Chapter One
CORNWALL, ENGLAND
Spring 1816
Lord Jonathan Castleford knew he’d made a mistake the moment he turned his mount onto the road to Cornwall. But no, that wasn’t right. In truth, the folly in his judgment had happened long before now — about two weeks ago in London, to be exact.
The error had happened the moment he’d allowed the Marquess of Shropshire to lead him on this wild goose chase. He’d assumed, as the man was the heir to a respected dukedom, that Nelson might have some sense of honor. Unfortunately, the moment the young heir hit the card tables, another man seemed to take his place, and any lingering intelligence disappeared. It was due to this rather unlucky hand at faro, with an exorbitant amount of funds at play that had landed Nelson in a difficult issue of payment with Jonathan. He offered, in exchange for his debts, a “prosperous” tin mine somewhere in the wilds of the Cornish coast.
“Just go and take a look at it,” the young heir had nearly pleaded, shoving the deed into Jonathan’s hands. His expression had been that of a recalcitrant child who was trying to cover up some misdeeds. “If you don’t see that it’s just as flourishing as I’ve claimed—” He’d swallowed. “—come to my townhouse and I’ll pay you every single pound that I owe.”
Jonathan’s dark eyebrows had risen slightly. Perhaps therewashope for the man after all. “Very well,” he’d conceded with a heavy sigh. Instantly, Nelson’s face had flooded with relief.
So here he was — shivering inside his clothes as the breeze coming off of the coast whipped around his greatcoat. Jonathan desperately hoped that it wouldn’t rain, as he didn’t relish the thought of getting drenched before he reached his destination. As it was, the ground was a soggy, muddy mess due to earlier rains, which made for slow, grueling travel by horseback.
He ground his teeth as his mount’s hooves slipped in the sludge, and took Nelson’s name in vain — and not for the first time. In truth, he was actually starting to wonder who was the bigger fool in this situation.
As he crested the top of a hill, Jonathan reined his mount to a stop. He crossed his arms over the pommel of his saddle and observed the scene before him. A traveling fair of some sort effectively blocked the road. Two wagons stood slightly off to the side, but it was the third wagon, its wheel mired down in the mud that caused him to sigh. Three men were doing their best to push the sunken conveyance out of the bog, but in spite of all their best efforts, they weren’t having much luck.
And that was before the first, fat drop of rain hit the brim of his hat.
He gave a snort and shook his head. He supposed this was his punishment for being talked into such a quest in the first place. As he urged his mount forward, he told himself that it didn’t matter if he was about to be soaked. If nothing else, perhaps it would wash away the mud splatter that was about to coat his brand new Hessians.
***
NEARLY A HALF HOURlater, amid groans, and the pouring rain that had ensued, Jonathan and the other men finally managed to free the stuck wheel. As it rolled free of the muck, Jonathan bent over and put his hands on his knees. He was breathing heavily, and sweat coated his brow, but it always made him feel good on the inside to do something for his fellow man. As the younger son of the Earl of Vellerman, he had little to recommend him. His older brother, Edward, was the one who would make a difference as the heir, taking his place in Parliament and fighting for the rights and issues of England.
The most Jonathan could do as the spare was free a wagon from the Cornish bog. Then again, he didn’t have the responsibility of a title to contend with either. He had a bit more freedom, which was what he liked. He didn’t want any strings that tied him down. No restrictions. Even the occasional mistresses were few and far between.
A dark-skinned man came over and clapped Jonathan on the back. “Come on, stranger. I think you’ve earned a drink.”
Jonathan straightened and offered the man a grin. “I believe I will take you up on that offer.”
As Jonathan was led over to where a tent had been set up for a temporary shelter, he glanced at one of the wagons and was taken aback to see that he was under close scrutiny by a rather intriguing woman. She stood, framed by a set of purple curtains, her honey-gold skin striking against the gloom of the day. She didn’t appear to be that old, yet she stood slightly hunched as if the weight of the world was a constant cloak around her shoulders. But then, it was her gray-blue eyes that truly captured his attention, as they assessed him quite boldly.
“Who is that?” he found himself asking.
His companion didn’t even turn around, although a small smile played about his mouth. “That is Madame Zeta. She is our fortune teller.”
“I see.” Jonathan contemplated this with a wry twist of his lips. He had never been one to fall prey to such practices. He was entirely too sensible.
Jonathan stood in the tent around a modest campfire that had been started and chatted with a few of the men for a time. Along with the promised drink, he was offered some bread and soup, which he accepted with gratitude. After a while, he started to feel more human. Outside, even the rain had slackened. He knew he should be heading out soon, if he was to make it to his friend’s house before nightfall. If there could be any sort of miracle on this Godforsaken journey, it was that Sir Elliot Marwood lived nearby in the village of Killigarth. Jonathan would never understand why his comrade from Eton had chosen to take up residence with his family in such a remote location of England, but in this instance, it was a blessing in disguise.
“I would have a word before you depart, Englishman.”
Jonathan turned at the sound of the strong female voice, surprised to find that it was Madame Zeta. She stood right next to him, although he hadn’t even heard her approach.
Jonathan offered a polite, but refusing smile. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t really believe in tarot cards and palm reading...”
“Then perhaps your destiny will be more intriguing?” With that, she turned to walk away.
Jonathan knew that he had little choice but to follow or appear rude. Not until she started to climb into her wagon did she pause briefly and put a hand to her mid-section.
He frowned. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” she said curtly, before disappearing behind the curtains.
Jonathan shrugged before he followed her inside. The interior was comfortably furnished in shades of purple and gold. Candles flickered from various points about the room, giving it a mystical sort of glow. It was exactly what he might have imagined a fortune teller’s lodgings to look like. “So where’s the crystal ball?” he teased.
