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  Lord and Lady Grantham had been disgraced when the news came out. No amount of cajoling from Tom and Fin could persuade them to believe that what she’d done was actually good. But when they saw the outpouring of love and support from those she’d helped, they’d had a change of heart. Perhaps their attitude toward their daughter would change going forward. Fin just hoped it wasn’t too late for Victoria to see how proud they were of her.

  The door to the courtroom banged open at the back, echoing loudly in the large chamber. A hush fell over the crowd as Justice Powell proceeded to the bench. Once he was settled, all eyes turned back to the doorway where Victoria was being led in by two guards.

  Fin’s heart ached at the sight of her. Clearly she hadn’t been eating well. Her skin sagged on her bones, and her gown—the same one she’d worn to the masquerade—hung far away from her body. Her usually shiny, luxurious hair was matted and dirty, and she looked as if she’d been rolling about in dirt. But she held her head high as she walked past her friends and loved ones, sparing a glance for no one as she made her way to the stand.

  One could have heard a pin drop in the vast room. Everyone sat on tenterhooks, waiting for the trial to begin. Sally slipped her hand into Fin’s, and he squeezed back, praying the girl wouldn’t have to watch another motherly figure in her life be lowered into the ground.

  “Miss Victoria Barclay,” the judge began, “you are brought here on the charges of sixty-seven accounts of highway robbery. How do you plead?”

  Victoria lifted her head high and rolled her shoulders back until she was standing straight as a soldier. “I plead guilty, Your Honor.”

  Shocked murmurs spread throughout the courtroom until the judge called everyone back to order.

  “Have you anything else to say?” Justice Powell asked her.

  “Only that I am not sorry. I did what I had to do, for the sake of those less fortunate, for those who have suffered fates worse than death because they didn’t have money or station. I am sorry, however, for the shame I have brought to my family. And I am sorry that I could not do more. It is my fervent prayer that after my death, others will carry the torch of goodwill to those in need.”

  Fin hadn’t cried since he was a boy, but hearing Victoria speak, hearing the bravery not just in her words, but in her voice, caused a lump to form in his throat. She was a woman like no other, and he loved her like he could never love anyone else.

  “Thank you, Miss Barclary,” Justice Powell said, and then he turned to Fin. “Lord Leyburn, I believe you have brought some witnesses here today to testify in favor of Miss Barclay, is that correct?”

  Victoria turned to look at him finally. Their eyes met. Hers were wide, as if she couldn’t quite believe he’d gone to any such lengths for her. If only she knew that he would go to one end of the earth and back just for a few more moments with her.

  “I have, Your Honor,” Fin said, surprised his voice worked at all just then. He motioned for the first witness to take the stand.

  A young woman by the name of Anna stepped forward, a small babe in her arms. “If it weren’t for Miss Barclay, Your Honor, I’m most certain my babe and I wouldn’t be here right now. She saved our lives when I was in labor. Her kindness will never be forgotten.”

  One by one they stepped forward and told their stories of how Victoria had helped them, either physically or monetarily. Tears glimmered on her cheeks as she listened to the accounts. After ten or so of the hundred and twelve, the judge declared that the jury had heard enough. But Fin wasn’t finished. He had something he needed to say.

  “Your honor, if I may?” he said, raising his hand as he stood from his seat. “I would like to make one final plea to the jury.”

  Justice Powell nodded and Fin stepped forward, closer to Victoria. He swallowed, knowing what he wanted to say, but having a hard time getting started with all these hundreds of people looking on.

  “I have known Victoria Barclay my entire life,” he began. “I was eight years old when she was born, and I remember holding her in my arms when she was a baby. I was there the first time she fell and scraped her hands and knees. I rushed to her side to make sure she was all right, only to be reminded that at the ripe age of four, she ‘was no shrinking violet.’ I remember thinking then that she was a bold and daring and incredibly unique creature.

  “But there was only one problem with having such bravado from such a young age: she never learned to ask for help. She took the weight of the world upon herself, always, not realizing that if she had only asked, others might have come to her aid.”

  He paused to take a breath and to get down on one knee before her. A collective gasp echoed through the chamber, but Fin paid them no mind. He cared only what Victoria thought of him in that moment.

  “Victoria Barclay, I think that I have loved you my entire life, but like a fool, I was too dense to realize it, or maybe just too stubborn to admit it. But I cannot deny it any longer. You are the most incredible woman I have ever known. You have sacrificed everything—even your own life—to take care of others. There are not many that can claim such a thing.

  “Victoria, I don’t know what the outcome of this trial will be, but I must tell you this now, before God and all of these people, that I love you. I love you with all my heart, with everything that I am. I cannot comprehend a world without you in it, but I will live peacefully knowing that I told you this today. And should the jury find you not guilty, it is my most fervent prayer that you would agree to live the rest of your life with me, as my wife.”

  Victoria was crying in earnest now, the tears dripping to the floor, just missing the tips of Fin’s boots. Everyone was waiting for her response, but Justice Powell was the one to finally demand an answer from her.

  “Well, Miss Barclay, what say you to this gentleman’s request?”

  Victoria fell to her knees without a word and collapsed into Fin’s arms. He held her tight, praying he would never have to let her go.

  It seemed an eternity before the jury returned from deliberation. In reality it was only a matter of minutes, but when the life of the woman one loves hangs in the balance, minutes can feel like days. But at long last, the judge announced there was a verdict.

  The room held its collective breath as Justice Powell opened his mouth to speak. “Miss Barclay, on the charges of sixty-seven accounts of highway robbery, you have been found…not guilty.”

  A roar rose up from the crowd, and Victoria dissolved into a puddle of tears on the stand. Fin went to her and gathered her in his arms. He lifted her off the ground and swung her in a circle, overjoyed that he would get to spend the rest of his life with her.

  Epilogue

  “Fin, where on earth are you taking me?” Victoria asked for what seemed like the hundredth time since they’d climbed aboard the carriage. The blindfold—lacking in eyeholes this time—prevented her from knowing anything about their location.

  “I told you, darling,” Fin said, “it’s a surprise.”

  “Yes, but couldn’t you give me just a little hint?”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. You are too curious, my dear. But don’t worry, we’re almost there. You won’t have to wait much longer.”

  True to his word, the carriage came to stop only minutes later. Fin led her out onto the street after checking to make sure her blindfold was firmly in place, with no opportunity for her to peek. She took his hand, firm and reassuring, and let him lead her about until they had apparently reached their destination. People whispered around her as they passed through rooms, but she still had no idea where they were.

  “My dearest Victoria,” Fin said, as he stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. “It is my deepest desire to never have you face the gallows again, and so this is my wedding present to you.”

  He tore off the mask, and Victoria blinked several times, trying to figure out what was going on. They were in some kind of sitting room. It was clean, perhaps just built even, with lots of windows and seating enough for twenty or mor
e people. But it was the walls that caught her attention. They were lined with paintings, clearly done by the same artist, and above the fireplace was a painting of her. It was life-sized, and so beautiful that she hardly recognized herself.

  “Fin,” she said a bit breathlessly, “where are we?”

  “This, my dear Vickie, is the Victoria Barclay Hospital for the Poor.”

  She turned abruptly to look at him. He couldn’t mean it. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you don’t have to sneak about to help people anymore. And you don’t have to rob anyone to fund it. That’s what the paintings are for.”

  “Fin, these are your life’s work. You can’t just sell them to fund my hospital.”

  “They are my life’s work, and therefore I can do whatever I bloody well want with them. And I’ve decided that twice a month we will hold auctions here, in this room. All proceeds will benefit the hospital.” He paused and turned to look at the painting of her over the fireplace. “Except that one. That particular piece is priceless. It’s the mask on the subject that makes it so.”

  Victoria looked up at her husband, still amazed that she could call him that now. “I love you, Phineas Dartwell,” she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “And I promise I will never do anything illegal again as long as I live.”

  “Well, thank God for that!” Fin kissed her then, and it was the sweetest, most wonderfully shocking kiss she’d ever known. Highway robbery couldn’t compete with the thrills she got from kissing the man she’d married.

  THE END

  The Gypsy Bride

  Daring Debutantes, Book 2

  Jerrica Knight-Catania

  This book is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, locations and events are either a product of the

  author’s imagination, fictitious or used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to any event, locale or person,

  living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The Gypsy Bride

  Copyright 2012 by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or part in any format.

  Cover design by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  For my critique partners, without whom I would be completely lost!

  You are too many to name, but you know who you are. I love you all!

  One

  Bianca Manning was no idiot. Though she was sure that’s what everyone else must have thought of her, if their behavior was any indication. Her parents, for instance, had arranged an agreement of marriage – her marriage – to one of the most odious men in all of England. No, make that in all the world.

  Surely now that was reason enough for all her friends to think she was an idiot–no woman in her right mind would agree to go through with such a marriage. But it wasn’t as though Bianca had a choice, was it? Her parents were set on the matter, so it didn’t much matter what Bianca had to say. Besides, they were certainly desperate enough to have her out of the house. Four daughters was quite a financial burden, and Bianca understood that. She wanted the best for her sisters, which was why she’d entertained the idea of marrying Tisbury in the first place. With her out of the way, Tempest, Verona and Robin could maybe, just maybe, marry for love and not money. But there had to be a better way to remove herself from the house than marrying that pathetic excuse for a man.

  Unfortunately, that man stood before her now. Tisbury must have thought her an idiot for sure, to think that she was going to offer up some kind of affection now that he’d lured her onto the balcony.

  Bianca punched her hands to her hips and glared at him. “You told me Miss Farnsworth was being led into a compromising position, yet she’s nowhere to be found, is she?”

  Lord Tisbury hemmed and hawed as he moved closer to her. “Perhaps we should go down to the gardens. I’m certain we’ll find her there.”

  “Be careful you don’t find yourself with a black eye, my lord.” Bianca brushed past him, eager to return to the party, but Tisbury grabbed her arm. She gasped, surprised at the amount of pressure he applied to the spot just above her elbow. “Leave me be.”

  The slimy smile never left his lips as he leaned in closer. “Now, now, my dear. You’ll want to learn a bit of respect for your future husband. We’ve many years ahead of us, and I don’t wish to spend them in turmoil.”

  “Then perhaps you should look for another bride.”

  He tightened his grip and gave her a jerk. “The papers have been signed, Bianca, and I’ll not renege. Now, step into the gardens with me.”

  “Or what? You’ll drag me there by my hair?”

  “Don’t underestimate me.”

  She would never. Tisbury had a temper, that much she knew.

  “You’re hurting me,” she finally said, opting to play the simpering miss instead of the obstinate shrew.

  His eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe her. Perhaps he wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

  “The lady said you’re hurting her,” came a deep voice from the doorway.

  Bianca and Tisbury both turned to find Viscount Hastings lighting up a cheroot as he sauntered onto the terrace. He looked dark and brooding out here in the moonless night, but Bianca had it on good authority that he was quite the doting husband and father.

  She would only be so lucky.

  “And still you clutch her arm in a vise grip,” the viscount continued.

  “She’s my fiancée,” Tisbury finally said, digging his chubby, unkempt fingers deeper into her flesh.

  Hastings held up a finger. “Ah! But not yet your wife. Therefore she still belongs to her parents, doesn’t she? I’m sure they’d love to hear how well you’re treating their daughter.”

  Part of Bianca wished Hastings would tell her parents about what a brute Tisbury was, but deep down she knew it probably wouldn’t make a difference. They’d suggest that she learn to deal with him, that marriage was never easy, and that she’d learn to love him as they had come to love one another.

  The only difference was that Papa was a sweet and gentle soul, and Mama a caring and kind-hearted person. Of course they learned to love one another—what wasn’t to love?

  Still, as gentle and kind-hearted as they may have been, they were driven by the fact that one less mouth to feed, clothe and send through another London Season would make their lives much easier.

  Thankfully, Tisbury was not privy to this information, and therefore, he released his grip on her arm and took a step away.

  Bianca shot a grateful smile toward Lord Hastings and then dashed through the open doors into the ballroom, intent on finding her sisters. She would need to enlist their help if she was to plan an escape from a lifetime of marriage to the odious baron.

  ~*~

  Thomas Barclay, the future Viscount Grantham, stood at the outer edge of the gaming hall watching the men who were once his friends squander their money away. A few years ago, he probably would have sat with them, just as thoughtlessly tossing his money into the proverbial chamberpot. However, two years abroad had taught him the value of money. Oh, and of course his sister, Victoria, the do-gooder that she was.

  He shook his head. Thank God she was married off now. He was certainly not qualified to keep up with her—or keep her out of jail. Too much time in the Jamaican sun made Tom realize that he preferred a more relaxed life, and his sister’s ways did not align with that.

  As a matter of fact, neither did gaming hells.

  He pushed off from the wall and pivoted on his heel, eager to get out of there, but a hand clapped to his shoulder before he could get very far.

  “Leaving so soon, Barclay?” His old friend Clifford Parks, Baron Tisbury, stood beside him, looking much uglier than he had two years ago.

  A valuable lesson in too much indulgence.

  Most men at this juncture would have made up an excuse: business to tend to, a whore to see, or a familial obligation. But Tom didn’t give a fig what anyone
thought of him anymore, so he often told the truth, much to the surprise of those around him. “I’m tired, and you lot bore me.”

  Clearly, Tisbury was too drunk—or maybe just too stupid—to recognize the truth. A wide smile broke out on his face just before he burst into laughter. “Always did have a rather wry sense of humor, Barclay. Some things never change.”

  Tom rolled his eyes. “Right. Well, I’ll just be off then.”

  He started to leave again, but Tisbury insisted he stay. “You can’t leave yet.” He moved in a bit closer. “I’ve a favor to ask of you.”

  Wonderful. Just what Tom was hoping for. “Go on,” he said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone.

  Tisbury nudged him behind a pillar. “I need your help, you see,” he began, his sour breath wafting on his loud whisper. “It’s my fiancée. She’s gone missing.”

  Tom wasn’t sure why, but his heart sped at this news. It was never good when anyone went missing, let alone a young woman. A woman who was probably his sister’s same age, perhaps one of her acquaintances even.

  Seeing that Tom’s interest was piqued, Tisbury carried on. “We’re set to be married in three week’s time, but no one has seen her since the Riley Ball two nights ago.”

  “Why not call for a runner? If she’s been abducted…” Tom trailed off when he saw Tisbury’s expression. A rather guilty expression, if you asked him.

  “It’s not for certain she was abducted,” he said.

  “You think she ran away?” Not surprising. Tom would run too if he was supposed to marry something as ugly and foul smelling as Clifford Parks.

  Tisbury nodded. “But I can’t understand why. She’s always been amenable to the marriage. Never said a peep to the contrary.”