He came back the next year for a pair of racers. Again he bought only on her recommendation. She was terribly flattered. She knew horses, had been raised with them, but no one would take her seriously because of her tender age. Edward Fleming, though, had been impressed with her knowledge and confidence. The Thoroughbreds she had sold him had since earned him a great deal of money. Again he wasn’t sorry. And somehow, they became friends, despite the vast difference in their ages.
He came immediately when he learned of her father’s death. He made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. It was not a salacious offer. He already knew he was dying. The physicians had given him only a few more months to live. What he wanted was a companion, a friend, someone who might care and shed a tear or two at his passing. He had friends, but no one close to him.
He was fond of saying she had given him a reason to live a bit longer. Jocelyn liked to think that was so. She was so grateful for the extra months she had been granted with him; he was everything to her, father, brother, mentor, friend, hero, everything except lover, but that could not be helped. He had been incapable of making love to a woman for many years before he even met her. But being an innocent bride of eighteen, she didn’t know what she was missing, and so had no regrets that there was an area of their relationship she wasn’t able to explore. She would have been more than willing, but didn’t feel cheated. She simply loved Edward for everything else he was to her.
She sometimes felt she had been born when she met him. Her mother had died before Jocelyn had any real memories of her. Her father spent most of his time in London. Occasionally when he came home he might notice her, but she never felt a closeness to him. Hers had been a lonely, isolated life in the country, her only true interest the horses her father bred. Edward had opened up a whole new world to her, of sports, and socials, and women friends, of fancy clothes, and luxuries she never dreamed of. Now she was about to embark on another new life, but without him to guide her. God, how was she going to face it without him?
Jocelyn adjusted her breathing to the smell of sickness as she entered the state bedroom. She would not use a scented kerchief to mask the unpleasant odors. She could not do that to him.
He was lying prone in the huge bed in the center of the enormous room, to make his own breathing easier. She saw him watching her as she approached, his gray eyes dull, nearly lifeless already, the skin sunken beneath them, and so deathly pale. It brought tears to her eyes to see him like this, when up until only a few weeks ago he had still been reasonably active, a few weeks before that, hale and hearty, or so he had made her believe—while all along he had been making plans and arrangements for her, knowing his time was coming to an end.
“Don’t look so sad, my dear.”
Even his voice didn’t sound the same anymore. God, how was she going to say good-bye to him without breaking down?
She reached for his hand lying on top of the velvet cover and brought it to her lips. When she took it away, a smile remained for his benefit, but it lasted only a second.
“That’s cheating,” she admonished herself and him. “I am sad. I can’t help it, Eddie.”
A little of the humor that was so much a part of him returned to his eyes at the name no one else had ever dared to call him, even in childhood. “You were always deplorably honest. It’s one of the things I most admired about you.”
“And I thought it was my excellent horse sense—about horses, that is.”
“That too.” His own attempt at a smile also failed.
“Are you in pain?” she asked hesitantly.
“Nothing I’m not used to by now.”
“Didn’t the physician give you—”
“For later, my dear. I wanted to remain lucid to say my good-byes.”
“Oh, God!”
“Now, none of that.” He tried to sound stern but had never been able to be stern with her. “Please, Jocelyn. I can’t bear to see you cry.”
She turned her head away to wipe at the tears, but when she looked back at him, they came rushing down her cheeks again. “I’m sorry, but it just hurts so much, Eddie. I wasn’t supposed to love you, not like this,” she said baldly.
A remark like that would have made him laugh even a few days ago. “I know.”
“You told me two months, and I thought—I thought I wouldn’t get that attached to you in such a short time. I wanted to make your last months comfortable, to make you happy if I could, because you were doing so much for me. But I wasn’t going to get so close that it was going to hurt when…It didn’t matter, did it?” A wry smile crossed her lips and then was gone. “Before those two months were up, I already cared too much. Oh, Eddie, can’t you give us a little more time? You fooled the doctors before. You can do it again, can’t you?”
How he longed to say yes. He didn’t want to give up this life, not when happiness had come so late to it. But he had never deceived her, and wouldn’t now. He had been selfish to marry her when there were so many other ways he could have helped her instead. But it was done, and he couldn’t really regret the time he had had with her, short as it was, even though it was causing her this grief now. He had wanted someone to care, and she did. He just hadn’t realized his own heart would ache because of it, now that he must leave her.
He squeezed her hand in answer to her plea. Seeing her shoulders sag, he knew she understood. He sighed, closing his eyes, but only for a moment. Looking at her had always given him so much pleasure, and he needed that right now.
She was incredibly beautiful, though she would be the first to scoff if he said so, and rightly so, since her looks were not in the least fashionable. Her coloring was too flamboyant for the ton, her red hair too bright, like a bursting flame, her lime-green eyes too unusual in their paleness, and much too expressive. If Jocelyn didn’t like you, her eyes said so, for she was too honest for her own good and didn’t know the first thing about duplicity. Nor did she conform with other redheads, as there wasn’t a single freckle on her flawless ivory skin, skin so pale it was nearly translucent.
Her features were more acceptable, a small oval face graced with gently arching brows, a nose small and straight, a soft, delicate mouth. There was a stubborn lift to her chin, though it was not indicative of temperament, at least not that Edward was aware of. The only stubbornness he had ever been treated to was her objection to leaving England, but in that she had finally given in.
As for the rest of her, well, even he had to admit her figure could have been a bit fuller. She was a touch over average in height, though still several inches shorter than his own medium frame. She had always been an active girl, even more so once she came to Fleming Hall, which would account for the narrow slimness of her shape. And she had lost weight this past month in her worry over him, so that her clothes no longer fitted her properly. Not that she cared. She was not a vain girl by any means. She accepted what she had to work with and did not go to great lengths to improve on it.
Edward, in his folly, had found himself extremely jealous of her, at any rate, and so was glad that other men did not find her as lovely as he did. And since his attachment to her was not sexual, her lack of figure was not at issue.
“Have I told you how grateful I am you agreed to be my duchess?”
“A hundred times, at least.”
He squeezed her hand again. She barely felt it.
“Are you and the countess packed?”
“Eddie, don’t—”
“We have to talk about it, my dear. You must leave immediately, even if it’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s not right.”
He knew what she referred to. “Funerals are depressing things, Jocelyn. No purpose can be served by your attending mine, other than to ruin all I’ve done to see you safe. Promise me?”
She nodded, if reluctantly. He was making it so real, her imminent departure. She had tried not to think of it, as if ignoring it could keep him with her longer. That wasn’t possible anymore.
“I sent a
copy of your will to Maurice.” On seeing her widened eyes, he explained. “I hope it will stay his hand from anything drastic. I am also hoping that once he realizes you’ve left the country, he will let the matter go and be satisfied with the entailed properties that will come to him. Eaton is rich enough to support him and his large family.” She didn’t need to stay for the reading of the will, since he had already transferred everything else he owned to her name.
“If you had just given him all of it—”
“Never! I would give it to charity before I let that…Jocelyn, I want you to have it, all of it. That’s one of the reasons I married you. I want to know that you will never lack for anything. And I have seen to your safety. The men I have obtained for your guard are the best available. Once you leave England, Maurice will be unable to manipulate the courts against you. And after you come of age, or if you should marry—”
“Don’t mention marriage now, Eddie…not now,” she said brokenly.
“I’m sorry, my dear, but you’re so young. The day will come when—”
“Eddie, please!”
“Very well. But you do know that I just want you to be happy?”
He shouldn’t have said so much to her. He was tired now; he could barely keep his eyes open. And yet there was so much more he wanted to say.
“The world is yours…to enjoy.”
“I will, Eddie, I promise. I’ll make it an adventure, just as you’ve said. I’ll see it all, do it all.” She was speaking rapidly now, because he seemed to be fading right before her eyes. She squeezed his hand tighter until his eyes focused on her again. “I’ll ride camels and elephants, hunt lions in Africa, climb the pyramids in Egypt.”
“Don’t forget…your stud farm.”
“I won’t. I’ll produce the finest Thoroughbreds in the…Eddie?” His eyes had closed, his fingers gone slack. “Eddie?”
“I love…you…Jocelyn.”
“Eddie!”
Chapter Three
Arizona Territory, 1881
It was not a road so much as a mule trail, so narrow at points that several times the lead coach had gotten wedged, once between the ridge of the mountain and immovable boulders, another time between two high, rocky slopes. Each time a good many hours were wasted in widening the path with shovels and picks, tools fortunate enough to have been included in the supplies. Not many miles had been covered this hot morning in October.
Hot. It was that, but Mexico had been worse, much worse, especially in July, an unfortunate time of year to enter that particular country. The cavalcade of coaches and wagons had crossed the Mexican border last night, and that was when their guide had disappeared—the reason they were not on a decent road now. They were lost, in the middle of mountain ranges that seemed to go on forever, though the trail they followed surely must end somewhere.
They were on their way to Bisbee. Or was it Benson? They really did need a guide for this area. The Mexican they had hired several months ago had done an admirable job of getting them over the border without incident, but he obviously had lied about his knowledge of this North American region, or he wouldn’t have run off and left them without warning.
Of course, there was no hurry to get anywhere. They had supplies enough to last a month, gold enough to replenish the stores when they did finally reach Bisbee, or Benson, whichever came first. Any town would do, actually. It didn’t really matter.
There had been a lot of coin tossing lately to decide on the next direction to travel in, something Jocelyn had started in Europe when she couldn’t make up her mind what country to visit next. She had every intention of eventually reaching California this time, where she had sent her ship, the Jocel, to meet her. Of course, if something came up to change her mind in the interim, she could always send a message to the captain to meet her elsewhere, as she had done many times before.
She had been debating whether to spend some months exploring this country, as they had done in Mexico, or whether to go on to Canada or South America once she reached California. It was a matter of priorities, really, safety versus pleasure. She wanted to see more of these Western territories, and more of the states, too, and their cities. She had only been to New York and New Orleans so far. And she had especially wanted to visit the stud farms in Kentucky she had heard about, to see how their Thoroughbreds would compare with hers, and if they had any mares she might want to buy for Sir George, the prize stallion she had brought with her.
But if she did as she wanted to do, John Longnose was likely to catch up to them. He was the chap who had been following them about the world ever since they had left England three years ago, hiring cohorts in different countries as he needed them, so that they never really knew whom to suspect, or whom to watch out for. They had never seen the man, nor did they know his actual name. John Longnose was simply the name they gave to him because he was so often a topic of conversation, and they needed some name to call him by.
The safe thing to do would be to take to sea again once they reached California. There was a good chance that Longnose would lose the scent that way, at least for a while. Unless, of course, he had already tracked her ship to the West Coast and would be there waiting for her. And blast it all, she was tired of playing it safe, she really was. It was all she had been doing since this mad adventure had begun, often having to leave a place before she was ready, changing hotels frequently, changing her name even more frequently.
“Oh, dear, I see you’re brooding again,” Vanessa remarked, looking pointedly at the fan Jocelyn was using with increased speed. The frown she got in answer had her amending, “Of course it is terribly hot, isn’t it?”
“We’ve been in hotter countries, including the one we just left.”
“Indeed we have.”
Vanessa said no more. She even looked back out the window, as if the subject were closed. Jocelyn knew better. It was an affectation of the countess’s to give the impression of retreat, when that was rarely if ever her intention. It was an annoying habit, though Jocelyn was quite used to it by now, even ignored it most times. It was easier to just tell Vanessa what she wanted to know than to try to put her off.
You would think two women would get on each other’s nerves after being constant companions for so long, but that had never happened. The friendship begun in England had grown until there wasn’t anything they didn’t know about each other, anything they couldn’t speak of.
They made an odd pair, Jocelyn with her vivid coloring, Vanessa pale with ash-blond hair and light brown eyes. The countess was thirty-five now, but she looked ten years younger, with a full figure that turned men’s heads. Jocelyn was still thin, all the rich, exotic foods she had sampled in every country they visited not helping at all to increase her curves. When they stood together, Vanessa’s shortness made Jocelyn appear taller than her five and a half feet in height, and skinnier than she really was. Vanessa was approachable, conventional in appearance, not at all intimidating, while Jocelyn was the exact opposite simply because her looks were so unusual.
Jocelyn wouldn’t know what to do without the countess. She often marveled that the older woman hadn’t abandoned her long ago, or at least in New York, where their pursuit had taken on a more sinister aspect with the murder of Jocelyn’s American solicitor. But Vanessa had seemed to thrive on the adventure. And unlike Jocelyn, she had always wanted to see the world, so she was enjoying every minute of their travels. She rarely complained, even when their accommodations were less than adequate, or the weather was the worst that it could get.
Vanessa wasn’t the only one who had remained loyal through it all. They still had Babette and Jane, their lady’s maids from Fleming Hall. The three grooms who saw to the horses, and Sidney and Pearson, the two menservants who came in most handy whenever they camped out in the open, were the same men Edward had picked for Jocelyn’s entourage. They had lost their first cook and her two helpers, but Philippe Marivaux, the temperamental French chef they had found in Italy to replace her, was stil
l with them, as were the Spaniard and the Arab who were later hired to assist him, as well as drive the wagons when necessary. And only four of the original sixteen-man escort had left Jocelyn’s employ. Those weren’t so easy to replace, for there weren’t that many men skilled with weapons who were also willing to leave their homes and countries for what was beginning to seem like a never-ending journey.
At the most, five minutes had passed when Vanessa began again. “You aren’t worried about this tiny road we’re on, are you?”
“It’s only a trail, I believe, and no, we seem to be descending now, so it shouldn’t go on much longer.”
“Then you were brooding again,” Vanessa said with an I-knew-it smugness to her tone. “Not about that chap you had to leave behind in New York, I hope. I thought you had concluded you couldn’t marry him until you had disposed of the little matter of your maidenhead?”
Jocelyn didn’t blush as she had the first time her unusual predicament had become the topic of conversation. They had spoken of it so often since then, there was nothing left to blush about.
“I haven’t changed my mind,” Jocelyn replied. “Charles knew of Edward, had even met him on his European tour. Under no circumstance would I allow Charles to become aware of Edward’s affliction. I won’t have Edward’s memory besmirched like that. And there isn’t any way Charles wouldn’t know of it if I married him—unless of course he has the same affliction, which is hardly likely as young as he is.”
“And as sexually aggressive. You did say he cornered you in that bedroom and nearly—”
“Yes, well, we both agreed he is more than capable of claiming all marital rights.”
Jocelyn was blushing now. She hadn’t meant to confide that incident to Vanessa, but the older woman had pried it out of her as usual. Not that she was ashamed of what had happened. Charles had already proposed to her. And if she had drunk a little bit too much at that party and had let Charles seduce her because of it, there wasn’t anything so wrong in that considering how they had felt about each other. But that night she had forgotten about her predicament, and if Vanessa hadn’t come looking for her, which put an end to Charles’ passionate embraces, there wouldn’t be a problem anymore. Charles would have found out that the Duke of Eaton’s widow was still a virgin.
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