Lancelot's Lady

by Cherish D'Angelo

  "Don't talk as if you're leaving us," he chided.

  "I will be. One day."

  Rhianna's heart ached at the thought. Her job could end in a heartbeat. Or the lack of one. They both knew that. Though they'd given him six months at most, not even the doctors knew how much time JT really had left.

  It had been difficult at first, watching a grown man waver between being fully cognizant one moment and barely lucid the next. Some days he had a hard time remembering the simple things, like how to tie his shoes or the cream went in his coffee not over his eggs. But she loved the old man. JT was like the father she'd never had.

  Orphaned at birth, she'd been sent to live with her mother's sister, until Aunt Madeline and Uncle Bernard died in a ferry accident. After the funeral, Rhianna went into foster care and remained there until she was sixteen. The last place she was sent to was the home of Gwen and Peter Waverley. She spent three long years there―three years of hell.

  She shook her head. The past is the past.

  Flicking a look at Higginson, she noticed a single tear had escaped down his cheek. The man was a loyal employee, more like a companion and dear friend than a well paid butler. He'd been with JT for over twenty years. They often argued over business matters, yet JT always respected him, and that had won the butler's eternal devotion.

  "There's something magnetic about her," Higginson said, before leaving her alone.

  Rhianna's gaze was drawn back to the mysterious canvas. She often felt the woman in the painting was watching her. The artist had captured the sensual yearning in the young woman's expression, a sense of desperation, torment and passion that haunted her beautiful eyes. However, there was one thing that stood out―a flaw of sorts. The artist's signature was illegible.

  "Good evening, dear."

  Turning, Rhianna smiled as JT approached. "You're wearing your new robe."

  He frowned. "New? Oh, yes. I can't seem to find my other one."

  She'd given him a new bathrobe when he turned sixty-seven a week ago, but every now and then he'd forget about it and go in search of the ratty, threadbare one that she and Higginson had secretly thrown out.

  "Why didn't you answer me when I called your name?" he asked.

  "Sorry, I was daydreaming." She glanced at the painting. "It's so beautiful I get lost in it."

  "I know, dear. It's your favorite."

  "Who's the artist?"

  JT's eyes went cloudy. "What artist?"

  She indicated the painting.

  "I don't have a clue." He frowned. "I think I knew once, but…" His voice trailed away.

  "It's okay, JT."

  "What is?" he asked, bright-eyed again.

  She let out a sigh. JT's memory lapses were becoming more frequent.

  Higginson approached them. "Everything is ready, sir."

  "Then let's get this show on the road."

  JT winked and Higginson disappeared down the hall.

  "What's going on?" she asked JT. "You should be upstairs resting."

  "I'll have plenty of time for that when I'm dead."

  Her eyes watered. "Don't say that."

  "I'm sorry, dear. You know I wouldn't hurt you for all the world, but if I'm going to die soon I might as well enjoy life now." He gave her a secretive smile. "Anyway, I can't very well miss tonight's celebration, can I?"

  "What celebration?"

  He frowned. "Your birthday party, dear girl."

  Oh no. This was the last thing Rhianna wanted.

  "It's no big deal," she mumbled.

  "No big deal?" JT's arm swept across her shoulders. "My dear Rhianna, you're twenty-five now. When you're as old as I am, you'll be thankful for every single birthday you ever had. It means you lived one more year, saw one more year of sights and loved one year longer."

  She smiled. "I suppose you're right."

  "Of course I'm right. Besides, I have to dance with the birthday girl at least one time." He kissed her forehead. "You know, my birthday is coming up soon. I'll be sixty-seven." He frowned and scratched his chin. "Or is it seventy-six?"

  She didn't have the heart to tell him he'd had it already.

  His sudden burst of energy the past few weeks worried her. So did his insistence upon having a glass of brandy every night before bed, even though it was against doctor's orders. He'd been given six months. That was three weeks ago.

  JT took her arm for support. "Take me to the dining room. And no arguing."

  The first thing she saw when they entered the room was the bouquet of pink and mauve roses in a crystal vase. Instead of being positioned as a centerpiece, it sat on her plate. Beside the rose bouquet was a large box wrapped in pastel paper and tied with a lop-sided pink bow.

  "I couldn't quite get that blasted bow right," JT muttered.

  "Oh, JT," she said, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. "You didn't have to buy me anything. I'm your employee."

  "No, Anna, you're like a daughter to me." JT's eyes widened. "Well, go on. Open it."

  Some days he's just like a child, Rhianna thought, bending her head so he wouldn't see how much his thoughtfulness meant to her.

  Blushing, she pulled out a mint green bikini with tiny lavender rosebuds on it. "I, uh…thank you."

  "There's more," JT prodded.

  Under a layer of tissue lay two sheer skirt-wraps and a pair of white leather sandals.

  "This is very generous of you, JT, but I'm not sure where or when I'd ever wear these. They're not very practical for a nurse."

  JT's eyes twinkled. "That's the point, Rhianna. Look how I had to argue with you just to get you to wear normal clothes instead of those ghastly nurse uniforms that only remind me that I'm dying." He smiled. "Besides, a pretty gal like you should be spoiled on her birthday. Someone needs to remind you that life is for living, not for holing up in an empty house with a cranky old geezer like me."

  "Well, you do know how to spoil a girl." She grinned. "And I suppose if I have to put up with a 'cranky old geezer' like you, I'll survive. If nothing else, you keep things interesting."

  "Now for the real gift," JT announced.

  Higginson handed him a white business envelope before vanishing from the room.

  Rhianna frowned. "Where's he going, JT?"

  "Oh, don't worry. He'll be back."

  She opened the envelope and gasped. "What's this?"

  "It's your vacation. A plane ticket to Angelina's Isle, a resort island just northeast of Nassau in the Bahamas. I want you to take the next three weeks off."

  "But I can't take a holiday."

  "Yes, you can. And you will. You need a bit of fun."

  "Fun? How can you say that when you…"

  "I'm not going anywhere," he assured her. "I'll still be here when you get back."

  Her voice trembled. "How do you know that?"

  "I just do."

  "But what if something happens while I'm gone?"

  "Higginson will make sure I have expert care."

  "But why are you sending me away? I don't understand." A tear trickled down her cheek.

  "Rhianna, don't cry. I'm doing what's best for you. Trust me." He looked her straight in the eye. "I want you to have an adventure you'll never forget. You can't get that here. Besides, you could use a break. You're too devoted to your job."

  I'm devoted to you, she wanted to say.

  "When you come back," he said, "you'll be rested and ready to face the inevitable."

  They both knew he was talking about his looming death.

  "You're paying me to look after you," Rhianna argued. "Not to go gallivanting off to some resort in the Bahamas."

  Even as she said this, a thrill of excitement raced through her. She'd never been anywhere except Maine and Florida. There was so much of the world she yearned to see, so many things she'd never experienced. Like freedom, adventure…love.

  "You've done a terrific job caring for me," JT said. "But there's more to life than looking after an old man. Higginson will drive you to the airport
tomorrow morning. When you come back, I want to see you tanned, healthy and happy."

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. "If you won't do this for yourself, do it for me."

  She let out a heavy sigh. "Fine then. For you."

  Rhianna could tell JT was elated by her decision. The way he'd ordered her around one might think he was her father.

  As if reading her mind, the old man reached across the table for her hand. "You know I love you as if you were my own flesh and blood. You've certainly shown me more affection than my son."

  "You never mentioned you had a son."

  "He left home years ago. Shortly after he got married, we had a terrible argument and I haven't heard from him since."

  "You mean he just disappeared? Hasn't he at least written you?"

  "He wanted to make me pay for my sins," JT said, the light in his eyes dimming. A minute later he looked at her, confused. "What were we talking about?"

  Before she could reply, Higginson returned with a small item wrapped in a piece of soft cotton. It was rectangular in shape and the size of a large book.

  "And now I have two more gifts for you," JT said, giving her a conspiratorial wink.

  Still fuming about JT's errant son, she watched him unveil a miniature print of the Lady in the Mist. Matted in deep blue and framed with a silver-edged frame, it was almost as exquisite as the original.

  "I love it," she said, swiping at a rogue tear. "Thank you."

  "Take it on your holiday," he suggested. "So you have a piece of home with you."

  She couldn't hold back. "What's the second gift?"

  JT grinned so widely that if he were dressed in a Santa suit he'd have passed for good old Claus. Well, Santa on Weight Watchers, maybe.

  "The original Lady in the Mist is hanging in your room." At her stunned expression, he added, "It's all yours."

  Rhianna was more than stunned. She was speechless. The very painting that she had gazed at for almost two months was actually hers. There were other paintings in Lance Manor, some even painted by the same artist, but none affected her quite like the one of the woman with the long red hair and deep green eyes.

  "JT…I don't know what to say. You're too generous."

  "That's what friends do," he said in mock sternness. "Now, just make an old man happy and say thank you."

  She grinned at him. "Thank you."

  Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around the dying man and hugged him fiercely. "You are an honorable friend, JT, and I am so glad you're in my life."

  "I haven't always been honorable. I've done some things in my life that I'm not proud of. And I've hurt people too." He lowered his voice. "There are no guarantees in life. But any risk is worth taking when you love someone. Remember that, Rhianna."

  Alarmed by the tremor in his voice, she pulled back and saw tears in his eyes. "What's wrong?"

  He blinked twice.

  "JT?"

  He gave her a blank look. "Anna…"

  She sighed. "It's past your bedtime."

  "When did you get here, Anna? Did you bring the baby?"

  Rhianna had asked Higginson about this Anna person JT always mistook her for. The butler didn't have a clue. And now it seemed this mystery woman had a baby.

  It must be someone from his past.

  Maybe his son's mother.

  Escorting JT to his room, she tried not to think of what would happen once he was gone. In some ways he was already gone. It was emotionally draining to watch him flip-flop between bouts of memory loss and total comprehension. Witnessing this grand man's decline was devastatingly heartbreaking. Today, one would never know by looking at him that he had less than six months to live.

  She blinked back tears, then pasted a smile on her face for the man who meant so much to her. He gave her more than a paycheck, more than a place to call home. He restored her sense of safety and belonging.

  Yes, JT was one of a kind.

  She scowled. Too bad his son hasn't realized that.

  If she ever met the guy, she'd have a few things to say to him. And none of them would be polite.

  Chapter 3

  The airplane droned over cottony clouds and Rhianna was lulled into sleep. She dreamed of coming home to find JT lying in his bed, still and lifeless. Waking suddenly, she shook off an uneasy feeling.

  It's just a nightmare.

  She smiled, recalling JT's words before she left.

  "I'll wait for your return before I go anywhere," he promised, "including Heaven's pearly gates―or that other place―whichever will take me."

  God, please don't take him before I return. I'd never forgive myself.

  She yawned and rested her head against the window.

  Then restless dreams once again claimed her…

  After being dumped off on Mrs. Emerson, a foster mother with very little money and too many mouths to feed, Rhianna had given up hope of finding a real family. She was a lost soul for a couple of years, until the "system" found her new foster parents when she was almost sixteen.

  At first, Peter and Gwen Waverley seemed kind, but the honeymoon stage didn't last long. By the second week, Rhianna was making dinner, doing the dishes, vacuuming the house, and on weekends she did laundry. Sometimes her foster mother would ask her to dust too. Plus she had to keep her own bedroom spotless. Between school, chores and homework there wasn't much time left for a social life.

  It didn't take her long to realize that the Waverleys were more interested in having a live-in housekeeper than a daughter. Later, she found out that her foster father saw her as anything but daughter material. In fact, he saw her more as a possession. A possession he had to have.

  Peter's lecherous advances behind his wife's back made Rhianna so nervous that she remained in her room unless she had chores to do. At night, she'd lock her bedroom door, holding her breath as his footsteps slithered past her door.

  Most of the time she was able to avoid being alone with him―until one evening when Gwen decided to go see Phantom of the Opera.

  Rhianna saw the evil twinkle in Peter's eyes.

  "Please don't go, Mrs. Waverley," she cried. "I don't want you to leave."

  "Quit your whining," Peter snapped.

  Sweat trickled down his brow as he waddled over to his wife and handed her a twenty dollar bill. "Have fun."

  Gwen eyed Rhianna with disdain. "See to it that all your chores are done before you retire. I don't want to come home to a pile of dirty dishes and wrinkled laundry. And quit that sniffling."

  "But Mrs. Waverley, I'd just feel much better if you were home. And I don't think the agency would like―"

  Peter whipped around. "You don't think I can take care of you?"

  "Now, Peter," Gwen said with a sigh. "The girl is just missing me, that's all. I'm sure you'll do a fine job looking after our…daughter." Her eyes narrowed. "And don't worry, she won't say anything to the agency. She knows there isn't another family for miles that would take her in."

  Peter glared at Rhianna. In a cold voice he said, "It's a good thing your parents are dead. I don't think they'd be too proud of your behavior."

  "Yes, you behave yourself," Gwen commanded. "And get those chores done while I'm gone. I'll be back around ten o'clock."

  The door slammed shut behind her.

  Rhianna watched as Peter flicked the lock.

  When he turned around, his eyes were gleaming and his mouth was stretched into a sadistic smile. "Come to Daddy."

  Her heart stopped beating.

  "Miss?" a voice called from the blackness. "Wake up."

  Rhianna opened her eyes and a face swam into view.

  "Why, hello there," a flight attendant said, her accent placing her from Ireland. "Boy, that was one doozy of a nightmare, if I do say so. You better have a drink, and I don't mean water. Can I fetch you something?"

  "No, thank you." Rhianna shook off the remnants of her dream. "When will we be landing?"

  "In about twenty minutes, give or take
. Course we have to make it through the Bahama Triangle first."

  Rhianna's pulse raced. "The Bahama Triangle?"

  The flight attendant grinned. "Just kidding. No such thing."

  In the aisle seat across from Rhianna, a man in a business suit nodded. "I've taken this trip dozens of times, and they still use the old Bahama Triangle joke." He smiled. "Where you headed?"

  "To a resort on Angelina's Isle. Have you been there before?"

  The man frowned. "No, can't say I have."

  Over the speaker, the captain asked everyone to fasten their seatbelts for their descent. The plane softly touched down and coasted down the runway.

  Rhianna's heart raced with anticipation, mimicking the rumble of the plane's engine. Fifteen minutes later, she disembarked from the plane and followed the ant trail of tourists and residents down the narrow hall.

  Once she passed through the airport, she hurried outside. A wall of heat and humidity hit her, and she sucked in a breath, grinned and hailed a cab.

  "I need to get to Bayshore Marina," she said, checking the directions JT had written down.

  A kaleidoscope of island colors and scenery rushed past the open taxi window. The seductive aroma of exotic flowers mingled with the fresh but humid scent of an earlier rain that had left evaporating puddles on the road. Between lush palm trees, she saw houses painted in tropical shades of orange, pink, yellow and green.

  It was breathtaking, unspoiled. Like another world.

  Almost too soon the taxi pulled up to Bayshore Marina. A small dock jutted out over the water and boats of various sizes and styles were moored there, while others dotted the water. In the distance, small islands appeared to float on the ocean's surface.

  She wondered which one was Angelina's Isle.

  Walking along the dock, she noticed two men arguing about the boxes they were loading into a brightly painted powerboat. Moving closer, she discovered that the paint job was meant to detract from the rickety shape the craft was in.

  "There isn't enough room for all of them!" yelled the dark-skinned man.

  "You'll have to make room, Roland," his older companion replied. "Tyler wants these supplies this month, not two months from now."

  "I'm telling you, Denny, I can't transport them all. The boat'll sink."