by Peggy Waide
Clearly unruffled by Wilcott's display of temper the solicitor belted his robe. He signaled that they move the tiny gathering to the study. As the older man levered himself into a large leather chair, his nephew took a support position at his uncle's right shoulder. Reyn elected to remain standing, pacing the room in long, frustrated strides while Tam and Walter lounged at the study entrance.
Dievers didn't wait long to offer his disapproval. "According to my nephew, you are a brute, a nuisance and a general pain in the ass. Tell me, why is it so important you locate Jocelyn?"
"Yes, why?" With his chin tilting to the ceiling, Jonathan mimicked his uncle.
Briefly, Reyn glowered at the young assistant, then addressed the older man. "We have unfinished business."
"I thought her settlement most generous. Overly so, actually."
"I do not want a farthing of her money, her titles or property."
"Hah!" blasted the nephew, clearly disbelieving Reyn's denial.
The other men scowled at the interruption. Dievers asked again, "Then what could you possibly need from Jocelyn?"
"She is my wife."
"Not good enough," Dievers stated matter-of-factly.
"Precisely." Jonathan spat out each syllable.
Four men cursed in unison.
Jonathan began to protest when his uncle glared at him. "For goodness sake, Jonathan, go find cook and bring me something to eat." While Jonathan left, his feet dragging ever so slowly, Dievers removed his glasses and rubbed the contours of his face. "Excuse my nephew's exuberance. He takes his position as my assistant very seriously."
"And he called me a pain in the ass," Reyn muttered.
Dievers laughed. "You should meet his brother."
"Sweet mercy, there are two of them?" Walter exclaimed with disgust.
"Tenacious in their responsibilities, loyal to a fault," Dievers sighed, "and my nephews." Leaning back in the chair, his hands folded comfortably across his belly, Dievers delivered his bald observation to Reyn. "I think you are an arrogant young stallion, but I find myself curious, and hopeful, as to why you are so desperate to find Jocelyn. I will ask you one last time, why have you harassed this household to locate your wife?"
"That is between my wife and myself."
"Not any longer. As the family solicitor, I served her father for twenty years. I shirked my duties to that young girl once by allowing that scoundrel Mardell to outsmart me. He had the audacity to whisk her away from her home, hide her away in Bedlam-and where was I? In bloody Scotland, settling a dispute between two stubborn lords. I'll be damned if I will allow her to be harmed again. I'll tell you, duke or no, you won't bully me. You'd best sit down and tell me what's on your mind."
A muffled laugh escaped Walter's compressed lips, and Reyn frowned at him like a dark cloud settling over the Pennines.
Walter grinned unrepentantly. "Stow your scowl, Reyn. You have met your match. I admit it does me good to see you squirm a bit."
In weary submission, Reyn sat in the nearest chair. From the moment he'd stumbled from the blaze, discovering Jocelyn had vanished, his life had become a living nightmare. He'd turned London upside down, frantic with worry, when he received the first missive. She was safe, having left of her own free will. She thanked him, once again, for his kindness and her life, but knew he relished his freedom. It was now his.
Bitterness and hurt ruled him day and night, as did uncontrollable gambling and drinking. No one could reason with him. Not Walter. Not Tam. Not even Agatha. Jocelyn's name, as well as her belongings, were banished from his house. Even Caesar resided at Agatha's. His wife had never loved him, not really. If there had been an ounce of truth in what she had said, she would have had faith in him. She would have stayed long enough to hear his explanation.
Two weeks passed when he received the legal documents that itemized the extent of her inheritance that, by law, now belonged to him. Her solicitor, Samuel Dievers, specifically noted that Jocelyn requested two things. One full year before he initiated divorce proceedings and a reasonable annual stipend for herself. She left no forwarding address and apparently had no intention of doing so. Any future transactions or correspondence would be handled through her solicitor.
With rather explicit suggestions as to what Mr. Dievers could do with the papers and Jocelyn's inheritance, Reyn returned them to the solicitor. In order to escape the past, the torment, he fled to Wilcott Keep, where the violent storms, cascading rivers and placid lakes always provided sanctuary. Now everything reminded him of her. Finally, sitting desolate in the cylindrical tower that sang with sensual promises and memories, he admitted he still loved her. It was amazing how one small admission could change a man's perspective, his focus. Unfortunately, by the time Reyn returned to London, Dievers had quit the country, leaving his nephew in charge.
Reyn implemented a plan of attack that would have put Napoleon to shame. He nagged and harassed and threatened and pleaded with the younger Dievers to tell him where Jocelyn hid herself. The young man swore, time and again, that only his uncle knew her whereabouts.
Reyn hired five Bow Street runners to track her down, repeatedly grilled Agatha for any information that might provide the answer, yet his wife seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth. Reyn was a lost man.
Now, three months later, sitting before this portly man who had no title and less money than Reyn's annual stable bills, Reyn acknowledged that this same man controlled his future. Dievers knew where his wife was. He would do anything for that one bit of information.
Sister Mary Agnes welcomed Jocelyn with an open ear, a loving heart and a warm embrace, providing a small cottage outside the convent walls and the encouragement to search her heart for the answers she sought. As life renewed itself, summer came to St. Mary's on the Isles of Scilly, the cold days giving way to warm afternoons, blossoming flowers the colors of the rainbow and the lusty songs of migrating birds.
Jocelyn kept her days busy as she assisted the nuns with the children in the village. Her nights remained lonely. The weeks came and went, and even though her mind knew Reyn didn't want her, her heart expected him to come. Learning to accept the truth, the pain eased, but not a day passed when she didn't think of the man she had loved, betrayed and lost.
The sour notes forced her attention back to the processional she had been attempting to play on the organ for the last half hour. Finally, she submitted to her anger and frustration and pounded the same chord over and over and over.
"I do not believe I recognize that particular hymn."
Jocelyn edged to the end of the bench to stare around the side of the large chamber organ tucked away in the corner of the chapel. "Sister Mary Agnes, I didn't hear you come in."
"No small surprise." The older nun waved her arm. "Remain where you are. No need to rise, my child. Were you banishing the demons back to Satan?"
"The notes escaped me today."
Settling herself in the front pew behind the oak railing that separated the sanctuary from the remainder of the chapel, the spry little woman, who seemingly knew more than humanly possible, watched Jocelyn with a gentle face netted with wrinkles. "I have allowed you time to search your heart, Jocelyn, but I find I must ask you something."
Obediently, Jocelyn placed her hands in her lap. "Of course."
"This man, Lord Wilcott-do you still love him?"
"I do not see what difference it makes." Jocelyn knew she spoke too quickly and too defensively.
"When we received the first missive, I did as you requested and denied all knowledge of your whereabouts. The second, I did the same, thinking the man simply tenacious. This third message has caused me to question my judgment. I find myself wondering if I did the right thing. Help reassure me. Do you still love this man?"
Jocelyn shifted uncomfortably.
"I take that to be a yes?"
"Sister, whether I love the man or not changes nothing. He is a lifetime away in London. He doesn't love me. In fact, he can barely tolerate my existence."
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Reverently clasping her silver crucifix in her fingers, Sister Mary Agnes thought for a moment. "A man does not send three messengers to find his wife unless he has good reason. Would you, please explain what he wants, if not you?"
"Is there a problem? Does Mother Superior want me to leave?"
"We all want you to be happy, Jocelyn. If you wish to remain here the rest of your days, you may do so. But I fear you may be choosing to stay here for the wrong reasons. Now, tell me why you think he doesn't love you.,,
Sister Mary Agnes wielded her influence with quiet authority. Jocelyn knew she expected an answer. "When in Bedlam, I sought only revenge without thinking through the possible consequences. I fell in love with a man incapable of such affections. I'm also afraid I hurt him. I left at the first opportunity."
"Excuse the addled mind of an old woman, but did you allow him to say good-bye? Did you tell him you were leaving?"
"Why?"
"Why indeed."
It was as though the older nun probed her most private thoughts. Jocelyn fidgeted under the intense scrutiny.
Sister Mary Agnes continued. "If given a choice, would you remain here?"
"I have no other choice," she stated. "Since my parents died, I always considered this my home. I have no place else to go. At least until the baby is born."
"Do you honestly believe you can hide from your troubles? Keep this man away from his child? Keep your love secreted away on this lonely island? The truth, Jocelyn."
"I can try." The words burst from her mouth.
A smile lighting her face, the nun stood to go. "Thank you, my dear, that was enlightening. Before I go, I want you to remember something I thought I taught you long ago. In order to find happiness, you must first be honest with yourself. Many things said under duress mean nothing. Humanity can be painfully cruel to one another sometimes. I thank God he gave us the ability to forgive. I dearly love my life here and can think of nothing that would give me greater pleasure. I chose to devote my life to the church and quiet solitude. Not everyone is meant to choose the same path."
Confused by the abrupt end of the conversation, Jocelyn could only stare at Sister Mary Agnes's retreating back. Although she had revealed almost everything upon her return, she had answered only a few questions. Now, she wondered at the timing of this visit, the choice of topics.
From the rear of the church, standing before the weathered wooden doors, Sister Mary Agnes turned. "Trust your heart, Jocelyn. The answers lie there."
The shaft of bright light surrounded the small woman as she left the dim chapel. Then the doorway filled with a larger, broader form. Other than wrapping her arms protectively around her abdomen, Jocelyn didn't move. She couldn't move. She blinked. Had she imagined the shadowed image? No. The footsteps clicking upon the cobblestone floor as the apparition approached affirmed the truth.
"Reyn?"
"I must say, Jocelyn, when you elect to disappear, you do a thorough job of it. Do you realize, in order to find you, it took a small army of runners, an enormous amount of capital, a special audience with the king, a midnight assault on your solicitor and a verbal blistering such as I have never had from a nun too old to be alive?"
Slowly, knowing her face must be the color of the whitewashed chapel walls, Jocelyn faced the man she had thought to see only in her dreams. Dressed in a dark, dusty riding habit, tousled and blown, with dark circles under his eyes and at least two days' whisker growth on his chin, Reyn looked more handsome than Jocelyn had ever thought possible.
"You were searching for me?" she asked.
As his eyes adjusted to the dark interior of the chapel, his weary expression settled on her guarded one. "Search seems a rather paltry description. Obsessed, bewitched, plagued, haunted. Take your pick. Any mood will suit."
"Why? Mr. Dievers delivered my proposal. Was it not acceptable?"
He now stood near the front row of pews. Vehemently, he said, "As a matter of fact, it was not."
Her staccato chatter sputtered this and that before she could form the appropriate answer. "I cannot believe you are here to quibble over the inheritance. There were more than sufficient funds to reimburse everything spent on my clothing and jewels. I kept one insignificant piece of property, took no more money than I felt would be necessary for myself. Everything else went to you."
"Jocelyn, I did not travel over half of England to discuss your inheritance."
Sadly, she realized the truth. He had more money than he could spend in a lifetime, so of course her measly estates and holdings meant little to him. His freedom was an altogether different matter.
"I understand. The one year. It must seem odd to you, but it is important. I will be happy to move the date forward by a few months if necessary. As for a divorce rather than an annulment, well, we did-I mean, we did consummate our marriage. Besides, I don't believe a divorce will Tamish your reputation. I know they are difficult to obtain, but I am sure you will manage. You will be free to remarry within no time at all."
As she brushed the swirling patterns engraved in the mahogany of the organ, she rambled on, attempting to cover her dismay. "Have you selected your bride-to-be?"
"Jocelyn." The last thing Reyn wanted to do was discuss future brides. Only she tormented his dreams. Surrounded by colored light from the chapel windows, she looked so beautiful with her flashing eyes and her hair skimming across her breasts that all his patience and good intentions were evaporating. His practiced words ebbed like the receding tide.
Lifting his leg onto a wooden pew, he anchored his elbow on his knee, his chin in his hand. "Thank you very much. The last thing I need is another wife."
"I'm not surprised. You haven't seen many benefits to wedded life."
"I did not come here to discuss a divorce or an annulment either."
"You didn't? Then why are you here? I know how troublesome it can be to reach this little island. Surely, you didn't travel all this way to wish me a good afternoon."
"No, I didn't, Jocelyn, and this place is the very devil to reach. It took me one full day to find someone willing to make a small fortune just to cross the channel, which was not the calmest I ever sailed. And in a puny skiff I thought would surely capsize with the first large swell. A lesser man would have turned tail and returned to London."
His unexpected visit made no sense at all unless he had somehow discovered her pregnancy. Had he come to claim his heir? Not without a fight, she promised herself.
Glad she wore the modest blue empire dress that revealed little, she inched back on the bench, hoping to obstruct his view of her body. Now suspicious, she asked, "Then why are you here?"
"Why did you leave?"
"I asked first."
"I want you to return with me to London."
"Why?"
His patience snapped. "Blast it, Jocelyn, you weren't supposed to leave."
"I wasn't?"
"No!"
"It took you three months to decide that?" she exclaimed in disbelief.
"No!" Five minutes with her and he was already bellowing. He stamped his foot. "I knew I wanted you to stay before you ever left. It took me three months, four days and eighteen hours to find you. Your solicitor left the country and only returned two days ago."
"But you told me to leave," Jocelyn said, feeling more unsettled than before.
"Momentary insanity."
"You thought I loved Phillip."
"A minor misunderstanding."
"At my step-uncle's, you called me a possession. You said you wanted my money."
"I wanted us to escape alive. I needed an edge. God's bones, why is it you can remember every bloody thing I said except the important things?"
"Such as?"
He yelled to the carved beams overhead. "Such as, I love you."
"What?" she countered just as loudly. "You never said that."
"Well, I thought it."
"How was I to know that?" She glared back at him, thankful that the wooden banister stood be
tween them. She needed the space to clear her rattled senses. "Exactly when did you realize you had fallen in love with me?"
"Perhaps when you disregarded my order to stay home, and went out to meet that sniveler Bains?" he said irritably before he added, "Truly, Jocelyn, I cannot give you an exact moment. It crept up on me like a bad toothache."
She scowled. "Why do you love me?"
"After all the trouble you have caused me, I have asked myself that question a hundred times."
"If this is your attempt to regale me with your charm and wit, then you can turn around and return to London. By yourself."
"Not without you," he stated flatly.
She realized that beneath his abject misery and single-minded determination, he was enjoying himself. The cad. "You are a sick, misguided, stubborn man, Reynolds Blackburn."
"Me?" he cried in exasperation. "Jocelyn, I love you and you love me. If you allow me to come closer, I will be more than happy to prove I speak the truth."
Holding up her hand to stay his movement, she warned, "That is close enough."
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked, appalled by the possibility.
"Of course not. I think more clearly with you over there."
That admission, he thought, proved something. Watching her fingers absently caress the instrument, remembering those same slender hands on his body, he barely contained the urge to leap over the wooden barrier, pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. But the time was not yet right. He sat down in the pew closest to the organ, discarding the speech he had rehearsed for months. He spoke from the heart. "May I tell you a story?"
"I would rather you tell me why you are here," she grumbled.
"Humor me."
She sighed.
He smiled. "Once upon a time, there was a man. A very ill-tempered man, who unfortunately didn't realize how lonely he was until a beautiful, vibrant, brave young woman came into his life. This knave, so jaded, so cynical, ignored the emotions he felt, afraid he would be hurt. He treated this rare treasure callously with little regard for her feelings, and too late, after she disappeared, did he realize he had lost his heart, his soul, his reason for living."