Scandal in Spring (Wallflowers #4)(74)

“A fortune for the lady, sir?” the woman asked Matthew.

Glancing at Daisy, Matthew raised a sardonic brow.

She grinned, knowing full well he had no patience with mysticism, superstitions, or anything to do with the supernatural. He was far too practical to believe in things that couldn’t be proved by empirical evidence.

“Just because you don’t believe in magic,” Daisy told him playfully, “doesn’t mean it can’t happen. Don’t you want a little peek into the future?”

“I’d prefer to wait until it gets here,” came his dour reply.

“Only a shilling, sir,” the fortune-teller pressed.

Matthew heaved a sigh as he shifted his packages and reached inside his pocket. “This shilling,” he told Daisy, “would be better spent at the booths, on a hair ribbon or a smoked chub.”

“Coming from someone who threw a five-dollar piece into the wishing well—”

“Making a wish had nothing to do with it,” he said. “I only did that to get your attention.”

Daisy laughed. “And so you did. But—” she glanced at him significantly, “—your wish came true, didn’t it?” Taking the shilling, she transferred it to the fortune-teller. “What is your method of divination?” she asked the woman blithely. “Do you have a crystal ball? Do you use tarot cards or read palms?”

For an answer, the woman took a silver-backed looking glass from the waist of her skirts and handed it to Daisy. “Look at your reflection,” she intoned solemnly. “It is the gateway to the world of spirits. Keep staring—don’t look away.”

Matthew sighed and raised his gaze heavenward.

Obediently Daisy stared at her own expectant reflection, seeing the torchlight flicker across her features. “Are you going to stare into it too?” she asked.

“No,” the fortune teller replied. “I only need to see your eyes.”

Then…silence. Farther along the street, people sung May carols and beat drums. Staring into her own eyes, Daisy saw tiny gold glints of reflected light, like sparks wafting upward from a bonfire. If she looked hard enough, long enough, she could half-convince herself the silvered glass really was the gateway to some mystical world. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she could actually feel the intensity of the fortune-teller’s concentration.

With an abruptness that startled Daisy, the woman took the looking glass from her hands. “No good,” she said tersely. “I can see nothing. I will give your shilling back.”

“No need,” Daisy replied in bemusement. “It’s not your fault if my spirit is opaque.”

Matthew’s voice was so dry one could light a match off it. “We’ll be just as happy if you’d make up something,” he told the woman.

“She can’t make up something,” Daisy protested. “That would be abusing her gift.”

Studying the fortune-teller’s corrugated features, Daisy thought she seemed sincerely disgruntled. She must have seen or thought something that had bothered her. Which was probably a good indication to leave well enough alone. But if she didn’t find out what it was, Daisy knew herself well enough to be certain the curiosity would drive her mad.

“We don’t want the shilling back,” she said. “Please, you must tell me something. If it’s bad news, I would be better off knowing, wouldn’t I?”

“Not always,” the woman said darkly.

Daisy drew closer to her, until she could smell a sweet odor of figs, and some herbal essence…bay leaves? Basil? “I want to know,” she insisted.

The fortune-teller gave her a long, considering glance. Finally she spoke with great reluctance. “Sweet the night a heart was given, bitter turns the day. A promise made in April…a broken heart in May.”

A broken heart? Daisy didn’t like the sound of that.

She felt Matthew come up behind her, one hand settling at Daisy’s waist. Although she couldn’t see his expression, she knew it was sardonic. “Will two shillings inspire something a little more optimistic?” he asked.

The fortune-teller ignored him. Tucking the handle of the looking glass at her waist, she said to Daisy, “Make a charm of cloves tied in cloth. He must carry it for protection.”

“Against what?” Daisy asked anxiously.

The woman was already striding away from them. Her opulently hued skirts moved like river reeds as she headed to the crowd at the end of the street in search of more business.

Turning to Matthew, Daisy glanced up at his impassive face. “What could you need protection from?”

“The weather.” He held his hand palm upward, and Daisy realized that a few fat, cold raindrops had splashed on her head and shoulders.

“You were right,” she said, brooding over the ominous fortune. “I should have gone for the smoked chub instead.”

“Daisy…” His free hand slid behind the nape of her neck. “You didn’t believe that load of nonsense, did you? That crone has memorized a few verses, any one of which she’ll recite for a shilling. The only reason she gave us an ill omen was because I didn’t pretend to believe in her magic looking-glass.”

“Yes, but…she seemed genuinely sorry.”

“There was nothing genuine about her, or anything she said.” Matthew drew her closer, regardless of who might see them. As Daisy looked up at him, a raindrop spattered on her cheek, and another near the corner of her mouth. “It wasn’t real,” Matthew said softly, his eyes like blue midnight. He kissed her strongly, urgently, right there on the public street with the taste of rain absorbed between their lips. “This is real,” he whispered.