Page 89 of Earl on the Run (The Duke's Estates 2)

“Necessarily?”

“Most often not,” she replied.

“Well, that’s reassuring.” He sounded flip and sarcastic and feared he might have offended her.

But the old woman merely surveyed the three upturned cards. “Draw one more,” she commanded.

Partly to humor her and partly to expunge the last picture, he did so, turning it over himself as he chose. On this one, two people stood close together under a large, many-rayed sun disk.

“Le Soleil,” said Mistress Elena. Samia forgot herself and clapped her hands. “The Sun indicates warmth and success,” continued the old woman. “All will be well for you in the end.”

Jack didn’t see how. And fortune-tellers always predicted happiness and riches and justice, didn’t they? How else would they stay in business? And what was “the end” anyhow? Old age? That didn’t help much right now. But he didn’t say these things to her.

“You don’t believe,” said Mistress Elena.

“Not really. I’m sorry.”

She merely smiled, myriad wrinkles shifting across her face. She restacked the cards and wrapped them away again. Then she pointed over Jack’s shoulder. “A visitor for you.”

His heart leaped, thinking of the times Harriet had sought him here. But when he turned, he saw her mother standing uncertainly at the edge of the camp. Mrs. Finch looked small and pinched and nervous about her surroundings.

Jack rose and went to greet her.

“One of your gardeners saw you come this way,” she said. She looked around as if wondering why.

“Is something wrong?” Jack saw she was wringing her hands.

“Sarah said… Shewouldn’tsay really. You and Harriet haven’t quarreled?”

Mrs. Finch seemed terrified by the prospect, which seemed excessive. Jack was not inclined to tell her what had happened. Let her daughter explain her conduct.

“All is well between you?” the woman added. “I had to come and see. Even though…” She looked around the camp as if she might be accosted at any moment. “Harriet is behaving so strangely lately.”

“Is she?” Jack didn’t know whether he was glad or sorry to hear it. “How so?”

“First she’s sharp-tongued. Then she mopes. She was rude to my father about the ball. Iwishshe would not provoke him.”

Jack suspected it was difficult not to, from what he’d seen of Mr. Winstead.

The hand-wringing had returned. “Papa is so very happy about this match. Things have been so much easier.”

That would soon end, Jack noted. He was sorry for her, but it was not his fault.

“I thought all was well, with Harriet’s affections engaged in a match he approves.” She frowned at him. “Nothing must go wrong!”

But Jack had been transfixed by one word. “Affections?”

“What?” Harriet’s mother looked confused.

“You said her affections were engaged.”

“Of course.”

“You seem certain.”

Mrs. Finch peered up at him, her face creased with worry. “Is this the trouble? I know my daughter, my lord. I can assure you they are.”

Jack felt a tendril of—not hope, but speculation.

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