Son of a rogue and a gypsy, Hero Fiennes Tiffin was a notorious rake until a shattering betrayal left him alone and embittered in the Welsh countryside. Desperation drives quiet schoolteacher Josephine Langford to ask Hero Fiennes Tiffin to help sav...
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Wales, 1791
Winter mists swirled about as they scaled the wall that enclosed the estate. The ghostly landscape proved empty of human life, and no one saw the intruders drop from the wall and make their way across the carefully tended grounds.
Softly Hero asked, "Will we steal a chicken here, Mama?"
His mother, Martha, shook her head. "Our business is more important than chickens."
The effort of speaking triggered a coughing spell, and she bent over, thin body shaking. Uneasy and distressed, Hero touched her arm. Sleeping under hedges was making the cough worse, and there had been little to eat. He hoped that soon they would return to the Romany kumpania, where there would be food and fire and fellowship.
She straightened, face pale but determined, and they continued walking. The only color in the winter scene was the garish purple of her skirt.
Eventually, they emerged from the trees onto a swath of grassy turf that surrounded a sprawling stone mansion. Awed, Hero said, "A great lord lives here?"
"Aye. Look well, for someday this will be yours."
He stared at the house, feeling an odd mixture of emotions. Surprise, excitement, doubt, and finally disdain. "The Rom do not live in stone houses that kill the sky."
"But you are didikois, half-blood. It is right that you live in such a place."
Shocked, he turned to stare at her. "No! I am tacho rat, true blood, not Gorgio."
"Your blood is true for both Rom and Gorgio." She sighed, her beautiful face drawn. "Though you have been raised as a Rom, your future lies with the Gorgios."
He started to protest, but she shushed him with a quick hand motion as hoofbeats sounded. They withdrew into the shrubbery and watched two riders canter up the driveway and halt in front of the house. The taller man dismounted and briskly climbed the wide stone steps, leaving his mount to the care of his companion.
"Fine horses," Hero whispered enviously.
"Aye. That must be the Earl of Westgate," Martha murmured. "He looks just as George said."
They waited until the tall man had gone inside and the groom had taken the horses away. Then Martha beckoned to Hero and they hastened across the grass and up the steps. The shiny brass doorknocker was shaped like a dragon. He would have liked to touch it, but it was too high.
Instead of knocking, his mother tried the doorknob. It turned easily and she stepped inside, Hero right on her heels. His eyes widened when he saw that they were in a marble-floored hall large enough to hold an entire Romany kumpania.
The only man in sight wore the elaborate livery of a footman. An expression of comical shock on his long face, he gasped, "Gypsies!" He grabbed a bellpull and rang for assistance. "Get out this instant! If you aren't off the estate in five minutes, you'll be turned over to the magistrate."
