Free Bewitched (Bantam Series No. 16) by Barbara Cartland

Poshrats, Didikais, they no longer exist.”
    “It is a very harsh code!”
    Then the Marquis asked:
    “Does not the idea of marrying someone you have never seen, whom you do not know and whom you may not even like, frighten you?”
    Saviya looked away, and he had the feeling that he had touched on some secret that she had kept hidden, perhaps even from herself.
    She did not reply and after a moment he said in his deep voice: “Tell me. I want to know, Saviya.”
    “Yes,” she said hesitatingly, “the idea does ... frighten me.”
    “Do you not think,” the Marquis asked, “that love is more important than anything else? Is there no place for love among the Gypsies?”
    “A woman should love her husband,” Saviya answered.
    “And if she finds it impossible?” the Marquis insisted. “If for instance she falls in love with another man before marriage, would that not seem to her more important than tribal laws and regulations?”
    “I do not know,” Saviya replied, “it has never happened to me.”
    “And yet you have thought about it,” the Marquis persisted. “Perhaps too, Saviya, you have dreamt of a man that you could love, a man who could capture your heart and make it his.”
    His voice was very deep and now, as she turned her eyes to look at him, he thought there was an expression in them like that of a very small and frightened animal.
    Then she said after a moment:
    “But the laws of the Kalderash are just and my people believe in them.”
    “But you—you are different,” the Marquis said. “You are a witch and so perhaps more sensitive and capable of deeper feelings than the others.”
    “Why do you say such things to me?”
    “Because you are so beautiful,” the Marquis replied. “Because you are not only unbelievably lovely, but because you have a brain. It is the intelligent people in this world who suffer the most, Saviya.”
    She did not answer, but he saw a little quiver run through her.
    “It is the difference between a race-horse and an animal that draws a cart,” he went on. “You know as well as I do that the one is far more highly strung, far more sensitive to pain than the other.”
    Saviya was silent and then she said:
    “It is best not to think of ... love.”
    “But you do think of it,” the Marquis replied. “And something that you cannot control yearns for it.”
    His words seemed to vibrate between them. Then, as he waited for her answer, there was the sound of footsteps at the far end of the Picture Gallery and a familiar voice cried:
    “Ah, here you are, Fabius! I was told you were going round the House.”
    The Marquis turned his head to see Charles Collington advancing toward him.
    “I received your note,” the Captain said as he walked over the shining oak floor. “I felt there must be some very unusual reason for you to stay in the country, so I have ridden to the rescue, if that is the right word!”
    “I was merely informing you that I could not dine with you tonight,” the Marquis said.
    “Nevertheless I felt it was important for me to be with you,” Charles Collington replied.
    He reached the Marquis’s side to stand with a look of surprise on his face, staring at Saviya.
    “Let me introduce you,” the Marquis said. “Captain Charles Collington—Saviya, a very lovely Gypsy whom I ran over with my Phaeton.”
    “That was an original way of getting yourself introduced!” Charles Collington exclaimed.
    He put out his hand to Saviya and went on:
    “It is delightful to meet you, Miss Saviya.”
    She dropped him a small curtsy.
    “I must go now,” she said to the Marquis.
    “No, please do not leave us,” the Marquis begged. “This is my great friend, and I know when I tell him about you, he will not believe a word I say unless you assure him that I am speaking the truth.”
    “Did His Lordship say that you were a Gypsy?” Charles Collington asked Saviya with undisguised interest.
    “She is indeed!” the Marquis answered, “and she has