In Need of a Duke (The Heart of a Duke 0.5)

In Need of a Duke (The Heart of a Duke 0.5)

Christi Caldwell




Prologue


1805





Lady Aldora Adamson really supposed she should be attending her friends’ excited chattering with a bit more attention. But then, when one’s world hung in a very precarious place, well then the sight of a man spewing fire like a demon, and swallowing swords seemed so very silly.

“You seem rather distracted,” Valera said, bringing her back to the moment. “Are you paying attention, Aldi?”

And here Aldora had thought she’d giggled and chatted at all the right moments today.

“Er, yes,” she lied. She supposed she should be more grateful at the invite issued her family by the Marquess of St. Aidans’ but it seemed rather hard to be anything other than terrified when thinking about the trouble Father had wrought upon their household.

Her friend snorted. “No, you aren’t. We were talking about Elle’s betrothal to Langley.”

“Must you continue to spoil my fun,” Eleanor groused. “I’d rather not think on Langley tonight.”

The four girls looked to Aldora almost expectantly. Her mind spun as she tried to come up with any suitable response. She took Elle by the arm. “I agree. The very idea of marriage and Langley makes my skin crawl.”

“Aldora!” Valera frowned.

Aldora lifted her shoulders in a desperate shrug. “It is just that he’s…” A powerful duke. “He’s…” Her friends continued to stare. Wealthy. “He’s so old,” she finished lamely.

Her response set off a whole flurry of discussion on Langley’s age, and somehow Elle’s brother, and well…Aldora just welcomed the diversion.

She continued to trail along behind her friends, past colorful tents, and vibrantly attired gypsies.

Then her friends drew to a stop. Aldora bumped into Charlotte’s back. “Forgive me,” she murmured.

Valera spun to face her. A smile wreathed her face. “We are going to have our fortune’s told.”

“Our fortunes told?” She detected the heavy skepticism in her own question.

“Oh, yes,” Valera said on a nod.

Elle poked her head inside a nearby tent. “This is the fortune-teller tent, isn’t it?”

Aldora glanced up and bit back the urge to point out the sign hanging on a post above that read “Fortune-Teller”.

A young gypsy woman peeked her head from outside the tent, and the girls jumped backwards. However, she only waved them forward. “Come in. I am Nadya.”

The girls shuffled inside with varying levels of enthusiasm.

Nadya motioned to the old woman seated on the floor. The old, serious-faced gypsy woman greeted them. “Come in, chav,” she urged when they hovered at the entrance of the tent. “I am known to the gypsies here as Bunic?. And I will tell your future.”

Aldora didn’t need a fortune-teller to know that her family was one step from financial ruin, and certain disaster.

Eleanor marched head held high deeper into the tent. “I already know my future, but everyone should be able to boast about having had her fortune read at least once.”

The old gypsy smiled and urged the others closer

“Perhaps you will be,” the gypsy paused, “surprised,” Her gaze lingered a moment on Aldora, and then returned to Eleanor. “Eleanor,” the woman finished.

In spite of herself, Aldora’s eyes widened. A chill stole down her spine. For an infinitesimal moment, before she’d gone and directed her attention toward Eleanor, it had seemed as though the old gypsy spoke directly to Aldora.

“How does she know Elle’s name?” Charlotte whispered.

Valera shot a look in Charlotte’s direction. “She is magic. That’s how she knows her name.”

Lady Eleanor pursed her lips, obviously doubtful of Bunic?’s powers. “Papa has paid for their services. Everyone knows who I am.”

Envy tugged at Aldora’s insides. There had been a time when she too had been confident in her own Father’s wealth and power. The dream of that life had disappeared as quick as one could utter the word faro.

The young gypsy woman, Nadya, glowered at Eleanor, as though offended by the girl’s pomposity.

“I have magic, too, and I will use it to decipher all of your names.”

Aldora would far prefer the kind of magic that could convert a pence into the fortune Father had lost at cards, but still, feigned an appropriate level of awe and interest in the exchange between the young gypsy and Eleanor.

“Very well then.” The arching of Lady Eleanor’s delicate brow demanded Nadya show her proof.

The woman’s jaw hardened. Then, she placed her fingers against her temples, closed her eyes, and began humming and swaying.

Aldora pointed her eyes to the ceiling of the tent. Surely her friends didn’t believe…

“What is she doing?”

“Shh.”

Yes, it appeared from Charlotte’s questioning, they did believe this great act.

Nadya snapped her eyes open. She pointed a finger at Valera. The bangles on her wrist jangled like chimes. “I see a letter.”

Charlotte hurried to the pillows and plopped beside Lady Eleanor. “What letter is it?”

“There is no such thing as magic,” her sister mumbled and came to sit too.