Thunder & Roses

Prologue

Martha took Hero's hand in hers. "We're here to see the Earl. I have something of his."

"Something you stole?" the footman sneered. "You've never been that close to him. Be gone with you."

"No! I must see him."

"Not bloody likely," the footman snarled as he advanced.

Martha waited until he was close, then darted to one side.

Swearing, the servant swerved and made a futile grab at the interlopers. At the same time, three more servants appeared, summoned by the bell pull.

Fixing a fierce gaze on the men, Martha hissed with practiced menace, "I must see the Earl! My curse will be on any man who tries to stop me."

The servants stopped dead in their tracks. Hero almost laughed aloud at their expressions. Though she was only a woman, Martha easily baffled and frightened the Gorgios. Hero was proud of her. Who but a Rom could wield such power with mere words?

His mother's hand tightened on his and they backed away, deeper into the house. Before the servants could shake off their fear, a deep voice boomed,

"What the devil is going on?"

Tall and utterly arrogant, the earl strode into the hall. "Gypsies," he said with disgust. "Who allowed these filthy creatures to come inside?"

Martha said baldly, "I have brought your grandson, Lord Westgate. George's son-the only grandchild you will ever have."

The room went dead silent as the earl's shocked gaze moved to Hero's face. Martha continued, "If you doubt me ..."

After a shaken moment, the Earl said, "Oh, I'm willing to believe this revolting brat might be George's-his parentage is written on his face." He gave Martha the hot, hungry look that Gorgio men often gave women of the Rom. "It's easy to see why my son would bed you, but a Gypsy bastard is of no interest to me."

"My son is no bastard." Martha fished into her bodice and brought out two grubby folded papers. "Since Gorgios set great store on papers, I kept the proof-my marriage lines and the record of Hero's birth."

Lord Westgate glanced impatiently at the documents, then stiffened. "My son married you?"

"Aye, he did," she said proudly. "In a Gorgio church as well as in the way of the Rom. And you should be glad he did, old man, for now, you have an heir. With your other sons dead, you will have no other."

Expression savage, the earl said, "Very well. How much do you want for him? Will fifty pounds do?"

For an instant, Hero saw rage in his mother's eyes. Then her expression changed, becoming cunning. "A hundred gold guineas."

The lord took a key from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to the oldest servant. "Get it from my strongbox."

Hero laughed aloud. Speaking in Romany, he said, "This is the finest scheme ever, Mama. Not only have you convinced this stupid old Gorgio that I am of his blood, but he is willing to give you gold! We will feast for the next year. When I escape tonight, where shall I meet you-maybe by the old oak tree that we used to get over the wall?"

Martha shook her head and replied in the same language. "You must not run away, Hero. The Gorgio truly is your grandfather, and this is your home now." Briefly, her fingers fluttered through Hero's hair. For a moment he thought she would say more, for she could not possibly mean what she had said.

The servant returned and handed Martha a jingling leather purse. After expertly evaluating the contents, she raised her outer skirt and tucked the purse into a pocket in her petticoat. Hero was shocked at her action-didn't these Gorgios know that she had contaminated them, made them marhime, by raising her skirt in their presence? But they were oblivious to the insult.

She gave Hero one last stare, and there was a wildness in her eyes. "Treat him well, old man or my curse will follow you beyond the grave. May I die tonight if this is not so."

She turned and walked away across the polished floor, her layered skirts swirling. A servant opened the door for her. Inclining her head like a princess, she stepped outside.

With sudden horror, Hero realized that his mother was serious-she truly did mean to leave him with the Gorgios. He raced after her, screaming, "Mama, Mama!"

Before he could reach her, the door swung shut in his face, trapping him in the sky-killing house. As he grabbed the knob, a footman caught him around the waist. Hero kneed the man in the belly and clawed at the pale Gorgio face. The servant bellowed and another came to help.

Feet and fists flailing, Hero yelled, "I am Rom! I won't stay in this ugly place!"

The Earl frowned, revolted by the display of raw emotion. Such behavior must be beaten out of the brat, along with every other trace of his Gypsy blood. George had also been wild and spoiled by his doting mother. It was the news of George's death that had brought on the apoplexy that had turned the countess into the living corpse that she was now.

Harshly the Earl ordered, "Take the boy to the nursery and clean him up. Burn those rags and find something more suitable."

It took two men to subdue the boy. He was still wailing for his mother as they carried his thrashing figure up the stairs.

His face a bitter mask, the Earl looked again at the documents that proved that the dusky little heathen was the Earl's only surviving descendant.

Hero Fiennes Tiffin, according to the registration of his birth. It was impossible to doubt the bloodlines; if the boy weren't so skinny, he might almost have been George at the same age.

But dear God, a Gypsy! A skinny, foreign-looking, green-eyed Gypsy. Seven years old and as adept at lying and thievery as he was ignorant of civilized living. Nonetheless, that ragged, filthy creature was the heir to Westgate.

Once the Earl had prayed desperately for an heir, never dreaming that his prayers would be answered in such a way. Even if his invalid countess died and left him free to remarry, the sons of a second wife would be superceded by that Gypsy brat.

As he thought, his fingers clenched on the papers. Perhaps, if he was ever able to remarry and have more sons, something could be done. But meanwhile, he must make the best of the boy. Reverend Langford, the Methodist preacher in the village, could teach Hero reading and manners and the other basics required before he could be sent to a proper school.

The Earl turned on his heel and entered his study, slamming his door against the anguished cries of "Mama! Mama! Mama!" that echoed sorrowfully through the halls of Westgate.