hour.”

>   “Take as much time as you need, but mind a turn in the wind. My rheumy knee heralds rain on the way.”

  Peregrine’s grin widened slightly. “Aye, I can sympathize.” Then, with a click of his tongue and a slap of the reins, he and the horse set off.

  Buckinghamshire was a far cry from the sea, to be sure, and as different from London as a man could wish for, especially if said man wanted nothing except to forget. On the other hand, the tall grasses in the meadows and fields as they waved and rippled in the breeze had the look of the ocean. Small comfort, that.

  All too soon, he came upon the travelling gypsy fair, and he colorful mélange burst on his consciousness like that of a rainbow. The gaiety of laughter and the delighted shrieks of children met his ears as he crested a gentle hill. While he gazed down into the field where the fair had set up, he shifted in his saddle. A memory of that fortune teller in Jamaica bubbled to the forefront of his mind, and he grunted.

  Would his fortune have changed in the years that had passed? His life certainly had since that carefree day when he’d dined at the governor’s mansion.

  Perhaps I shall have my palm read again.

  Then he just as quickly dismissed the idea as stupidity. Anyone could say anything and brand it as fortune telling; didn’t mean that the words would come to pass. The muscles of his stomach clenched as he continued his perusal. Except, that last damn fortune had come true and his life had tumbled down around his ears.

  I’m above such things now.

  It had been eighteen years since that ridiculous time in Jamaica, yet…

  Surely he could do with a bout of good luck right now. Life had grown rather stifling of late, and the upheaval of removing to the country hadn’t helped.

  “Come on, boy. Let us see what’s in the offing then,” he murmured to Ares.

  The horse flicked his ears but trotted forward. No doubt the animal wanted the graze on the tender spring grasses.

  As Peregrine rode along the edges of the fair, he passed gaggles of ladies as they strolled in knots of twos and threes, clad in spring-colored and pastel dresses that billowed and flapped in the breeze. They were as cheerful as the flowers that dotted the meadows. Families were interspersed among the fair goers, and children skipped about, calling to each other with high-pitched happy voices. Throughout the throng, the bright clothing of the gypsies flashed and caught the eye, a trick to draw an audience to each wagon or display.