It was not possible.
It was utterly absurd.
There was no doubt a reasonable explanation to all the seeming mystery if only she could force herself to think coherently, she tried to tell herself over and over.
But she could not manage to rid herself of the awful sense that there was far more to Gideon than just another arrogant man of leisure.
Weary of wondering if she were perhaps on her way to Bedlam, Simone waited for the door to open before she entered the foyer and handed her parasol and gloves to the servant.
If a drive would not ease her troubled thoughts, then perhaps a relaxing afternoon in the privacy of her garden would help.
Stepping toward the mirror to smooth the long curls she had pulled back with a simple ribbon, she had barely managed to raise her hands when Daisy came charging into the foyer with a flushed countenance.
“My lady,” she breathed in obvious excitement.
Startled, and not a little alarmed, Simone turned to regard her servant with a worried gaze.
“Good heavens, Daisy, what is the matter?”
“You must come and see what has arrived,” the girl breathed with an impatient wave of her hand.
Regaining command of her jumping nerves, Simone chided herself for her hasty flare of fear. Botheration. She had been certain that the house had been invaded, or perhaps worse. Now it appeared there was nothing more alarming than the usual gifts that arrived daily from her admirers.
“Yes, yes.” She returned her attention to the mirror. “I will be along in a moment.”
Disappointed, the maid dipped a curtsy. “Very good, my lady.”
Straightening the neckline of her shimmering buttercup gown, Simone at last turned to make her way up the stairs toward the front parlor. It would be there that the housekeeper would have distributed the various flowers and tiny gifts that would have arrived that morning.
She possessed little interest in the offerings, but the servants enjoyed preening over her success. Stepping into the elegant room she swiftly noted Daisy standing beside the settee and the housekeeper standing by the heavy chimneypiece with her hands upon her hips.
“Now, what was it you wished me to see, Daisy?” she demanded before her mouth abruptly dropped open in shock. Piled upon the far sofa and numerous chairs were long lengths of shimmering cloth. Satin, silk, cambric, wool, muslin and velvet glowed in the late afternoon sunlight, along with ribbons and delicate lace in all colors. “Oh.”
Nearly hopping up and down in her excitement Daisy clapped her hands together.
“Mr. Ravel’s footman arrived earlier this morning to deliver these.”
Gideon?
Thoroughly bemused, Simone moved across the room with a shake of her head.
Of course, she should have guessed from the moment she caught sight of the expensive fabric, she acknowledged as she ran her hand over the swathe of satin in a rich ruby color. Who else was aware of her dressmaking skills? Or her love for such lovely material?
But why would he go to such a bother?
To attempt to distract her from the suspicions that simmered relentlessly within her?
To bribe her goodwill?
Or simply to please her?
Her fingers lightly stroked the black velvet. “They are beautiful,” she murmured. “Was there a note?”
“Yes, my lady.” The housekeeper moved forward to offer her the heavy vellum that had been folded in half.
Opening the note, Simone swiftly read the boldly scrawled words.
Trust me.
There was nothing else, not even a signature, but Simone smiled wryly.
Whatever the reason for Gideon’s gift, there was no denying that he had pleased her. For the first time in her entire life she had received a gift that was chosen not to impress her with its expense or as merely an offering that was expected by society. Instead, Gideon had taken the time to think of what she truly would desire. The realization made the most ridiculous warmth flood through her heart.
“Daisy, will you have everything taken to the workroom ?” she requested in husky tones.
“Yes, my lady.”
Swiftly the maid set about scooping up the fabric and lace while the housekeeper stepped forward.
“Shall I serve tea?”
Simone gave a shake of her head. Her stomach had been twisted in knots since she had seen that picture last evening. The mere thought of food made her grimace.
“Perhaps later, thank you. I believe I shall read in the garden for an hour or so.”
Predictably the housekeeper frowned. She held the firm notion that civilized people remained indoors whenever possible. Only savages preferred to be in the fresh air and surrounded by nature.
“Mind you stay out of the sun. It is uncommonly warm out today.”
“Yes, I will,” Simone promised as she left the room and made her way to the back stairs that would lead to the garden.
It was warm, as the housekeeper had warned, and Simone chose a marble bench set beneath a large chestnut tree. Arranging her skirts she drew in a deep breath and attempted to relax her coiled nerves.
How long had it been since she had a decent night’s sleep?
Or had not devoted hours to dwelling upon Gideon and his secrets?
Or not felt as if she were being peered at from behind every bush or hedge?
Too long, she decided wryly.
She had thought to put such constant concerns behind her after reaching London. Oh, to be certain, there was always the vague dread that her past might come back to haunt her. Or that she would stumble and reveal the truth of her background. But such worries had always been simple to thrust from her thoughts while she was surrounded by the grandeur of her home, and the endless stream of nobles who desired to count themselves as her acquaintance.
Others could be easily deceived with enough money and sheer boldness, she had discovered.
Now, however, she could not so easily dismiss her concerns.
Perhaps she should leave London, she reluctantly told herself. To put Gideon and Mr. Soltern and whatever danger she might be in behind her. It would not be easy. She had built a new life here. But ...
“How could a lady be so troubled on such a lovely day?”
The lilting, heavily accented voice came without warning, and abruptly turning her head Simone watched in utter shock as an old, shabbily dressed gypsy woman moved through the roses and promptly settled herself on the bench. She knew the seemingly ancient woman. It was the same gypsy who had appeared in Devonshire and offered her the amulet. There was no mistaking the deeply wrinkled parchment of her countenance, the long gray hair that hung in tangles about her shoulders or the bright rags that had been sewn together to make her skirt. Certainly there was no mistaking the deep black eyes that seemed to see to her very soul.