"Or," Kev said darkly, "he'll disappear to Paris and drown himself in drink and prostitutes."

Rohan shrugged. "Leo's future is in his own hands. I'm more concerned about what we're facing here. Amelia is determined that Poppy should have a season in London, and that Beatrix should go to finishing school. At the same time, the rebuilding of the manor in Hampshire has to continue. The ruins need to be cleared and the grounds-"

"I know what has to be done."

"Then you will manage the project? You'll work with the architect, the builders, the masons and carpenters, and so forth?"

Kev glared at him with rank antagonism. "I won't be gotten rid of. And I'll be damned if I work for you, or answer to you-"

"Wait." Rohan's hands lifted in a staying gesture, a scattering of gold rings gleaming richly on his dark fingers. "Wait. For God's sake, I'm not trying to get rid of you. I'm proposing a partnership. Frankly, I'm no more thrilled by the prospect than you are. But there is much to be accomplished. And we have more to gain by working together than being at cross-purposes."

Idly picking up a table knife, Kev ran his fingers along the blunt edge and the intricate gilded handle. "You want me to go to Hampshire and oversee the work crews while you stay in London with the women?"

"Come and go as you please. I'll be traveling back and forth to Hampshire every now and again to look over things." Rohan gave him an astute glance. "You have nothing keeping you in London, do you?"

Kev shook his head.

"Then it's settled?" Rohan pressed.

Although Kev hated to admit it, the plan was not without appeal. He hated London, the grime and clamor and crowded buildings, the smog and noise. He longed to return to the country. And the thought of rebuilding the manor, exhausting himself with hard work… It would do him some good. Besides, he knew what the Ramsay estate needed better than anyone. Rohan might know every street, square, and rookery in London, but he wasn't at all familiar with country life. It only made sense for Kev to take charge of the Ramsay estate.

"I'll want to make improvements to the land as well," Kev said, setting down the knife. "There are field gates and fences that need repair. Ditches and drainage channels to be dug. And the tenant farmers are still using flails and reap-hooks because there is no threshing machine. The estate should have its own bakehouse to save the tenants from having to go to the village for their bread. Also-"

"Whatever you decide," Rohan said hastily, having the typical Londoner's complete lack of interest in farming. "Attracting more tenants will benefit the estate, of course."

"I know you've already commissioned an architect and builder. But from now on, I'll be the one they come to with questions. I'll need access to the Ramsay accounts. And I'm going to pick the land crews and manage them without interference."

Rohan's brows lifted at Kev's authoritative manner. "Well. This is a side of you I haven't seen before, chair

"Do you agree to my terms?"

"Yes." Rohan extended his hand. "Shall we shake on it?"

Kev stood, ignoring the overture. "Not necessary."

Rohan's white teeth flashed in a grin. "Merripen, would it be so terrible to attempt a friendship with me?"

"We'll never be friends. At best, we're enemies with a common purpose."

Rohan continued to smile. "I suppose the end result is the same." He waited until Kev had reached the door before saying casually, "By the way, I'm going to pursue the matter of the tattoos. If there is a connection between the two of us, I want to find out what it is."

"You'll do so without my cooperation," Kev said stonily.

"Why not? Aren't you curious?" "Not in the least."

Rohan's hazel eyes were filled with speculation. "You have no ties to the past or the Rom, and no knowledge of why a unique design was inked into your arm in early childhood. What are you afraid of finding out?"

"You've had the same tattoo for just as long," Kev shot back. "You have no more idea about what it's for than I do. Why take such an interest in it now?"

"I…" Absently Rohan rubbed his arm over his shirtsleeve, where the tattoo was located. "I always assumed it was done at some whim of my grandmother's. She would never explain why I had the mark, or what it meant."

"Did she know?"

"I believe so." Rohan's mouth quirked. "She seemed to know everything. She was a powerful herbalist, and a believer in the Biti Foki."

"Fairy people?" Kev asked with a disdainful curl of his lips.

Rohan smiled. "Oh yes. She assured me she was on personal terms with many of them." The trace of amusement faded. "When I was about ten years old, my grandmother sent me away from the tribe. She said I was in danger. My cousin Noah brought me to London and helped me to find work at the gambling club as a list-maker's runner. I've never seen any of my tribe since then." Rohan paused, his face becoming shadowed. "I was banished from the Rom without ever knowing why. And I had no reason to assume the tattoo had anything to do with it. Until I met you. We have two things in common, phral: we're outcasts, and we bear the mark of an Irish nightmare horse. And I think that finding out where it came from may help us both."

In the following months Kev prepared the Ramsay estate for reconstruction. A mild and halfhearted winter had fallen over the village of Stony Cross and its environs, where the Ramsay estate was located. Beige grasses were crisped with frost, and stones rested hard-frozen by the banks of the Avon and Itchen rivers. Catkins emerged on willows, soft and tender as a lamb's tail, while dogwood sent up red winter stems to splinter the pale gray landscape.

The crews employed by John Dashiell, the contractor who would rebuild the Ramsay manor, were hardworking and efficient. The first two months were spent clearing the remains of the house, carting off charred wood and broken rock and rubble. A small gatehouse on the approach road was repaired and refurbished for the Hathaways' convenience.

Once the ground began to soften in March, the rebuilding of the manor would start in earnest. Kev was certain the crews had been warned in advance that the project was being supervised by a Rom, for they offered no objection to his presence or his authority. Dashiell, being a self-made and pragmatic man, didn't seem to care if his clients were English, Romany, or any other nationality, so long as his payment schedule was met.

Near the end of February, Kev made the twelve-hour journey from Stony Cross to London. He had received word from Amelia that Beatrix had quit finishing school. Even though Amelia had added that all was well, Kev wanted to make certain for himself. The two months' separation was the longest he had ever spent away from the Hathaway sisters, and he was surprised by how intensely he had missed them.

It seemed the feeling was mutual. As soon as Kev arrived at their suite at the Rutledge Hotel, Amelia, Poppy, and Beatrix all pounced on him with unseemly enthusiasm. He tolerated their shrieks and kisses with gruff indulgence, secretly pleased by the warmth of their welcome.

Following them into the family parlor, Kev sat with Amelia on an overstuffed settee, while Cam Rohan and Poppy occupied nearby chairs. Beatrix perched on a footstool at Kev's feet. The women looked well, Kev thought… all three stylishly dressed and groomed, their dark hair arranged in pinned-up curls, except for Beatrix, who had plaits.

Amelia in particular seemed happy, laughing easily, radiating a contentment that could only come from a good marriage. Poppy was emerging as a beauty, with her fine features and her rich auburn-toned hair… a warmer, more approachable version of Win's delicate blond perfection. Beatrix, however, was subdued and thin. To anyone who didn't know her, Beatrix would appear to be a normal, cheerful girl. But Kev saw the subtle signs of tension and strain on her face.

"What happened at school?" Kev asked with his customary bluntness.

Beatrix unburdened herself eagerly. "Oh. Merripen, it was all my fault. School is horrid. I abhor it. I did make a friend or two, and I was sorry to leave them. But I didn't get on with my teachers. I was always saying the wrong thing in class, asking the wrong questions-"

"It appeared," Amelia said wryly, "that the Hathaway method of learning and debating wasn't welcome in school."

"And I got into some rows," Beatrix continued, "because some of the girls said their parents told them not to associate with me because we have Gypsies in the family, and for all they knew I might be part Gypsy, too. And I said I wasn't, but even if I were it was no cause for shame, and I called them snobs, and then there was a lot of scratching and hair-pulling."

Kev swore under his breath. He exchanged glances with Rohan, who looked grim. Their presence in the family was a liability to the Hathaway sisters… and yet there was no remedy for that.

"And then," Beatrix said, "my problem came back."

Everyone was silent. Kev reached out and settled his hand on her head, his fingers curving over the shape of her skill. "Chavi," he murmured, a Romany endearment for a young girl. Since he rarely used the old language, Beatrix gave him a round-eyed look of surprise.

Beatrix's problem had first appeared after Mr. Hath-away's death. It recurred every now and then in times of anxiety or distress. She had a compulsion to steal things, usually small things like pencil stubs or bookmarks, or the odd piece of flatware. Sometimes she didn't even remember taking an object. Later she would suffer intense remorse, and go to extraordinary lengths to return the things she had filched.

Kev removed his hand from her head and looked down at her. "What did you take, little ferret?" he asked gently.

She looked chagrined. "Hair ribbons, combs, books… small things. And then I tried to put everything back, but I couldn't remember where it all went. So there was a great rumpus, and I came forward to confess, and I was asked to leave the school. And now I'll never be a lady."

"Yes, you will," Amelia said at once. "We're going to hire a governess, which is what we should have done in the beginning."

Beatrix regarded her doubtfully. "I don't think I would want any governess who would work for our family."

"Oh, we're not as bad as all that-," Amelia began.

"Yes, we are," Poppy informed her. "We're odd, Amelia. I've always told you that. We were odd even before you brought Mr. Rohan into the family." Casting a quick glance at Cam, she said, "No offense meant, Mr. Rohan."

His eyes glinted with amusement. "None taken."

Poppy turned to Kev. "No matter how difficult it is to find a proper governess, we must have one. I need help. My season has been nothing short of disaster, Merripen."

"It's only been two months," Kev said. "How can it be a disaster?"

"I'm a wallflower."

"You can't be."

"I'm lower than a wallflower," she told him. "No man wants anything to do with me."

Kev looked at Rohan and Amelia incredulously. A beautiful, intelligent girl like Poppy should have been overrun with suitors. "What is the matter with these gadjos?” Kev asked in amazement.

"They're all idiots," Rohan said. "They never waste an opportunity to prove it."

Glancing back at Poppy, Kev cut to the chase. "Is it because there are Gypsies in the family? Is that why you're not sought after?"

"Well, it doesn't exactly help," Poppy admitted. "But the greater problem is that I have no social graces. I'm constantly making faux pas. And I'm dreadful at small talk. You're supposed to go lightly from topic to topic like a butterfly. It's not easy to do, and there's no point to it. And the young men who do bring themselves to approach me find an excuse to flee after five minutes. Because they flirt and say the silliest things, and I have no idea how to respond."

"I wouldn't want any of them for her, anyway," Amelia said crisply. "You should see them, Merripen. A more useless flock of preening peacocks could not be found."

"I believe it would be called a muster of peacocks," Poppy said. "Not a flock."

"Call them a knot of toads instead," Beatrix said.

"A colony of penguins," Amelia joined in.

"A rumpus of baboons," Poppy said, laughing.

Kev smiled slightly, but he was still preoccupied. Poppy had always dreamed of a London season. For it to turn out this way must be a crushing disappointment. "Have you been invited to the right events?" he asked. "The dances… the dinner things…"

"Balls and soirees," Poppy supplied. "Yes, thanks to the patronage of Lord Westcliff and Lord St. Vincent, we've received invitations. But merely getting past the door doesn't make one desirable, Merripen. It only affords one the opportunity to prop up the wall while everyone else dances."

Kev frowned at Amelia and Rohan. "What are you going to do about this?"

"We're going to withdraw Poppy from the season," Amelia said, "and tell everyone that on second thought, she's still too young to be out in society."

"No one will believe that," Beatrix said. "After all, Poppy's almost nineteen"

"There's no need to make me sound like a warty old crone, Bea," Poppy said indignantly.

"-and in the meantime," Amelia continued with great patience, "we'll find a governess who will teach both Poppy and Beatrix how to behave."

"She had better be good," Beatrix said, pulling a grunting black-and-white guinea pig from her pocket and snuggling it under her chin. "We have a lot to overcome. Don't we, Mr. Nibbles?"

Later, Amelia took Kev aside. She reached into the pocket of her gown and extracted a small, white square. She gave it to him, her gaze searching his face. "Win wrote other letters to the family, and of course you shall read those as well. But this was addressed solely to you."

Unable to speak, Kev closed his fingers around the bit of parchment sealed with wax.

He went to his hotel room, which was separate from the rest of the family's at his request. Sitting at a small table, he broke the seal with scrupulous care.

There was Win's familiar writing, the pen strokes small and precise.

Dear Kev,

I hope this letter finds you in full health and vigor. I cannot imagine you in any other state, actually. Every morning I awaken in this place, which seems another world entirely, and I am surprised anew to find myself so far away from my family. And from you.