by Peggy Waide
Walter added, "The man has a way with the ladies, loves to gamble, enjoys his drink, but he's a sly one. I don't think he's foolish enough to allow his diversions or liquor to cloud his thinking. Power and prestige seem to be high on his list of needs. He wants them badly, but we're going to have to be very clever with this one."
"That's basically what Jocelyn said. Evidently, the family title died with Mardell's stepbrother, so he has remained on the fringe of society. What did he have to say about my wife?"
Crossing to the sideboard for another biscuit, Tam gladly answered this question. "You could tell he was biding his time, eager to gain information from us. I think his patience was wearing a hole in his seat for his waiting. Of course, Agatha gladly enlightened him on the memory loss of your poor wife. You must remember you found her wandering aimlessly across the moors, provided her with shelter and your love, which brought her back to the world of the living. Unfortunately, her poor mind suffered mightily and may never recover."
Cunningly, Reyn smiled. "Did he believe that mountain of rubbish?"
"Absolutely," Tam added brightly.
"Splendid," Reyn said while he rolled his coffee cup between his hands in contemplation. "Jocelyn and Agatha were on the right track, but I want more control and less left to chance. I believe we have just become his three best friends. Our ability to open a great many doors to society should be enough of an enticement. He should also buy into our canal project in Herefordshire. I imagine he will need a line of credit, which we shall eagerly find for him. We raise the price of shares, allow him to make a substantial purchase, then spread our own rumors of bad luck. The shares drop. A few words here and there, a bit of pressure and the bank calls his note. Simultaneously, we allude to a few nasty tidbits regarding the character of the man. Near the end, before the authorities intervene, I will allow Jocelyn her satisfaction."
"Do you think he will go for the bait?" Tam asked.
Reyn answered with absolute certainty. "Like a bigmouthed bass with his jowls wide open."
Tam said what everyone silently thought. "You do realize, when he discovers what has happened, he will be more dangerous than a hundred vipers beneath your blanket."
"Yes, I know." Reyn rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "We will have to be extremely cautious. You have a meeting planned?"
Walter beamed like a proud parent. "We mentioned that you would bid on a rare piece of horseflesh at Tattersall's auction today. I guarantee Mardell will attend."
"Excellent. We simply need the cooperation of Agatha and Jocelyn."
"Our cooperation for what?" Agatha asked as she entered the breakfast room.
Reyn stood to place a crisp kiss on her cheek before he glared directly into her eyes to witness her reaction. "For the downfall of Horace Mardell."
Exhaling a sigh of relief, she sat in the nearest chair. "Sweet delight, she finally told you the truth."
In vexation, Reyn threw his hands in the air. "That's it? That's all you have to say for yourself?"
"Please, Reyn, do not start pontificating. The girl needed my help. I provided it and would do the same again in a moment's breath." The glacial tone of her voice signaled the end of the discussion.
As grandmother and grandson stared at one another, open challenge in their expressions, Tam and Walter remained silent. Years of experience had taught them that now was not the time to interject their opinions.
"Agatha, you have encountered countless acts of cruelty, witnessed numerous wretched souls in need, acknowledging you could not save them all. I asked before. Now I demand you satisfy my curiosity. Why her? Why Jocelyn? Why make yourself her guardian angel?"
Obviously considering her answer carefully, Agatha cast a glance downward, tapping her fingertips together. When she gazed at Reyn, her eyes seemed to weigh the character of the man before her.
"Do you remember the woman in the locket your fa ther held the night he died?"
Puzzled, Reyn nodded.
"That woman was Jocelyn's mother."
"My mother?" The strangled response drew everyone's attention to the doorway. Jocelyn advanced on Agatha. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Reyn cursed. "Why didn't you tell all of us?"
Ignoring Reyn, Agatha touched an amber gloved hand to Jocelyn's flushed cheek. "Please forgive me, child. And an old woman's fantasy. I thought I had been given a second chance to correct the past."
"I don't understand," Jocelyn whispered.
"It begins with your grandmother. Gwendolyn Garnett was my dearest friend. After her husband died, we spent a great deal of time together. It was only natural that my son and her daughter would meet. They fell madly in love and wanted to marry immediately. Of course, we were thrilled so we agreed to the union. However, Gwen thought Madelyn was still too young. Everyone agreed to wait two years."
Thus far, everyone seemed awestruck by Agatha's admission, Reyn included. He watched Jocelyn to gauge her reaction to the news. She seemed to be taking it in stride.
Agatha looked to the ceiling as if Gwen were there to help tell the balance of the story. "During that time, Reyn's father traveled to France, where he met Reyn's mother. They were caught in a compromising position, after which he felt honor bound to marry her, leaving Madelyn alone and heartbroken. Gwen did as she thought best and found Madelyn a husband as soon as possible. Gwen and I regretted the decision to make the couple wait to marry, but there was no changing the outcome. Your mother learned to live with and accept her fate. And I think she was happy. Reyn's father was miserable. He paid dearly for his indiscretion. I have often wondered what life would have been like if they had married immediately" She shrugged her shoulders and smiled tenderly at Jocelyn and then Reyn. "But then neither you nor Reyn would have been born." The dowager sent a tender glance back to Jocelyn. "When I discovered you at Bedlam, I knew I couldn't abandon you. I felt I had been given a second chance. I even deluded myself into thinking that Gwen had sent me there that day. I hoped you and Reyn would find comfort with one another. Find the love they lost."
"I always sensed a sadness deep inside my mother. Now I know why. Thank you for telling me."
"I planned to tell you after all this other nastiness was settled." Agatha turned to witness Reyn's stunned expression. "I assume by the gathering here that you have accepted the responsibility of dealing with Mr. Mardell?"
Apparently, Agatha had no intention of letting him brood on the matter. Briskly, he nodded.
"I am available if you need me," she said as she stood. "Jocelyn, come by later and ask your questions." She marched to the door, speaking over her shoulder. "Tameron and Walter, kindly escort me to my coach."
"Interfering old woman," Reyn muttered. His grandmother had said all she meant to on the subject, so he addressed his two friends. "Go ahead. I will meet you at the auction shortly."
Privately brooding, rubbing his jaw, he waited for his friends to make their departure. He watched Jocelyn behind half-closed lids. She behaved like a skittish spinster in a roomful of bachelors. No small wonder. He knew he should say something. She needed reassurance. That last bit of news, on top of everything else, had jolted his mind into a state of turmoil incapable of coherent thought.
"You must hate me," she said in a whisper.
Reyn threw a wrinkled napkin to the table. "No, Jo celyn, I do not hate you."
"But..."
Reyn looked up to see a trail of tears falling silently down Jocelyn's cheeks. He couldn't deal with tears. Not right now. "Good heavens! When I was twelve years old, I witnessed my mother launch what I mistook as a mere trinket at my father. He became furious. They quarreled about adultery, obsession and all sorts of sordid tidbits. Later, after my father fell into a drunken stupor, I sneaked into his study to peek at the source of their argument. The woman in the locket was magnificent. And I hated her. As far as I was concerned, she was the cause of my parents' troubles. The reason my mother hated me. The reason my father drank and ignored me. I have hated her for the last sixteen
years of my life. So pardon me if I require time to reconcile my feelings."
His unintentional sharpness, accompanied by a stony glare, sent Jocelyn scuttling for the arched mahogany doorway.
Impatiently, he yelled, his voice like thunder, "Jocelyn-Good heavens, wait!" He whisked by the everstoic Briggs. It was too late. His wife had already disappeared into her suite. "Well done, you fool." His voice cracked like a whip. "Briggs, fetch my cloak."
Waiting for the warm outer garment, he chastised himself for lacking the courage to walk upstairs and comfort his wife. Better later. She probably needed time to think, to clear her own mind. He certainly did.
"And I'm the king of England."
"Begging your pardon, sir?"
"Nothing, Briggs. Tell Jocelyn"-he paused-"tell my wife that I've gone out."
Jocelyn's silver needle pierced the delicate white linen recklessly as she formed the ruby-red wing of a cardinal. Remembering Briggs's message from Reyn for her to remain at home, she studied her handiwork. Only passing fair. She hated embroidery, but the tedium of the task kept her hands busy. Caesar kept her company, but neither could keep the mental wolves at bay.
Ever since Agatha's revelation that morning, she had felt an odd sense of bereavement. Reyn, her love, her happiness, seemed to be slipping through her fingers. She was at a loss about what to do. With more concentration on her problems than her stitching, she jabbed her thumb. Her hand flew to her mouth. When she looked up, she noticed Briggs standing in the doorway, a frown on his face.
"Yes, Briggs?" She laid the fabric to the side. Caesar seized the opportunity to drape himself across her lap.
"A gentleman downstairs claims to have an appoint ment with his grace. I explained that his grace was absent from the house. The visitor asked to see you."
The cat stretched under the tender strokes Jocelyn offered. "Did he present his card?" she asked.
"No. He named himself as one Horace Mardell."
Suppressing the initial wave of alarm, Jocelyn tried to calmly assess the situation. Reyn had specifically told her to stay away from Horace. Did she dare admit him? It wasn't as though she had gone to borrow trouble. Trouble had found her. And she didn't really believe her step-uncle had arrived on her doorstep prepared to do physical harm. If she didn't let him up, he might think she was afraid, planting the suspicion that her amnesia was a ruse. In fact, she could use this opportunity to confuse the scoundrel. Yes, she decided, her step-uncle could have a few guarded moments of her time.
"Briggs, I think I shall see what Mr. Mardell wants, but I need a favor. When I give a signal, I want you to interrupt us."
"A signal?"
"Yes. When I tire of the discussion, I want you to interrupt and tell me I have an appointment."
Briggs seemed to stand three inches taller. "But my lady, you have no appointment. You are to stay home until his lordship's return."
"I know that, and you know that, but our visitor doesn't know that."
"You want to play a trick on the fellow?"
While she warmed to the idea, Briggs looked as though he'd been asked to walk the cat to the butcher's for a snack. "Not really. I don't wish him to overstay his welcome. Therefore, we must have a signal."
"Perhaps madam could ask for something," Briggs suggested warily.
Jocelyn thought for a moment when inspiration hit. "Of course. I shall ask for raspberry tea cakes. When I eat them, I become horribly sick."
"But, madam, why eat something if you know it will make you ill?"
"I will not eat them. Nor are you to bring them. You need only interrupt me when I make the request. Understand?" His thick white eyebrows furrowed together in consternation, obviously contemplating the reason for this flummery. She knew Briggs would prefer she simply tell the visitor to leave. "Do not fret so, Briggs. No one will know of your chicanery."
Mumbling as he turned to show the visitor into the salon, Briggs sent one last, fleeting glimpse toward his mistress. Jocelyn waved cheerfully as he went out. There was no need for him to sense her alarm. Her heart beat as though it contained a small minstrel band, and she pulled several deep breaths of air into her chest. Her sweaty palms gripped the edge of the settee. With a short prayer, she forced the tension from her shoulders and grabbed the embroidery, rousing Caesar long enough for him to bat at the dangling threads. Even as she scratched the favorite spot behind his right ear, she warned him, "This is not the time to play. I will need all my wits about me."
Briggs stood like a statue beside the door. He announced, "Mr. Mardell."
Briggs's sedate introduction diverted her attention from the cat to the tall man standing in the doorway. With his handsome face, his perfectly groomed mustache and hair etched with grey, his distinguished clothing, his easy smile, her step-uncle appeared as a well-bred, innocuous peer of the realm. Only she knew the depth of his wickedness.
Horace crossed the room in slow, deliberate steps, his eyes assessing the room, the furnishings, the butler and most of all, her. He stopped at the edge of the ice-blue silk gown that covered her tapping toes. Her eyes remained fixed on his.
Horace exercised proper decorum by standing until given leave to sit. "Lady Wilcott. Thank you for taking the time to see me. I seem to have crossed messages with your husband. I understood we were to meet here this afternoon."
"Dear me. What a coil," she answered, all innocence and false sincerity. She would bet her ruby necklace that the blackguard knew exactly where her husband had gone, and if he thought he could frighten, trick or bully her, he would be gravely disappointed. Instead, she would lead the man on a merry chase of falsehoods. "I believe my husband has gone to Tattersall's. Please, sit down."
"Excuse me, your grace." Briggs, who had come to stand unobtrusively beside the settee, interrupted. "I don't believe the gentleman will be staying long. Remember your appointment?"
Jocelyn curiously eyed her butler. She hadn't given the signal yet. "I haven't forgotten, Briggs." She glanced back to Horace. "Do sit down."
When Horace began to lower himself, he peered at Briggs as though he'd just claimed some small victory. "Tattersall's?" he asked.
"Ahem," Briggs interrupted again. "Perhaps, sir, you would be more comfortable in the leather chair by the fireplace. It would be most inhospitable were you to land on one of her ladyship's needles. Don't you agree, madam?"
"Definitely." Obviously, her butler intended to act as chaperone, for which she was grateful. When her stepuncle crossed to the chair a good six feet from her, she barely suppressed her sigh of relief. "As I was saying, Mr. Mardell. My husband hopes to acquire a new mare for me."
"You ride?"
The surprise was evident in his voice. "Of course," she lied easily.
"I know a great many ladies who fear horses, or have never taken the time to be properly trained."
"I feel as though I were born in the saddle. Of course, I prefer a jaunt in our phaeton, but to ride a well-trained horse is always a pleasure." Caesar, the lazy slug, as if he knew she was lying, stretched and kneaded his sharp talons in the fabric of her gown. Restlessly, Jocelyn stroked him from head to tail, glad to have an outlet for her anxiety. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"
"If it weren't a great imposition," Horace said.
"Not at all." A serene smile locked on her face, Jocelyn nodded her approval. Briggs paused, scowled at Horace, then simply shouted down the hall. Disregarding the open-mouthed stare of his mistress, he crossed back to the settee with his usual practiced formality, where he took the position of guard, chaperone or co-conspirator. Jocelyn wasn't quite sure which. She didn't care. She only knew he seemed to be taking his assignment quite seriously.
"Quite a noble fellow you have there," Horace said while his gaze followed the movements of her hand on the large black cat. "Owned him long?"
"A few months. We found each other on the moor."
"Ali, yes." His eyes lit with anticipation. "Your grandmother-in-law mentioned your unusual situation."
>
Jocelyn gasped slightly and bowed her head as if embarrassed. At least, she hoped she looked embarrassed. It was a good thing her step-uncle couldn't see the anger in her eyes.
"Forgive me. I spoke out of turn. I can't imagine waking one day to have no past, no future."
"It was quite frightening. Agatha, bless her soul, is such a romantic, though. She has no qualms about my memory loss. Given my circumstances-no dowry, no lineage-most dowagers would have fought the marriage. She has been my greatest champion. As for my husband"-she sighed deeply-"words cannot express my gratitude. I'm a very lucky woman."
A seductive smile formed on his lips. "I would say that he is a very lucky man."
The eyes she once thought kind and loving watched her with deadly intent. She beamed like a young woman blinded by love. "Indeed."
"And you have no idea how you came to be on the moor in the first place?"
"It's quite a mystery."
"No memories at all," he pressed. "A favorite food, a family friend? When you look in the mirror, do you see a mother with long blond hair and dark eyes looking back?"
Yes, she wanted to scream. / see myself in the mirror and remember my mother. Then I remember every detail about my parents' deaths as you described. I remember each lie your treacherous lips told. Every miserable day I spent in hell because of you.
"Oh, dear," Horace murmured. "You look pale, Lady Wilcott. I see I've upset you. I will not mention the subject again."
Yes, he would. She knew it. Maybe not today, but another time, another place, if he ever managed to find her alone again. "I'm fine," she said. "Each day I wake and hope that something or someone will trigger a memory, a flicker of insight. For now, I am content."
The maid ushered in a tea cart filled with delicate cups and saucers, lace napkins, an array of buttered croissants and raisin scones. Glad for the brief respite, Jocelyn used the task of serving tea to occupy her hands. Her mind contemplated her step-uncle's next ploy.