faces of many alluring women looking at him with a fire burning in their eyes, their white arms reaching out, their lips surrendering themselves with an ease which told him without words he was by no means their first lover—nor would he be their last.
And yet he was prepared to bet quite a considerable sum that the Gypsy girl he had knocked down with his Phaeton was intrinsically pure.
At the thought he laughed aloud.
‘Really, I must be besotted to imagine such a thing is possible,’ he told himself.
After all, Saviya admitted, if she was to be believed, to having visited Russia, Hungary, and Germany. To reach these countries she must have passed through many others. Was it likely that on her travels she had not with her strange beauty aroused attention?
And what about the men of her own tribe? They would have eyes in their heads and warm blood in their veins!
The Marquis emerged from the woods to see in front of him Eurydice’s house, and at the sight of it he deliberately put the thoughts of Saviya and all the other women he had known out of his mind.
He was certain that ahead of him lay a great deal of hard thinking and perhaps quite a considerable amount of work.
He was not mistaken.
When he arrived home at luncheon time, he knew that there was no chance of his returning to London for at least a week.
He was in fact appalled at the mess in which Eurydice had left her properties.
Her instructions were very clear.
They were to be handed over to his administration, and all future orders and of course the payment of employees was to come from Ruckley.
Anyone else, the Marquis thought, might have resented having such a problem—and an expensive one—thrust upon him without notice, but he guessed that Eurydice had known that her decision was in a way his triumph.
His father had always wished to acquire the neighbouring land and make it a part of the Ruckley Estate. Now, to all intents and purposes, this had happened!
The Marquis interviewed the Agent, the Farm-Managers and Eurydice’s Attorney, who was waiting with a number of papers which required his signature.
As he rode home, the Marquis told himself that it was essential that he should give the new land his personal and immediate attention in order to rectify the loss of revenue he had discovered.
He was still debating who he would put in charge and how to dove-tail the management of the two Estates when he reached home.
It needed a quarter of an hour to luncheon time, and the Marquis handed his hat and riding-whip to a footman and walked automatically towards the Library.
As he expected, The Reverend was there and so was Saviya. They were so interested in what they were reading that the Marquis was half-way across the room before they noticed him.
Then they turned round and there was no mistaking the expression of gladness in their eyes at the sight of him.
“Here you are, My Lord!” The Reverend exclaimed. “You left very early this morning, before I had time to tell you of my new discovery.”
“Good-morning, Sir,” the Marquis said, “and good-morning to you, Saviya.”
She smiled at him, and he thought how lovely she looked: her hair very dark against the brilliant bindings of the books; the movement of her hands even more graceful than he had remembered. “Good-morning, My Lord.”
Then, like a child that has something exciting to relate, she added:
“The Reverend Gentleman has found a book which he is sure will please you.”
“What is it?” the Marquis enquired.
“It is a book on Gypsies by one John Howland,” The Reverend replied, holding it out to the Marquis. “I had no idea it was in the Library, but actually it was only published two years ago in 1816. It relates all you wished to know about the origin of the Gypsies.”
The Marquis took the book from him.
“I suppose my father must have bought it.”
“That is so, and because he died that same year it must have been overlooked,” The Reverend replied,
And yet he was prepared to bet quite a considerable sum that the Gypsy girl he had knocked down with his Phaeton was intrinsically pure.
At the thought he laughed aloud.
‘Really, I must be besotted to imagine such a thing is possible,’ he told himself.
After all, Saviya admitted, if she was to be believed, to having visited Russia, Hungary, and Germany. To reach these countries she must have passed through many others. Was it likely that on her travels she had not with her strange beauty aroused attention?
And what about the men of her own tribe? They would have eyes in their heads and warm blood in their veins!
The Marquis emerged from the woods to see in front of him Eurydice’s house, and at the sight of it he deliberately put the thoughts of Saviya and all the other women he had known out of his mind.
He was certain that ahead of him lay a great deal of hard thinking and perhaps quite a considerable amount of work.
He was not mistaken.
When he arrived home at luncheon time, he knew that there was no chance of his returning to London for at least a week.
He was in fact appalled at the mess in which Eurydice had left her properties.
Her instructions were very clear.
They were to be handed over to his administration, and all future orders and of course the payment of employees was to come from Ruckley.
Anyone else, the Marquis thought, might have resented having such a problem—and an expensive one—thrust upon him without notice, but he guessed that Eurydice had known that her decision was in a way his triumph.
His father had always wished to acquire the neighbouring land and make it a part of the Ruckley Estate. Now, to all intents and purposes, this had happened!
The Marquis interviewed the Agent, the Farm-Managers and Eurydice’s Attorney, who was waiting with a number of papers which required his signature.
As he rode home, the Marquis told himself that it was essential that he should give the new land his personal and immediate attention in order to rectify the loss of revenue he had discovered.
He was still debating who he would put in charge and how to dove-tail the management of the two Estates when he reached home.
It needed a quarter of an hour to luncheon time, and the Marquis handed his hat and riding-whip to a footman and walked automatically towards the Library.
As he expected, The Reverend was there and so was Saviya. They were so interested in what they were reading that the Marquis was half-way across the room before they noticed him.
Then they turned round and there was no mistaking the expression of gladness in their eyes at the sight of him.
“Here you are, My Lord!” The Reverend exclaimed. “You left very early this morning, before I had time to tell you of my new discovery.”
“Good-morning, Sir,” the Marquis said, “and good-morning to you, Saviya.”
She smiled at him, and he thought how lovely she looked: her hair very dark against the brilliant bindings of the books; the movement of her hands even more graceful than he had remembered. “Good-morning, My Lord.”
Then, like a child that has something exciting to relate, she added:
“The Reverend Gentleman has found a book which he is sure will please you.”
“What is it?” the Marquis enquired.
“It is a book on Gypsies by one John Howland,” The Reverend replied, holding it out to the Marquis. “I had no idea it was in the Library, but actually it was only published two years ago in 1816. It relates all you wished to know about the origin of the Gypsies.”
The Marquis took the book from him.
“I suppose my father must have bought it.”
“That is so, and because he died that same year it must have been overlooked,” The Reverend replied,
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