Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(35)

A compassionate look came over Alicia's face. “Charles and I are your family, Tasia. We will do what we can to help you. I trust Lord Stokehurst has been kind?”

“He hasn't been unkind,” Tasia said cautiously.

“Good.” Alicia took her hands and pressed them hard. She glanced around the empty hall. “We'd better go back. There'll be a chance for us to talk later.”

Tasia let a minute or two pass before easing back into the parlor. Her fine brows quirked in surprise as she saw that Emma was seated at the clairvoyant's table. In spite of her father's warnings, Emma appeared to be spellbound by Madame Miracle. “Do you see anything?” Emma asked eagerly.

A pattern of colored stones had been laid out on the table. Madame Miracle studied them closely. “Ah,” she said, nodding over the stones as if the arrangement were of great significance. “It is all becoming clear. You were born with a rebellious spirit. You have strong emotions—perhaps too strong—but eventually all will come into balance. In time your gift for love will attract many people to you, all seeking to draw from your strength.” She paused and took Emma's hands, closing her eyes to concentrate harder.

“What about my future?” Emma prompted.

“I see a husband. A man from a foreign country. He will bring conflict…but with patience and forgiveness you will weave the opposing forces in your life into a circle of unity.” She opened her eyes. “You will be blessed with many children. A happy future, indeed.”

“What kind of foreigner will I marry?” Emma demanded. “French? German?”

“The spirits did not say.”

Emma frowned. “Could you ask them?” she urged.

Madame Miracle released her hands and shrugged prosaically. “That is all.”

“Drat,” Emma muttered. “Now I'll have to wonder every time I meet a foreigner.”

Stokehurst grinned and gestured for his daughter to return to him. “It's time for someone else to have a turn, sweet.”

“Miss Billings,” Emma said instantly. “I want to know what the spirits say about Miss Billings!”

Tasia blanched as Emma pointed to her. Seats creaked as everyone turned to look. Abruptly she was ripped from her privacy, becoming the object of strangers' eyes. More than two hundred people were staring at her. A cold sweat broke out all over her body. For a moment she was back in Russia, at the murder trial, people staring at her with rapacious curiosity. Panic swamped her. She shook her head, unable to make a sound.

Sinking deeper into the nightmare, she heard Lord Stokehurst's voice.

“Why not?” he asked softly. “Come here, Miss Billings.”

Four

Tasia shrank back against the wall. Murmurs rustled through the crowd. “Only the governess,” came a loud whisper, while someone else asked, “Why bother with her?”

Stokehurst pinned Tasia with a calculating stare. “Don't you want to know what your future holds?”

“My future is of no consequence to anyone, sir,” she said calmly, while her mind raced with worry. Stokehurst seemed to want to punish her for something. Why? What had she done to provoke him?

Emma glanced from her father to Tasia, her eager smile wavering as she apparently sensed that something was wrong. “It's quite fun, Miss Billings,” she said uncertainly. “Won't you give it a try?”

All at once Alicia Ashbourne rose from her chair. Anxiety made her voice taut. “I would like to have my fortune told. Let's not waste time on someone who's unwilling.”

“In good time, Lady Ashbourne,” Stokehurst said smoothly. “First we'll let the spirits have a go at our mysterious governess.”

Alicia sputtered objections as her husband Charles pulled her back to her seat. Rubbing her stiff hand between his, Charles tried to soothe her.

Iris Harcourt's face puckered in a frown. “Luke, there's no need to torment the child. If she doesn't want to, let her be.”

Stokehurst seemed not to hear her. His hard gaze was riveted on Tasia. “Come, Miss Billings. Don't keep us all waiting.”

“I would rather not—”

“I insist.”

He intended to have his way, no matter how much of a scene it caused. There was no escape. Tasia moved forward as if she were walking to the guillotine.

“Don't be afraid, child,” Madame Miracle said, waving her to the table. “Sit. Take the stones and warm them in your hand.”

Squaring her shoulders, Tasia reached the table and sat down. She was cornered. There was nothing to do but confront the situation head-on. She scooped up a fistful of the stones and clenched them tightly. Everyone was watching her. She felt their stares like knife points on her skin.

“Now,” Madame Miracle instructed, “let them drop through your fingers.”

Opening her hand, Tasia let the stones fall to the table. They rattled on the cloth-covered surface, some bouncing on uneven edges and scattering widely.

Looking troubled, the woman shook her head. She gathered the stones into a pile and put them back into the bowl. “It would be better if you tried again.”

“Why?” Tasia asked in a low tone, although she knew. It was a bad reading.

Madame Miracle shook her head and gestured for her to pick up the stones.