by kps
She had never questioned Alejandro's version of Rodrigo's death. There was no reason to.
Now Jenny could visualize what had happened: the younger brother, discovering a grave and perhaps recognizing the corpse as Sebastian, realizing that it might be years before they discovered whether Rodrigo was truly dead, perhaps never. Why allow his own claim to the title to be muddied by doubt? How much easier to accept the opportunity afforded him-and sadly escort the "late" Duke's body home to Spain, sealed so as to spare poor Jena any more pain than necessary.
The only thing Alejandro had not counted on was the slim chance that Rodrigo would reappear. Jenny bowed her head with a frustrated moan. Adam had vividly related how positive the Spaniard had been that it was Rodrigo he'd seen, even though he had not answered his call of recognition. For the past year Jenny had believed her husband to be dead and consigned to his grave. God forgive her, she thought now, but she didn't want him to exist again! She was happy now, in love. Why should he suddenly be among the living again, shadowing her happiness when neither of them had found any joy in each other?
As though she were in a trance, Jenny rose and walked to the window. She rubbed at the frost, clearing a patch to look out, but saw little through the curtain of her tears. Her forehead ached and she leaned against the icy glass, one hand covering her mouth in an effort to keep back her sobs.
Surely she was dreaming. In a moment she would wake, safe in her bed, and realize the letter was only a figment of her imagination. Yet even as she wiped away her tears and turned from the window, the letter lay on the desk where, in her shock, she had dropped it.
There was no way to ignore its contents or the threat Rodrigo's reappearance would pose to her future.
Reason began to prevail over emotion, and a deep breath helped to clear her head as she sat once more. All her instincts cried out to ignore the chance that he was alive, but that she could never do. Ignore the fact that she could still be legally Rodrigo's wife ... his chattel, she reminded herself, when she wanted to spend her life with Dev? No, there was only one course open to her and that was to go to Venezuela herself and search for proof that Rodrigo was either dead or alive. If he lived ... she would face that fact when she must.
Nothing could make her resume living as his wife, and she would use every advantage of her father's wealth and position to see that she was granted a divorce or, because they were married in the Church, an annulment. She remembered now that there was more to her father's letter. Beyond that one startling paragraph, everything else had blurred. She read: You'll want to go there yourself, I know that. If only I were with you, I'd try to dissuade you; the journey and search is likely to be too dangerous. Only the cities are civilized-the interior is still a place of dark, unexplored mystery. By the time this letter reaches you, a search will have been begun. Through discreet inquiries, I've found and retained the services of a man who can lead such an undertaking. His name is Wynn Courtland and, until your arrival, he'll be responsible to Adam.
Adam can be helpful in arranging any special travel permits, as well as finding adequate lodging for you. If it doesn't interfere with any plans he might have, please tell Dev I've asked that he serve as your escort. I know that you'll be safe in his company.
The letter closed with a request that she write as soon as possible and keep them informed of the progress of the search. Papa did know her well, Jenny thought with a flicker of a smile, all too well. He'd guessed even before it had entered her head that she would go herself and had provided all the advance assistance he could. No doubt she would arrive in Caracas to find a large bank account opened in her name.
Jenny suddenly realized she was thinking about this trip as though she were single. What about Dev? How could she find a way to tell him their marriage might not be legal? How could she ask him to come along on a journey whose end result might be the nullification of their own vows? From the time he'd come home to her, Jenny had been confident that nothing could destroy the love they shared. This might be the one thing that could drive a wedge between them.
The library door opened, and Jenny started guiltily as Dev hurried across the room, rubbing his cold hands together, and bent to give her a kiss. "Well, the horses are all saddled and waiting, but it's awfully damned cold ,Jen? Honey, what's wrong?" Her parents' letter was held tightly in one hand, and the heavy paper vibrated with the trembling of her fingers. His first thought was that either Jared or Mariah was ill.
The deep concern in Dev's voice undid Jenny's determination to remain calm. She wanted nothing more than to cry, on his shoulder, to share the burden of this awful situation and hear him reassure her of his love. She stood up and met him halfway around the desk. "It ...
it's this letter, Dev ... my father says ... Here, you read it!" She thrust it at him, then threw her arms around his neck, weeping her despair against the sturdy' comfort of his broad shoulder.
Dev had to read the letter twice before the full impact of what Jared had written hit him.
Jenny's first husband-alive? He felt shocked and immediately threatened. Though she'd never told him much about Rodrigo, Jenny must have been very much in love with him at one time. Did she still care for him, was that why she was crying, tom between her love for someone she'd thought dead and the new love she'd discovered?
He dropped the letter back onto the desk and circled Jenny's trembling body with his arms.
His own emotions were shaken to the core by the prospect of losing her. Even if the decision was hers to make, it would be like losing his own life to lose her now. When she had calmed herself somewhat, he pulled back and studied her expression. "Jared still doesn't know we're married, but he was pretty sure you'd go after this lead about Rodrigo. Now, I don't know how you feel about-" he'd almost said "your ex-husband," but caught himself in time-"about this Duke you were married to, but Jared asked me to go along, and there's no way I'd let you go alone!"
Jenny could find no words to describe what a disaster her marriage to Rodrigo had been.
How could a man who loved her understand how little Rodrigo had respected her or cared for her? Again she leaned her head against Dev's shoulder and circled his chest with her arms. "Oh, Dev! It's all such a horrible mess! I don't want to go I'm half-inclined to let this Mr. Courtland handle everything himself. Why should I drag you halfway across the world because I'm so stubborn about wanting to settle my mind one way or the other?"
"Look, Jen-this is my problem as well as yours. Or have you forgotten I love you? This Spanish Duke of yours may have seen you first, but even if he's alive, he sure as hell can't love you as much as I do!" Dev tightened his arms around Jenny, holding her close.
It was too embarrassing to explain how little Rodrigo had loved her. She had been such a little fool then, so gullible, so naive. It was painful to even remember that period in her life.
It would have simplified their lives later if Jenny had only opened her heart and revealed how she truly felt about her first marriage. Instead she replied, "Dear God, but I love you, too, Dev!" an ambiguous phrasing that Dev interpreted as an admission of love for both him and Rodrigo. "We'll both go, then," she added, "and if we don't find him alive, that part of my life will be over. I thought it was once, I truly did."
A week later Dev and Jenny left Langdon, with Isa and a great deal of luggage in tow. The trip would be a long and complicated journey by train, riverboat, and finally a clipper out of New Orleans, bound for La Guaira, the seaport serving inland Caracas. They carried clothing for two climates-warm, heavy woollens for the trip south until they reached the tropical warmth of the Gulf of Mexico.
For her part, Isa was thrilled to be going. Venezuela wasn't Spain, but it would be the closest she'd come to a Spanish culture in sixteen months. The people would speak her native tongue, the food would be spicy once more, and there were magnificent cathedrals in that Catholic country! There would be no more heathen religions (to Isa, anything but the True Faith was heathen) and no more strange pe
ople she couldn't converse with. God had truly answered her prayers for a miracle!
The reason for this trip mystified her, though. She had been Jenny's maid for close to five years now, ever since the lovely English girl had become the Duchess of Varga. Grandee that he'd been, Don Rodrigo had treated her mistress so coldly, with such little regard for her tender feelings, that Isa was amazed that her lady would care to search for him. In a distant way, Isa had grown fond of Dev Cantrell, mostly because he'd made Jenny happy again. She only hoped, and prayed nightly, that this search for the Duke would not destroy the happiness Lady Jena had found.
Though Isa was an elated passenger on the final portion of the trip, her employers didn't share her enthusiasm. Their relationship had changed in subtle ways since Jared's letter had set a new course for their lives. Their love still existed, but it was not the free, joyous expression it had been. Each time they made love, it was as if the ghost of Rodrigo watched from a corner of the cabin. Dev felt it more than Jenny, who had accepted her first husband's death and refused to believe he now lived before she saw him in the flesh or was given hard evidence to prove it.
The trim clipper, Sweet Wind, laid over for two days in Key West, southernmost of Florida's chain of island Keys, to take on fresh water and food and repair a torn topgallant sail. Dev and Jenny took advantage of the stay to explore the island, spending time ashore as the guests of a prominant local merchant named William Curry. The city had the flavor of a New England fishing village, complete with gingerbread white architecture and "widow's walks"
atop the roofs. Many of the inhabitants of the island were originally Bahamian, though it also had a large settlement of Spanish Cubans.
When they were again aboard the clipper, Jenny and Dev stayed on deck to watch Key West recede from view, both of them less than eager to leave the tranquillity of the island for the uncertainty that lay ahead of them.
They were drawing closer to their final destination. With fair winds the clipper would make La Guaira in four days. If she hadn't felt she would look a fool to Dev, Jenny would have insisted on turning back, but it was too late for that decision ... and perhaps the choice had never been hers to make.
A balmy breeze filled the sails, a warm, moist wind that teased at the loose waves of Jenny's hair. Dev took his arm from around her shoulders and leaned against the railing, studying her expression as she watched the sea. It was nearly twilight, and a purple haze stretched across the horizon. "Jenny?" he said softly. "Who is Thomas? Maybe somebody you knew in London, hmmm?"
Thomas? Jenny thought for several moments, a puzzled frown on her face. Common as it was, she knew no one by that name. "No, darling, I'm afraid I can't help you. I don't know who you're referring to." There was a strained silence, broken only by the crew moving about their chores and the gentle slap of Gulf waters against the clipper's hull. Then Jenny broke the quiet, a note of alarm in her voice. "Dev, what is this all about?"
"It's about Thomas-whoever the hell he is!" Dev snapped back and abruptly turned, gripping her shoulders with his large hands. "Jenny, for the past week you've been talking in your sleep, a word here or there. Last night you called out his name for the second time in two days, and you added, 'my love!' Now I may have to be patient while we search for a supposedly dead Spaniard, but I'll be damned if I also have to fight some dream lover from your past!" His voice sounded stubborn, and sullen in a way Jenny had never heard it.
"You've never said my name in your sleep," he added grudgingly.
"Devlan Cantrell!" Jenny retorted indignantly, then lowered her voice before she drew attention to their argument. "I have just informed you I don't know anyone named Thomas, have never known anyone by that name! If you still insist, then you're calling me a liar." Then her voice softened to a worried plea. "Dev, how can I help what I say in my sleep? For that matter, how can anyone help what she dreams of or says when at rest? Dev, I don't know what else to say except, do you really believe I'd do anything, say anything that would hurt you?"
"No," Dev answered quickly, pulling her into a close embrace. Against the soft, shiny texture of her hair, he said, "It's just ... I guess I love you too much, Jen; too much for my own peace of mind." Then, with a clear, star-strewn southern sky above them, he kissed her, the urgent pressure of his mouth erasing the tension of their disagreement.
PART TWO
Caracas, Venezula-March 5, 1874
Sixteen
Dev knew he was irritating Jenny by taking his time getting dressed for the ball they were to attend tonight, but at the moment, he couldn't have cared less. Though he'd never placed much emphasis on his birthdays, letting Them pass unheeded, the fact that this birthday had come and nearly gone without Jenny realizing it seemed some-how more important.
Perhaps, he thought dismally as he drew his shirt on, because now that he had someone to share the occasion with, he'd expected more of a fuss, a bit more attention.
All Jenny thought about these days, though, was securing the travel permits that were so damned important to her search for Rodrigo. Dev was beginning to hate the sound of that name; it came up so often in conversation, dominating Jenny's every waking moment until there seemed no room left in her life for him. It also irked him that she'd kept their marriage a secret, telling only Adam Warrener, because it would have been difficult, otherwise, to explain Dev's sharing the living quarters her father's friend had rented for her.
Despite the fact that she'd patiently explained her reasons for the charade, that she felt it would cause much less of a scandal if she found Rodrigo and obtained a divorce without anyone knowing of her second marriage, Dev had the impression he was an outsider, someone who'd forfeited his right to be a part of her life.
Jenny sat before her mirror now, checking her hair-style one last time. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Dev dawdling over the buttons of his ruffled dress shirt as though they had all the time in the world. What was wrong with him lately? It was almost as if he'd erected some kind of wall between himself and her. With a frown, she turned her gaze back to the mirror. It seemed that the only communication left to them any more was the closeness they shared at night when he would pull her into his arms and make love to her.
Even that was not what it had been; Dev had become demanding, overly dominant, as though he was obsessed with the idea that she must realize she. was his possession, his property.
Had she caused the growing rift between them? Jenny brooded over the possibility. Wasn't she also obsessed with an all-consuming desire to finish this business of finding Rodrigo and, once and for all, putting him out of her life? How happy she and Dev would be now if Domingo Alazar had not made that fateful sighting of the supposedly dead Rodrigo! But he had, and the event had changed their lives; she could do nothing now but follow the lead to whatever conclusion it came to.
Suddenly Dev was behind her, his hands caressing her bare shoulders as his gaze met hers in the reflection.
"I have a better idea for tonight, than attending this social Adam thinks is so important, Jenny." He bent his head and his lips touched her throat, his breath teasing warmly at her ear as he whispered, "Why don't we stay home and have our own party, just the two of us, eh?"
The regret in Jenny's voice was very real as she shook her head and refused the offer. "I'm sorry, darling ... I would love to, more than anything I can think of, but," she raised her hand to touch his cheek, her eyes pleading with him to understand, "I agree with Adam. He and Wynn Courtland have tried every avenue of persuasion to secure our permits for the interior. Nothing, not even the bribe to the governor of Guayana, has worked. If attending one of Presidente Blanco's social functions will do the trick, then it's a sacrifice we must make."
"Then make it alone!" Dev snapped, brushing her hand away before he turned and stalked across the room.
Jenny stared at him, feeling guilty that her attitude had caused his brusque rejection yet angry that he didn't understand why it was so very important to her to get every
thing settled. Where was the understanding he'd always shown her ... where was the Dev she'd come to love? Still loved, even if he didn't think so.
Unfortunately Jenny's temper overrode her guilt. "If that's the way you feel, Dev, you can stay home!" she retorted, angrily pushing aside several bottles on the dresser top to find her perfume. She grew even more furious when her quick, jerky movement caused her to spill half of the bottle's contents onto the lace covering of the table. "I thought you wanted to advance our efforts as much as I. Right now I don't think you care about anything but yourself. Since Adam was planning on taking us to the affair, he can serve as my escort!" It was too late to save much of the costly perfume, and Jenny jammed the stopper into the bottle, grabbed for the black lace mantilla, and carelessly flung it across her shoulders.
Dev stared at the floor, his mouth set in a grim, straight line, and he didn't raise his head, even when the hall door slammed behind Jenny. Within his head he had a mental image of Jenny at the ball, surrounded by amorous Latin lovers, not to mention the attention Courtland would pay her without Dev to hold him off.
A half-hour passed by, then another fifteen minutes before Dev broke the silence of the room with a curse and slammed his fist onto the arm of the chair. He'd be damned if he'd stay here, imagining what could be happening, tormenting himself with jealousy! He rose and quickly dressed. It wasn't too hard to hail a passing hansom cab, though the Spanish Isa had been teaching him came out a bit awkwardly. He managed to convey the idea that he was to be a guest at El Presidente's ball this evening, and the driver nodded enthusiastically, repeating in equally labored English that he would take him to General Blanco's residence.