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He is a man of honor.

With a longing so strong it rivaled physical pain, she wished her grandmother was here.Vangie adored Yvette; they were as close as sisters. But she needed her grandmother right now. Puri Daj would know what to do about this calamity.

She fingered the shawl’s fringe and permitted herself a skeptical twisting of her lips. Puri Daj must have known something of this nature was going to occur, hence the mystifying warning.

Grandmother had been mysterious during her last visit. More than once Vangie caught her grandmother studying her with an unnerving glint in her eye. Though a devout Christian, Puri Daj wouldn’t disavow her gypsy heritage. Or the inexplicable gifts she possessed because of her birthright.

“God made the Roma too,” the elder gypsy princess often said with a shrug of her shoulders.

Vangie felt herself fortunate to be as close to her unconventional Romani relatives as she was. Aunt Eugenia and Uncle Percival tolerating the twice-yearly visits was nothing short of astonishing, considering their low opinion of the Roma. They’d never once argued against the visitations, although their noses turned up and their eyes narrowed when Puri Daj came to call.

It was most convenient the Travelers always journeyed near Brunswick, typically for a short stay in early winter and an extended duration in the late spring or early summer. Vangie cherished the close relationship she shared with her father’s Roma family. Each year, she stayed in their encampment for a few weeks before they moved on.

Puri Daj had agreed to allow Vangie to live with the current baronet and his wife, as long as her visitations were honored. The arrangement was part of the complicated terms of Vangie’s father’s will. She had long suspected Uncle Gideon padded Uncle Percival and Aunt Eugenia’s pockets handsomely to ensure that particular stipulation was honored.

Vangie cocked her head. What was that commotion in the hallway? She ventured to the French windows.

Yvette, Aunt Adélaid, and a pair of lady’s maids bustled into the room, their arms overflowing. Yvette laid aside the flowers she carried, then embraced her. “We’ve brought you breakfast, dearest, and after you bathe, we’ll help you dress for your wedding.”

Despite her doldrums, Vangie gawked in slack-jawed astonishment as she stood in the grand entry of Lady…Fitsribbon’s? opulent mansion. At the dame’s insistence, the wedding ceremony was to commence at an unfashionable four o’clock in the afternoon in her ladyship’s drawing room.

Vangie would’ve rather it took place in Uncle Gideon’s study, or a prison, with none present but the cleric, her uncle, and the reluctant groom. She didn’t even want Aunt Adélaid or Yvette in attendance. In her mind, this wasn’t a joyous occasion in the least, but rather a sentencing. A life-long, irreversible imposition of punishment for two convicted of a crime they’d not committed.

The resplendent foyer, and what she could see of the rest of the manor, teemed with enormous bouquets of flowers and floral swags in every imaginable color. She half expected to hear bees buzzing as butterflies and birds fluttered from flower to flower.

She closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet, perfumed air. Every hothouse in London must’ve relinquished its blooms for the occasion.

“There you are, my dears.”

Vangie turned to see Lady—blast, why couldn’t she remember the woman’s name?— emerging from an adjoining room.

“Do come along. Ian and the others are already assembled in the drawing room.” The matron gestured toward a room at the end of the magnificent hall.

Others? What others?

No one mentioned anyone else being present. Vangie sent a panicked glance to Aunt Adélaide who offered a wan smile but shrugged her shoulders.

She doesn’t know either?

“Thank you, Lady Fitzgibbons,” Uncle Gideon said. He took her arm and escorted her through the double doors. Was he afraid she might yet bolt?

Too late for that now.

She would do this. She must do this. She squeezed the spray of flowers she held so tightly, the stems nearly snapped. Lord, how can I do this?

From across the room, Vangie met Lord Warrick’s gaze. Had he been watching the door? She trembled when his cool assessment slowly traveled over her. A tingling followed the route of his eyes, settling in her bosom when his focus lingered there before rising to meet hers once more.

With a sardonic twist of his firm mouth, he turned to speak to the cleric.

She glanced at her gown. She wore the same silver confection she’d worn to that inauspicious ball. She’d refused to purchase a new gown. “It would be a sorry waste of funds,” she’d told Aunt Adélaid.

A lovely bridal bouquet and hair wreath of peach-tinted roses, orange blossoms, and ivy, had been created from the pile of flowers Yvette had toted into her room this morning. One of the lady’s maids—Dora? Cora? Flora? Vangie had no idea what her name was—had spent an entire hour arranging her hair into an elaborate Grecian coiffure, the wreath carefully pinned atop.

A pearl and diamond pendant graced her neck and matching drop earrings hung from her ears. The lovely set was her wedding gift from Uncle Gideon and Aunt Adélaid. As her aunt draped the necklace around her neck Vangie asked, “Don’t pearls signify tears?”

“Ah, yes, but it’s good luck for a bride to cry on her wedding day and,” Aunt Adélaid dangled one of the earrings to catch the sunlight, “diamonds mean affection.”

Vangie fingered the large pearl resting against her chest. She’d wager there were far more tears than affection as a result of this union.