Between the ugly hat and the almost indecent cut of the bodice, one glance her way, and Arabella was certain Gregory Harrow was going to laugh... and that she would be unable to keep the color from her cheeks when he did.
She looked, and felt, ridiculous.
Passing the milliner’s window, Arabella studied Mary’s reflection in the glass, searching for a hint of interest. “Those combs would be lovely in your hair. Do you fancy them, Mary?”
There was no reaction.
“Good point... I’m sure we can find something far more interesting than combs at the fair.”
The sun had returned after days of late summer mist, leaving the roads cracked like an overcooked cake. Traffic was rampant, as many of Harding’s outlying citizens had come to the village on the same errand.
As a girl, Arabella had always loved marketplaces—the noises, the animals, the sweets she might steal. When she’d been young and hungry, the crowds had eyed her with contempt or poorly veiled malice. She’d been called names and spit upon while the English clutched at their purses. Now she was given room out of deference. It was uncanny.
Traveling merchants hawked their goods, barking while dusty wind flapped the fabric of their stalls. The items for sale ranged from pottery, root vegetables necessary for cold winter foodstuffs, pigs, horses, jewelry, fabric, everything brought into the tiny hamlet so that even the most remote subjects might enjoy the finer things the empire might offer.
But there was nothing more exotic than the caravans and what the dark skinned Romani might offer. Gypsies, reviled yet sought for their cheap goods and colorful displays, had much to offer those brave enough to trade.
This would not be the first time Arabella might walk so near to what had once been her people. Secretly she hoped to find a brown-skinned grandmother layered with the weighty gold necklaces marking the neck of a Romani matron. To have the old woman look at her and see her for what she was.
They never did...
She was English now, an outsider.
Her clothes were fine, perhaps the finest in the county, but Arabella found the Romani women with their full, brightly colored skirts, embroidered tunics, and exotic jewelry more beautiful than butterflies.
Drawn, the baroness passed all decent traders, approaching a woman with bedecked fingers waving potential customers over.
“Would you like to buy some fine silver, mistress?”
Arabella drank in every crease of the aging woman’s face, admiring the sun darkened skin. So caught up was she, that when a small hand tugged her sleeve she felt nothing.
The Romani trader spoke, air whistling through a gap tooth. “It’s the mirror your companion wants.”
In the center of the table a silver hand mirror reflected the sky. Fashioned in the style of a bygone era, it was dented, but held a weight to it that was pleasing.
“Would you like this, Mary? A trinket to take home?” Lifting the gilded glass, the baroness angled the mirror so Mary could look into it.
Mary made no move, but her eyes did land upon the shining thing.
“Then I shall make it yours.”
Handing the object to the gypsy, Arabella set out to discuss price. But, her words stuttered, she stopped speaking entirely, staring down at the goods left on the table. There were so many things displayed from so many places. Even if the Romani were reviled, there was no keeping them out. Every English city saw them, where they moved amongst the lowest circles and were ignored by the highest.
As a girl, even Arabella had traveled to almost every corner of Britain. London, Bath... the places as an adult she feared to go. With a tightening in her chest, Arabella executed a half-hatched idea. Eyes back on the waiting trader, she said, “I’ll have the mirror. I will have everything upon your table if—”
“If?” The old woman grinned, hungry to make much needed coin.
A high-pitched greeting ended further negotiations. “How very brave you are, Lady Iliffe, bartering with a gypsy!”
Lilly waved her fan, breaking through the crowd to join her.
Forcing a smile, Arabella answered, “Good afternoon Miss Jenkins.”
As pretty as ever, Lilly began perusing the wares, knocking things about as she picked through odds and ends. “How much of this do you think was stolen?”
Arabella did not laugh in return. “If you find these goods beneath you, then perhaps you should move to a different stall.”
Undaunted by the lady’s reprimand, Lilly grew sly. “But you never know just what treasures the gypsies might possess.” Slender gloved fingers lowered into a box of tangled jewelry, a victorious smile upon an angelic face when she lifted out something truly unique. “And, it seems I have found something.”