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  Tom’s gut clenched and an aching he’d rather ignore grabbed onto his heart. Jamaica was waiting for him. Sun, warmth, sand—a simpler life, a happier life. A long, long way from Bianca. But what kind of brother would he be if he up and left now?

  At long last, he nodded. “If it keeps you in bed, then yes, I promise.”

  “All right, gentlemen,” the doctor said, packing up his instruments. “The lady needs her rest.”

  Dr. Simmons ushered them out of the room and then bid them adieu.

  “So, are you going?” Fin asked as they settled into his study.

  Tom accepted the tumbler full of brandy and threw it back in one swig. “How did you know I was planning to?”

  Fin shrugged. “It’s what I would do in your position.”

  “More, please.” Tom passed his glass back to Fin, who refilled it almost to the brim. After another large gulp, Tom finally answered, “No. I’m not going.”

  “Perhaps the gods are trying to tell you something.”

  “That they want me to freeze to death?”

  Fin laughed, but Tom didn’t see the humor in his words. It really was that bloody cold here.

  He passed his empty glass back to Fin for another refill. Perhaps if he drank enough, he wouldn’t feel the cold. The pain. The all-consuming loneliness that he felt in Bianca’s absence.

  Twenty-Three

  In all her years of dreaming about her wedding day, Bianca had never imagined this. Instead of a regal ceremony under the steeple at St. George’s, she would say her vows in the open air with nothing but blue skies above her. Instead of a silk gown trimmed with Belgian lace, she wore a simple white lace dress. And in place of a coronet, she wore her wavy hair in two long braids.

  Her mind wandered to Tom. What was he doing now? Did he know today was her wedding day?

  She hated to think of the hurt she’d caused him, hated to recall the pain in his eyes when they’d said goodbye just a few days ago.

  Music began outside, heralding the start of the ceremony.

  “Are you ready?” Father asked, poking his head inside the vardo where Bianca was getting ready with her sisters.

  “I’m ready, Father,” she replied.

  He stepped through the door and hunched down to fit inside. Father was a rather large man, both in height and in girth—he looked entirely out of place here. That thought brought a smile to Bianca’s face. After all that had happened, it meant so much that her parents were there to support her in her marriage to Emil.

  Her sisters scurried out of the vardo, and Father moved closer to her.

  “Are you sure you won’t marry in the parish?” he asked, but there wasn’t much hope in his tone. Clearly, he already knew the answer.

  “Isn’t it enough that you get to walk me down the aisle?”

  Father sighed and planted a kiss to her forehead. “You always were different than the others.”

  “We’re all different, Father,” Bianca returned with a laugh.

  “It would have been so much easier if you’d all been born with the same character and personality. Trying to figure you out is…”

  “Pointless.”

  Father nodded and gave a little chuckle. “I’ve decided to simply try and love you all to the best of my ability.”

  Bianca choked back her tears. “Don’t make me cry on my wedding day, Father.”

  He took her hand in his. “Come, your gypsy awaits.”

  Bianca was a bit nervous about the ceremony. She’d agreed to a gypsy tradition that seemed rather barbaric, but she wanted to prove—to herself and to her new family—that she was one of them. Or at least willing to try to be one of them.

  Emil waited for her by the bandolier. He wore a white shirt of gauzy cotton, open at the neck and tucked into a wide leather belt and loose black pants. Bianca couldn’t help but think of how different he looked than the usual groom.

  Though it wasn’t necessarily done in a gypsy wedding, her father still walked her down the aisle and reluctantly handed her off to Emil when they reached the bandolier.

  She’d never seen Emil smile so widely. It was infectious.

  The music stopped, and they turned to look at one another, taking each other’s hands.

  “My dear rinkini,” Emil began, “I do not ever want to know another day without you. You bring light and joy to my world—a world that, before you, seemed so dark and hopeless. I had vowed to never love again, but the day I found you, spying on my people–” He said this with a wink— “was the day I lost my heart. When you left, I prayed that God would take me so that my heart would stop aching. And the day you returned, I thanked Him for sparing me…and for bringing you back to me. I promise to love you and care for you every day, for the rest of our lives.”

  Bianca wasn’t sure she’d be able to say anything now, not with all the tears welling up within her. But she had to—it was her chance to profess to Emil, and to their world, what she felt for him.

  “I know,” she started but stopped to clear her throat of the lump that made her sound like an ill frog. “I know that I am not what you might have imagined for a wife—I’m certainly not what your mother imagined.” Adora raised her eyebrows and gave a little laugh. “I have learned much about your people in the last weeks, and I am well aware that your tribe may have looked unfavorably upon our union. I brought much heartache by coming here in the first place, and for that, I will forever be sorry.” She looked to Lyuba, who gave her a sad smile, then she turned back to Emil. “But the forgiveness they have shown me—the forgiveness you have shown me—is so very humbling and I am so undeserving of your love. But I would be a fool to turn my back on the only man I’ve ever truly loved.”

  Emil squeezed her hands and she moved even closer to him.

  “Emilian Carrol, I promise to love you and care for you for all the days of my life.”

  The bandolier produced a loaf of bread and pulled two pieces from it while Adora stepped forward to prick their fingers with a pin. Bianca flinched slightly at the prick, but the pain was fleeting. She and Emil dripped their blood onto small pieces of the bread and then fed each other. A symbol of their union, a combining of their blood.

  With the bread swallowed, Emil drew Bianca into his arms and kissed her soundly on the lips. The tribe erupted into cheers, the music began again and an onslaught of congratulatory hugs and kisses ensued.

  The braids she’d worn in her hair were removed by Adora and replaced with a scarf that she would wear from now on. She might have preferred a wedding ring, but she was happy to embrace the ways of her new people.

  The celebration went on for hours, and Emil informed her that it could indeed go on for days, even. Thankfully, they wouldn’t be forced to stay for the entire night. Not long after sundown, Bianca kissed her parents and sisters goodbye and walked with Emil to their vardo.

  “Where will your mother sleep?” she asked as they climbed the few steps to go inside.

  “Lyuba is rather lonely—I think she will enjoy having the company,” Emil replied.

  “You’re sure your mother doesn’t mind?”

  Emil smiled down at her and cupped her face in his hands. “I don’t want to talk about my mother right now.”

  “But—”

  He pressed his lips to hers, whether to shut her up or just because he was compelled to, she didn’t care. She didn’t really want to talk about his mother either.

  They tumbled into the vardo and began tearing the clothes from each other’s bodies. It had been too long in the coming. Bianca couldn’t wait anymore to truly know what it was like to be Emil’s wife.

  He kissed her and caressed her—everywhere. It was everything she dreamed it would be. Emil was gentle and slow, taking care to ensure her comfort at every turn.

  When it was over—when Bianca could finally breathe again after the unimaginable pleasure her husband had brought her—they lay side by side on the small bed in the vardo. His skin was warm where hers was cold, so she burrowed
into the nook of his arm and pressed her ear to his chest. The steady beat of his heart was so comforting—it spoke to her, told her everything was just as it should be.

  “Emil,” she said into the darkness, “are you awake?”

  “My heart is still racing like a thoroughbred. I won’t sleep for a while.”

  Bianca’s lips turned up and she tipped her head back so she could look at him. She couldn’t make out his features, but the silhouette of his jaw told her he was smiling too.

  “I have a gift for you.”

  “That isn’t necessary, rinkini.”

  “It is. I want to do things the Roma way…but I also want you to wear something that connects you to my people.”

  Emil pushed himself up so he was leaning against the wall and Bianca leaned over the edge of the bed to pull the tiny box from its hiding place. Silently, she handed him the box. When he opened it, the gold ring caught the little sliver of moonlight that filtered into the vardo.

  “A ring,” he said quietly.

  “I know you already wear many rings, but this will be the only wedding ring you wear.”

  He pulled the simple gold band from the box, but Bianca reached out to take it from him.

  “May I?”

  Emil smiled and nodded his head. Bianca took his hand in hers and tried to slip the ring onto his ring finger. Unfortunately, she’d guessed the size wrong.

  They both laughed and in the end, she slipped it onto his pinky finger.

  “There,” she said. “I’d say that’s close enough, wouldn’t you?”

  Emil caught her around the waist and pulled her to him again. She accepted his caresses, his kisses, and silently thanked God for sparing his life. And for bringing them together again.

  “It’s perfect,” he said, pulling away from her. “And it will be the only ring I wear from now on.”

  She stared up at him, into his beautiful face. “I love you, Emil.”

  “And I love you, rinkini.” He settled her against his side, squeezing her tightly to him. “My beautiful gypsy bride.

  Epilogue

  Though they’d agreed on spending only six months with the tribe before attempting life in London, Bianca and Emil had stayed with the tribe through the long, difficult winter. There had been plenty of times that Bianca had wished for a cozy parlor and a roaring fire, but now that she’d survived without those things for nine whole months, she felt rather proud of herself. How many girls of her station would have broken down and run home to their families? Most of them, she guessed.

  But one thing kept her warmer than any cozy parlor ever could: her undying love for Emil.

  She smiled at him from across the carriage. He looked so different—as out of place as Tom had looked when he’d dressed up in gypsy clothing to come and find her. Emil wore his hair slicked back into a tight queue, a starched white cravat around his neck and tailored black evening clothes.

  She took back her earlier thought. While he looked different and out of place, Tom had looked utterly preposterous in his costume. Emil looked devastatingly handsome. Part of Bianca wished they didn’t have to attend tonight’s function, but seeing as it was Robin’s coming out, they didn’t have much of a choice. She wouldn’t miss this for the world. Not after almost a year of not seeing her family.

  “Are you nervous?” she asked Emil. It was obvious he was, the way he bit the inside of his cheek and rapped his fingers furiously on the carriage seat.

  “Only a little more than I’d be walking into a den of hungry lions.”

  Bianca laughed and moved to sit beside him. Emil relaxed a bit and pulled her closer.

  “Perhaps we could just stay in the carriage all evening,” he suggested with a seductive growl.

  Bianca swatted at him. “Didn’t you get enough this afternoon?”

  “Never enough, rinkini.”

  The carriage door swung open revealing a waiting footman. Bianca hadn’t even realized they’d stopped.

  She grabbed Emil’s hands in hers and gave them a squeeze. “Are you ready?”

  “Not at all,” he replied. “But I’m not sure that matters.”

  “It doesn’t.” She laughed and went ahead of him to alight the carriage. Butterflies flitted about in her stomach. She wasn’t sure she was entirely ready, either. But she so desperately wanted to see her family again.

  The reunion was everything she hoped it would be. Her sisters attacked her with exuberant hugs and tears, her parents kissed and embraced her as if it had been a lifetime, and they all welcomed Emil with open arms.

  Not everyone in attendance was as welcoming of him, but Bianca did her best to ignore the rude looks of disgust and distrust. She wouldn’t let the ignorant ruin her evening.

  After what seemed like their hundredth dance, Bianca left Emil in the company of her father and dashed off to the necessary. As she rounded a corner on her way, she ran smack into a hard body, knocking her back a few paces. When she regained her wits, she looked up to make her apologies, but lost all powers of speech when she saw who stood before her.

  “Tom,” she whispered.

  He cocked a sideways glance at her and raised an eyebrow. “Well, isn’t this my lucky day,” he drawled.

  He was drunk. Bianca could practically smell the alcohol rolling off of him. She wanted to be polite and say that it was good to see him, but really, it wasn’t. He looked like Hell. His hair was disheveled, his clothes askew—clearly he hadn’t shaved in days. Or bathed.

  A woman—widow, if her black mourning garb was any indication—came out of a door just down the way from them, pulling on her gloves and primping her hair. As she approached, she wore a satisfied smile. She nodded her head toward Bianca and cast a backward glance for Tom as she sauntered away.

  Tom looked after her, lust in his eyes.

  Bianca might have felt jealousy, once, long ago. But now she only felt pity. What had happened to him? To the man she’d once nearly fallen in love with? The man who had so selflessly and generously offered to marry and protect her?

  The silence grew more and more awkward, until finally, she offered the pleasantries that had at first halted in her throat. “It’s nice to see you, Tom.”

  ~*~

  Tom watched her walk away—the only woman he’d ever loved—hating that it still hurt so damn much after so damn long. He’d thought all his drinking and whoring would have made things easier. He definitely thought he’d drunk enough to survive this night that his sister insisted he be a part of.

  Damn her.

  Damn her and that five-month-old bundle of joy.

  He shook his head. He didn’t really mean that. He loved Victoria and that bundle of joy. Lily was the most precious thing he’d ever set eyes on. At least for now. One day she’d grow up to break hearts and drive men mad, just like Bianca had done to him.

  Maybe one day he’d find a woman who would replace Bianca in his heart, help him see the light again, give him renewed hope and faith in the female species.

  But in the meantime, there was only one way to make sure his heart stopped hurting and his head stopped remembering, so once again, he found his way to a bottle of rum.

  The End

  The Stage Bride

  Daring Debutantes, Book 3

  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 Stage Bride

  Copyright 2013 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

  Praise for The Robber Bride, Daring Debutantes, Book 1—

  "An enjoyable afternoon's divertissement…that I couldn't pu
t down."

  -June J. McInerney, Literary Blogger

  Praise for The Gypsy Bride, Daring Debutantes, Book 2—

  “Keeps you wondering the outcome, then when you think you know how it will end, she'll hand you a surprise!”

  -Dee Foster, Amazon

  For my daughter—

  Your free spirit and bravery, even at such a young age, inspires me every day! May you grow up to be as kind-hearted and courageous as the young ladies within these pages.

  One

  Spring, 1827

  “This is absolutely the most preposterous idea you’ve ever had, Amelia!”

  Amelia Harding turned from her rickety old writing desk to level a pointed glare at her best friend and schoolmate, Margaret Pickering, whose blue eyes were round with fright. The sunlight filtered into their small, shared room, accentuating the dust that lingered in the air.

  “Don’t be such a ninny, Meg,” Amelia replied. “I need your support in this—I can’t have you going soft on me now.”

  “But what if Ms. Denby finds out? What if you’re caught? Or…”

  “Nothing is going to happen.” Amelia stood and crossed to where her friend sat on the edge of her bed. It creaked under her weight as she took both of Meg’s hands in hers. “I know what I’m doing.”

  Meg gave her a look that said she clearly did not believe her. “You’ve never even been to London. Not even once. What will you do to survive?”

  Amelia patted her friend’s bright red head, as if she were a child who needed reassuring. “I’ve already told you. I’ll go straight to Drury Lane. Even if I can’t secure an audition straightaway, I’m sure they’ll give me something to do. I know how to sew, and I know how to fix hair and apply face paint. Surely I can make myself useful for them.”