10/12
"Hey, Malone!" one of the news desk boys yelled. "Ya' got a visitor!"
The young reporter stifled a sigh and tossed aside the folder of
documents. He had been getting nowhere in his research for someone who
might have known about Marguerite's agreement with Trader. "Might as
well take a break," he muttered as he rose from his desk and walked
toward the News Desk.
He stopped suddenly when he saw his visitor. "Veronica?"
The blonde woman grinned and spun around, her blue and white dress
fanning out into the air around her. "Do I look civilized to you?"
Dumbstruck, Ned could only nod his agreement. Veronica, however,
spared him from further thought when she continued, "I found my
parents. Or at least what was left of them."
"What? How?" he asked leading her back to his desk and indicating she
should take his chair. He leaned against the corner of the desk
itself.
"The day after you left, Assai came by to check on me. She also
brought news that some of the warriors had come across a cave filled
with human skeletons." Veronica looked down at the small journal she
clutched in her hand. "Assai said they found several things there, but
the most important was this."
Ned took the journal and opened it to read the inscription. "'To our
darling, Veronica.' You mean..."
She nodded with a sad smile. "It's my mother's handwriting.
Apparently, she and my father had been exploring the cave when some
type of earthquake occurred and they were trapped by the fallen rock.
The journal tells everything that they had been doing -- even mentioned
how they had constructed a balloon to better survey the area. But
mostly it says how much they wished that I would not have to grow up
alone."
"Veronica, I'm so sorry," Ned began as he lightly clasped her hand.
Shaking her head, she answered, "Thank you, but I found my parents and
gave them a proper burial. That's all that matters."
"So you hopped the next steamer to London just to tell me this?"
"Well, yes and no. I missed everyone and, with my parents found, it
seemed rather futile to wait four months before I could see you again."
She glanced away shyly, uncertain if, now that he had returned to his
world, Ned still felt the same way. To cover her embarrassment, she
added, "Besides, you, Challenger, Roxton and Marguerite became more my
family a long time ago."
Malone started at her mention of Marguerite realizing suddenly there
was no way she could have known what had happened. "Veronica, about
Marguerite..."
***
The jury had deliberated only forty-five minutes when word was
announced that they had reached a decision. Roxton looked from the
bailiff to Wilkite and asked, "Is this good or bad?"
The barrister shook his head. "To own the truth, John, I'm not quite
certain." The panel filed quickly back into the courtroom and a hush
fell over the occupants as a woman's fate passed from the hands of the
head juror to the Lord Chief Justice. The judge nodded once to the
juror and read the verdict.
"Marguerite Krux, you have been found guilty of the charge of espionage
against the Crown. Tomorrow morning your sentence will be carried out:
death by hanging."
"No!" cried Roxton, who leapt across the railing to reach his wife.
Marguerite merely hung her head. When the bailiff came to escort her
from the courtroom, she turned and lifted her eyes to Roxton and
whispered, "I'm sorry, John."
The hunter, despair plainly carved into his features, cupped her jaw.
"No, no, love, don't even think of it. This is not the end. I'll find
a way." The officer allowed the couple a brief, pain-filled kiss
before leading her out of the courtroom and back to her cell.
"Dammit, man!" Roxton cursed the barrister, his eyes glued to the
retreating figure of his wife. "You've got to do something!"
"John, the court has made its decision; there's nothing left to be
done."
The lord shook his head unable to accept Wilkite's words. Instead, he
turned to the one man who had always managed to find reason where the
illogical ruled. "Challenger, any luck with the files?"
The professor shook his head. "Sorry, Roxton, but Malone hasn't been
able to find anything. The location of the files is something that it
appears only David Trader knows."
From the back of the room Thomas Riley looked on, a pillar of silence
and regard, as he watched his nephew sink into the courtroom chair,
defeat sagging his shoulders. A man unaccustomed to the feeling of
compassion, Riley felt it surge through him. John Roxton was a good
man who, by all accounts, had fallen in love and married a woman with a
past. Not completely unheard of, though it was enough of a concern to
raise the eyebrows of society's mores. However, Marguerite Krux was a
chameleon; a fact which allowed her to easily transition between two
worlds. Even the most hard-nosed of blue bloods would welcome her as
one of their own. Had the trial ended differently, she would have had
the opportunity, of that he was certain. And if they would do so,
perhaps he could do the same and finally bury the memory of a woman
whom he had loved.
***
11/12
Marguerite stared at the food on the plain metal tray and wished that
the lobster would disappear and be replaced by raptor meat. Having
been given a death sentence, the warden had promptly moved her from the
communal cells into solitary confinement where she spent the night and
ate her last meal -- or, at least, was supposed to eat. She picked at
the scrumptious lobster tail surrounded by a bed of fresh Romaine
lettuce and a deliciously light rice pilaf. The prison's cook had
outdone himself; it was too bad his customer had little appetite.
Funny thing that, she inwardly mused, while on the Plateau, she would
have given her left arm for food such as this.
Pushing the tray aside, she rose and paced through the cell. Part of
her yearned to feel her husband's arms around her and hear him whisper
reassurances against her temple. And yet, the other part was glad that
he wasn't there to see her in this state. It was bad enough that he
would be there for the hanging. Marguerite started at the thought.
Would John attend the execution? Did she even want him to do so?
She wrapped her arms around herself, steeling against the sudden cold
chill that swept over her. What would her death do to him? It had
taken years, several of which had been spent in a Buddhist temple, for
him to recover from his brother's death. And, knowing Roxton as she
did, he would not view her demise as anything less than his fault.
"Oh, John, of all the different scenarios, why did it have to end up
this way? Why did I agree to Trader's request? Jail time would be
infinitely more bearable than death. He might have even sent me on an
all expenses paid trip to Australia to work off my sentence in the
labor camps. At least there I would have had a chance to escape."
A sudden knock interrupted her rant and she answered, "If it's the Grim
Reaper, you'll just have to wait a few more minutes." When the door
opened, a mousy-looking man stared dumbly at her and mumbled something
about taking her tray if she was finished.
"Yes, yes. Take it," she bit out irritated at the guard, at the whole
situation. She was married to the only man she had ever truly loved
and would die before their vows could be consummated. Fate's wicked
sense of humor caused her to grimace rather than laugh.
Thinking back over the men in her life, she realized how much time she
had wasted on girlish fantasies of the notion. Certainly she had
thought she loved Phillipe and had followed him from Monaco to Shang
Hai on the rush of feeling she felt in his kiss. Determined that she
could make him love her just as she loved him, she had followed him
around for two years living in a notch above squalor all while he swore
that good fortune was just around the corner. One more deal would
solidify it. When he told her she had to sell herself on the street
because they needed the money, she finally realized the truth that had
been present all along. She had left the next day bound for Paris and
had met Adrienne her first night in town.
Then came the millionaire with the 'two mistresses and an overdraft.'
A mistake of grandiose proportions, though certainly not the last.
Several dignitaries and businessmen figured into the years between her
marriages to the millionaire and later to von Gutenburg, all minor
dalliances, though she had loved none of them, each had his place in
molding her into the woman she was now. And for that she offered them
silent thanks.
The man who had taught her the true definition of love had not appeared
until years later when they had been stranded in the middle of no-man's
land. "John," she murmured caressing the fourth finger of her right
hand where his ring had so recently been placed. The inspector had
removed it 'for her own good.' And, having seen her cellmates for
herself, she was glad he had. They were not the type to respect
personal property, especially if it consisted of gold.
Pounding her fist against the cement wall, she cursed, "Dammit, this
wait is killing me!" then laughed harshly at the ironic phrase.
***
"Commander John Davies, please."
"Who might I ask is calling?"
"Tell him it is the Seaman Spy." Riley heard the confused pause and
then was assured that his call would be transferred immediately. He
heard a soft click and then a mumbled response. After a moment, the
phone was picked up again.
"Yes?" the man on the other end of the line asked, his tone laced with
doubt.
"I am a wayward sailor man whom the Crown sent out to sea."
"And for the Crown I'll sail my days, my death soon to meet. My, God,
what in bloody hell happened?" The voice became terse as soon as the
requisite code had been stated and responded.
Riley smiled. John Davies was nothing if not succinct, a trait he had
often admired in his commanding officer. "The woman, Marguerite Krux;
we both know she's not a traitor. But she will hang today if the proof
is not presented."
Tense silence reigned and for a moment, Riley feared the line had been
disconnected. He could hear Davies take in a deep, assessing breath.
"What is she to you? Why risk everything?"
"She's my nephew's wife and the woman he loves. She is his Mary Anne."
Davies didn't respond and all Riley could hear was the occasional
crackle in the phone line. "Alright, I'll get them."
"One more thing, you have to bring them to the judge. I can't be
connected to them otherwise everything will be suspect and they'll hang
her anyway."
Riley could picture the other man pursing his lips, judging the
veracity of his request then agreed, "Very well. Give me an hour or
so. I can't guarantee that they are still where we left them."
Riley nodded though Davies couldn't see it then rang off. As soon as
the line cleared, he picked up the phone again. "Operator, please
connect me with the International Herald Tribune. I need to speak with
Mr. Ned Malone."
***
The ominous clang of the steel gate opening resounded through the tense
prison atmosphere. Executions, thankfully, had been moved inside the
prison walls some time ago, so the only persons in audience were
Roxton, his mother, Challenger, Wilkite and various prison personnel.
Though unnecessary in her mind, Marguerite spotted the judge in the
background. 'Guess he wants to see for himself,' she thought dourly.
She offered each of her visitors a slight smile, the tense lines around
her mouth and eyes making her face feel as though it was about to split
in half. Her gaze snagged Roxton's and held. As much as she wanted to
offer him some type of reassurance, her smile disappeared under the
weight of the knowledge that she would be dead in less than a half
hour. Blinking rapidly to dry the tears that clouded her vision, she
stepped toward the gallows.
John, for his part, had never felt so powerless in his life. Even his
brother's death could not compare to the agony that now gripped him as
he watched his wife ascend the wooden steps. They had gambled and
lost. She had counted on him to find some way to clear her name, but
he had failed and now she would pay the ultimate price. Roxton cringed
as the hangman pulled her roughly into position behind the noose.
Challenger placed a steadying hand on his arm, but as the rope was
tightened about her neck, the lord struggled against the hand in the
vain attempt to try and save her. Marguerite's gray eyes pleaded with
him to accept the outcome, but she knew her husband would fight to the
death to protect her from harm. Even when the exercise was futile.
"Marguerite!" The pain-filled cry ripped from Roxton's chest.
"Challenger, *damn* you, let me *go*!" The lord struggled against the
older man's firm grip and when he discovered his friend would not
relent, Roxton jabbed a sharp left hook into the older man's stomach
and jumped the short row of benches intent on saving his wife. The
sharp click of a pistol being cocked stopped him as the guard pointed
his service weapon at Roxton's temple. The Dowager Lady Roxton,
overwhelmed by the sheer immensity of the scene, screamed at the sight
of her only son in the direct line of fire.
"John, don't!" Marguerite's cry stilled his movements and locking his
gaze with hers he shook his head, unwilling to accept that their love
would end in this manner. She raised her bound hands toward him as if
to caress his face, to bring him comfort. "It's alright," she said
through the tears that trailed down her cheeks. "We knew that this
could happen."
The hangman, who had paused a moment to allow her a few last words with
the man who so obviously loved her, pulled a black hood from the
scaffold wall and moved to cover Marguerite's face with it. Tearing
her eyes from John, Marguerite shook her head vehemently at her
executioner. "No, I don't want it.
"Yer sure, miss?" he asked, startled by her unexpected response. He
had never hanged a woman before and already she showed more courage
than most of the men who had felt his knot. Though she had been
condemned a criminal, his respect for her rose a notch. "Alright
then," he answered then hung it back in its place knowing she hadn't
heard a word he'd said. He glanced surreptitiously toward the man who
still struggled in protest.
Roxton, pain deeply etched into his features, shook his head, eyes
filled with the fear of losing her. "If the prisoner has no further
last words," began the jailer with a harsh regard for the scene before
him. He let his voice trail off and waited for Marguerite to shake her
head, then nodded to the hangman who, with little ceremony, flipped the
lever that held the trap door in place.
Marguerite first felt the drop and then a moment later the excruciating
pain of the rope cutting into her neck. Vaguely, she could hear Roxton
calling to her, but the air in her lungs had disappeared and she was
left with only the tears that coursed down her face.
"Roxton!" called a familiar voice. Malone broke through the guards and
rushed toward him with Veronica and an unknown man in tow. "Roxton,
I've got it!"
John, tearing his gaze from his wife, recognized the reporter as the
words filtered through his brain. With his next breath, he ordered,
"Stop!" and frantically wrestled with the officer for the gun.
Veronica, seeing the bluish tinge of Marguerite face darken to purple,
pulled her knife out from under her skirt and threw it, slicing the
rope cleanly, dropping the older woman to ground.
"MARGUERITE!" the lord yelled as he elbowed the officer out of his way
and raced to the fallen body of his wife. He grabbed Veronica's knife,
which lay a few inches away from him and sliced through the thick rope.
The drop itself was enough to break her neck, but as he gingerly felt
along her nape, he determined she was still alive, if only unconscious.
Malone hurried the unknown man toward the judge opening the file of
papers that he held tightly.
"Marguerite, love, come on, wake up." Roxton combed her long dark
hair away from her face, wincing at the purplish bruises that were now
appearing around her neck. Brushing a kiss on her forehead, he
whispered, "I kept my promise...we found the evidence. Now you have to
keep yours. You swore you would stay by my side through everything.
Don't leave me now, not when we have another chance."
After a moment of tense silence, Marguerite's eyes fluttered slightly.
"I didn't promise you anything," she murmured to her husband who
joyously rained kisses over her face. "You were the one who promised
not to leave *me*."
"Details, details," he replied bringing her more snugly into the circle
of his arms. He eased her up so that she could watch as the new
evidence was presented to the judge.
The stranger stood stock still, almost at attention, his military
bearing evident to all. The Lord Chief Justice paged through the file
a moment and then looked up at the man. "And you can verify all of
this?" he asked, his forbidding tone softening.
"The Battle of Jutland was considered a strategic victory for the
British, but had they not obtained the intelligence provided by Miss
Krux, the Royal Navy would have easily been destroyed and German naval
supremacy would have been assured. If that had occurred, we could well
be under the Kaiser's rule at this very moment."
"Miss Krux, why did you not testify to this?"
From her half leaning position against Roxton, Marguerite cleared her
throat and answered, "My operation was under the strictest confidence;
had the information been released that I had been the spy who provided
the German offensive plans, I would have been killed instantly and
Trader would have lost his ace. During the trial, all I had was my
word and, based on all of the other witnesses, I knew that no one would
believe me."
"How do you explain the deposits in your Swiss bank account?"
"They were for just the reasons that Mr. Merriweather stated. I did
leak information regarding the British forces at the Somme and Arras,
but only as I was directed to so by David Trader. As for the money, it
wasn't like I could give it back. The Germans were paying me for
information. If I didn't accept the payment, then my cover would have
been destroyed and I would have been just as dead."
"It is bothersome that you still took the money, however, I do see your
point, Miss Krux." The Lord Chief Justice pursed his lips as he
studied the files more closely. "Based upon the evidence contained
herein, I must reject the jury's sentence and declare you to be
innocent of all charges against you."
Roxton laughed in astonishment as he hugged Marguerite tighter. She
glanced up at him, relishing in the smile that softened his features
then turned her gaze to the others. "Thank you," she mouthed to Malone
and Challenger who both nodded in response. "Veronica?" she asked,
puzzled by the other woman's unexpected appearance. "What are you
doing here?"
"It's a long story," she answered with a smile. "I'm just glad to see
that you're alright."
"Yes, my dear," agreed the Dowager Lady Roxton, "I believe we all are."
***
12/12
Later that afternoon, Marguerite found herself ensconced in the master
suite of the Roxton family home. John had ordered her to bed as soon
as they had reached the London house, a command to which, while she was
all to ready to obey, she mounted the expected argument against.
Unfortunately, an ill-timed yawn negated her words and she sheepishly
followed the housekeeper off to the room.
By all rights, she was tired, but having prepared for bed and drunk the
tea provided by the ever-efficient Mrs. Pringle, a surge of energy
infused her and, curious about her new home, she pulled on her silk
robe and eased out the door, careful of any lingering servants. She
heaved a relieved sigh when no one appeared to usher her back to bed.
Glancing left, then right, she cocked a curious eyebrow toward an open
door just up the hallway. Her steps, muffled by the soft bedroom
shoes, quickly brought her to her goal and she eased open the door to
reveal a richly appointed library. Never having figured Roxton to be
such an avid reader, she assumed his mother had compiled the book
selection.
Curiosity somewhat abated, she lifted a leather-bound tome from its
place on the shelf and flipped through the pages. "You'll never know
how much he loves you," came a voice from the shadows.
Marguerite jumped, startled by the unexpected presence of Thomas Riley.
Gathering her wits about her, she felt her lips spread in a wry smile.
"Oh, I doubt that."
"Then you know, if it came to it, he would give up everything for you,
for your love." The man languidly rose from his seat in the shadows of
the room and approached her. "I once had to make that choice myself
for a woman I deeply loved. I took the other path and left her. At
the time, I rationalized the decision, factoring my heart out of the
equation but, now I believe, I chose wrongly. Having seen the devotion
clearly evident in my nephew, I wonder if I could have been him all
those years ago."
Marguerite, clearly fascinated by the conversation, remained silent,
allowing Riley the opportunity to speak his fill.
"By betraying the secrets of the Crown and helping you to gain your
life, I hope to find some sort of absolution for abandoning her when
she needed me," he murmured indicating the headline of the London Times
which screamed, 'Krux Innocent.'
Awareness dawned as she mentally pieced together the statement and the
paper. "You were the one behind the release of Trader's papers."
He smiled thinly and nodded. "Yes, I admit that I was. But then, as
'a wayward sailor man whom the Crown sent out to sea' you must have
known that I would, Mrs. Haasdorf."
Marguerite smiled as her memory aged the man who had been her contact
when behind enemy lines and found that it matched the figure of Thomas
Riley. She shook her head and answered, "No, I didn't recognize you
when we met at the docks. I only knew you as John's uncle. But now
that I do, I remember how loyal you were to David Trader. If he
supported my efforts, so would you."
Riley nodded in acknowledgment of the truth of her words and moved
toward the door, certain the conversation was finished once and
forever, knowing neither would ever mention it again.
"My only complaint?" she asked in an almost rhetorical fashion, smiling
with decided amusement as she raised her hand to the alarming bruises
on her neck.
Riley paused with his hand on the doorknob. "What is that, my dear?"
"You're timing could have been much better!"
***
Downstairs in the parlor, John, Challenger, Malone and Veronica toasted
the mysterious caller who had located the Trader files. "So, he didn't
identify himself at all?" Challenger asked taking another sip of the
brandy.
Malone shook his head. "He just said that he had knowledge of
Marguerite's activities during the War. The evidence of her innocence
was being retrieved and would be forwarded as soon as it had been
located."
"Very strange," murmured the professor, "very strange indeed."
"Well, strange or not, I'm just happy with the outcome," Roxton
interjected lighting a cigarette and taking a quick puff. After a
moment, he coughed roughly, his lungs now unaccustomed to the tobacco
smoke. The others smiled at his obvious discomfiture. "Hmm, well, it
was a nasty habit anyway," he murmured, stubbing out the offending item
in a nearby ashtray.
"So, Veronica, how do you like London? Is it all that your parents
described?"
Challenger asked turning their attention to the blonde.
She wrinkled her brow and answered, "Well, it's more than I expected,
but not as bad as I'd feared."
Ned chuckled and leaned forward in his seat. "There are more surprises
to come, I assure you." He flashed a wide grin and thought of his
plans for tomorrow. Robert and Amy Montross had planned a huge welcome
home party for her and he had been sworn to secrecy.
"Which begs the question," she answered, her gaze settling on
Challenger. "Are you still planning a return expedition to the
Plateau?"
The professor straightened in his chair and fingered the brandy glass
thoughtfully. "Now that is a good question."
Roxton cocked a sardonic eyebrow and prompted, "Marguerite and I do
need a honeymoon destination." The sudden tension in the room eased a
bit, but all still waited for the older man's response.
"At one time, I had thought to make my career on the back of the
successful conclusion of the expedition. But now I find myself
curiously desperate to protect the Plateau. Though the world already
knows of its existence, we should let the location be our own little
secret."
"That is a change," Malone murmured surprised by the visionary's
conclusion.
"Ned, I've seen enough of this world since our return to realize that a
place of such innocence should be protected if at all possible. I
would like to return, but only for personal reasons."
Roxton nodded his agreement. "I'll have a t-rex head mounted in the
tree house yet."
Smiling, Veronica at long last felt a surge of contentment. Having
left the Plateau to follow her friends, she nonetheless had feared what
would happen if her visit to the civilized world turned out to be
permanent. "Dupont did say that none of his employees ever venture
over to the entrance."
The professor glanced at her, his gaze comforting. I'm sure he can be
trusted to keep silent on the subject. I'm sorry, Ned, but your story
will have to be published as a work of fiction rather than an
unabridged travel journal."
The reporter smiled easily. "Not a problem. Half the stuff that my
editor read he didn't believe anyway. It'll read better as an
adventure series."
"Not in those 'penny dreadfuls' you're so fond of, I hope," Roxton
added with a teasing grin. The group laughed good-naturedly, the
largest concern settled and talked long into the night content to
relive old memories and eager to create new ones.
***
"Thank you, Marshall," Roxton murmured. The butler placed a cup tea,
double brewed, and milk on the table in front of him. He could smell
the freshly prepared breakfast from the kitchen as the scent wafted its
way to the dining room each time the double doors opened and closed.
Having already eaten his fill, Roxton prepared the tea and opened the
morning paper, curious to see if Marguerite was once more in the
headlines.
The doors behind him opened and he tossed the paper aside to turn and
greet his wife. "Good morning, Marguerite. How did you sleep?"
She smiled smugly. Though they still had not consummated their Zanga
wedding vows, she found that sleeping alone was infinitely preferable
to sharing a cell with five other women. "Like a baby," she replied,
settling into the chair next to his.
"Dream about anything?" he asked, leaning closer to her so that their
lips were mere millimeters apart. The mischievous light in his eyes
urging her to play the game they both loved.
"Only about tonight," she whispered, closing the distance between them
to lock her lips to his in a sweet kiss. Per the Dowager Lady Roxton's
request, the two would be officially married later that day in a small
ceremony at the Roxton family estate in Avebury.
John threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck and
pulled her closer, thoroughly intent on deepening the kiss when a
sharp, "Ahem!" broke through the air.
Resigned to yet another interruption and inwardly vowing to bar any and
all from their wing of the manor, he pulled away and rested his
forehead against hers. "Good morning, Mother," he muttered.
"John, Marguerite," she greeted as she walked fully into the room and
took the seat opposite them. "It's nice to see that you're recovering
so well from your traumatic experience, my dear."
Marguerite had the good grace to blush at the underlying tone in the
Dowager's words before whispering to Roxton, "This is all *your*
fault!"
John shot her an innocent look then returned his attention to the
paper. "Well, my dear, you got your wish."
"And what wish was that?" Marguerite tossed him a skeptical glare
before digging into the plate of food Marshall had silently placed in
front of her.
Roxton's lips lifted in a sly grin. "Maid service and fame."
Marguerite chuckled wryly as she buttered her toast. "Not the sort of
fame I'd hoped for."
"Not to worry," chimed in John's mother with a knowing tone, "by
tomorrow eve the scandal sheets will have found someone else to trash
and you'll be ancient history."
"Looks like they already have," Roxton murmured as he turned the front
page of the paper over and indicated the headline. "'Jungle Beauty
Returns Home.'"
"Oh, poor Veronica!" Marguerite murmured. "I would have thought that
Malone's connections would have kept her identity quiet."
"Mmm...apparently not. Seems that her mother's siblings are eager to
meet her and learn more about her." He paused a moment and glanced to
Marguerite over the top of the paper. "No doubt that's what Malone
meant when he said that he'd found something that Veronica would deem
worth the wait."
"And you, Lord Roxton? Have you found something worth the wait?" she
asked reading the softening in his gaze.
Unconcerned that his mother looked on he replied, "Four years worth?"
He flashed a grin that made her bones melt. "Most definitely."
***
Their second wedding was a quiet affair with only John, Marguerite, the
Dowager and Thomas Riley in attendance. Though the rest of the
expedition had voiced their unmitigated support of the ceremony, they
agreed that this time was private and the two should celebrate alone.
As such, each had had remained in London, Ned and Veronica to visit her
mother's relatives and Challenger to plan his next course at the
University.
After the "I do's" had been said, Roxton led Marguerite out of the
chapel and into the manor's extensive gardens. Marguerite's two-carat
diamond engagement ring caught the afternoon sun and flashed
brilliantly. John took her hand in his and raised it to his lips
brushing a kiss over the stone.
"This was Mother's engagement ring. She wanted you to have it and
asked that you give it to our son for his bride when the time comes."
Startled by the gift, Marguerite raised their joined hands to his jaw
and murmured, "I would be honored." Roxton leaned forward and trapped
her lips under his, the first of many kisses to come in the next hours
and years.
At length, they broke apart. As John placed one last kiss to her
temple, he spied something in the distance that tickled his memory. He
looked down at his wife, eyes narrowing in mock severity, and said,
"Now, about those fairy rings..."
THE END
"Hey, Malone!" one of the news desk boys yelled. "Ya' got a visitor!"
The young reporter stifled a sigh and tossed aside the folder of
documents. He had been getting nowhere in his research for someone who
might have known about Marguerite's agreement with Trader. "Might as
well take a break," he muttered as he rose from his desk and walked
toward the News Desk.
He stopped suddenly when he saw his visitor. "Veronica?"
The blonde woman grinned and spun around, her blue and white dress
fanning out into the air around her. "Do I look civilized to you?"
Dumbstruck, Ned could only nod his agreement. Veronica, however,
spared him from further thought when she continued, "I found my
parents. Or at least what was left of them."
"What? How?" he asked leading her back to his desk and indicating she
should take his chair. He leaned against the corner of the desk
itself.
"The day after you left, Assai came by to check on me. She also
brought news that some of the warriors had come across a cave filled
with human skeletons." Veronica looked down at the small journal she
clutched in her hand. "Assai said they found several things there, but
the most important was this."
Ned took the journal and opened it to read the inscription. "'To our
darling, Veronica.' You mean..."
She nodded with a sad smile. "It's my mother's handwriting.
Apparently, she and my father had been exploring the cave when some
type of earthquake occurred and they were trapped by the fallen rock.
The journal tells everything that they had been doing -- even mentioned
how they had constructed a balloon to better survey the area. But
mostly it says how much they wished that I would not have to grow up
alone."
"Veronica, I'm so sorry," Ned began as he lightly clasped her hand.
Shaking her head, she answered, "Thank you, but I found my parents and
gave them a proper burial. That's all that matters."
"So you hopped the next steamer to London just to tell me this?"
"Well, yes and no. I missed everyone and, with my parents found, it
seemed rather futile to wait four months before I could see you again."
She glanced away shyly, uncertain if, now that he had returned to his
world, Ned still felt the same way. To cover her embarrassment, she
added, "Besides, you, Challenger, Roxton and Marguerite became more my
family a long time ago."
Malone started at her mention of Marguerite realizing suddenly there
was no way she could have known what had happened. "Veronica, about
Marguerite..."
***
The jury had deliberated only forty-five minutes when word was
announced that they had reached a decision. Roxton looked from the
bailiff to Wilkite and asked, "Is this good or bad?"
The barrister shook his head. "To own the truth, John, I'm not quite
certain." The panel filed quickly back into the courtroom and a hush
fell over the occupants as a woman's fate passed from the hands of the
head juror to the Lord Chief Justice. The judge nodded once to the
juror and read the verdict.
"Marguerite Krux, you have been found guilty of the charge of espionage
against the Crown. Tomorrow morning your sentence will be carried out:
death by hanging."
"No!" cried Roxton, who leapt across the railing to reach his wife.
Marguerite merely hung her head. When the bailiff came to escort her
from the courtroom, she turned and lifted her eyes to Roxton and
whispered, "I'm sorry, John."
The hunter, despair plainly carved into his features, cupped her jaw.
"No, no, love, don't even think of it. This is not the end. I'll find
a way." The officer allowed the couple a brief, pain-filled kiss
before leading her out of the courtroom and back to her cell.
"Dammit, man!" Roxton cursed the barrister, his eyes glued to the
retreating figure of his wife. "You've got to do something!"
"John, the court has made its decision; there's nothing left to be
done."
The lord shook his head unable to accept Wilkite's words. Instead, he
turned to the one man who had always managed to find reason where the
illogical ruled. "Challenger, any luck with the files?"
The professor shook his head. "Sorry, Roxton, but Malone hasn't been
able to find anything. The location of the files is something that it
appears only David Trader knows."
From the back of the room Thomas Riley looked on, a pillar of silence
and regard, as he watched his nephew sink into the courtroom chair,
defeat sagging his shoulders. A man unaccustomed to the feeling of
compassion, Riley felt it surge through him. John Roxton was a good
man who, by all accounts, had fallen in love and married a woman with a
past. Not completely unheard of, though it was enough of a concern to
raise the eyebrows of society's mores. However, Marguerite Krux was a
chameleon; a fact which allowed her to easily transition between two
worlds. Even the most hard-nosed of blue bloods would welcome her as
one of their own. Had the trial ended differently, she would have had
the opportunity, of that he was certain. And if they would do so,
perhaps he could do the same and finally bury the memory of a woman
whom he had loved.
***
11/12
Marguerite stared at the food on the plain metal tray and wished that
the lobster would disappear and be replaced by raptor meat. Having
been given a death sentence, the warden had promptly moved her from the
communal cells into solitary confinement where she spent the night and
ate her last meal -- or, at least, was supposed to eat. She picked at
the scrumptious lobster tail surrounded by a bed of fresh Romaine
lettuce and a deliciously light rice pilaf. The prison's cook had
outdone himself; it was too bad his customer had little appetite.
Funny thing that, she inwardly mused, while on the Plateau, she would
have given her left arm for food such as this.
Pushing the tray aside, she rose and paced through the cell. Part of
her yearned to feel her husband's arms around her and hear him whisper
reassurances against her temple. And yet, the other part was glad that
he wasn't there to see her in this state. It was bad enough that he
would be there for the hanging. Marguerite started at the thought.
Would John attend the execution? Did she even want him to do so?
She wrapped her arms around herself, steeling against the sudden cold
chill that swept over her. What would her death do to him? It had
taken years, several of which had been spent in a Buddhist temple, for
him to recover from his brother's death. And, knowing Roxton as she
did, he would not view her demise as anything less than his fault.
"Oh, John, of all the different scenarios, why did it have to end up
this way? Why did I agree to Trader's request? Jail time would be
infinitely more bearable than death. He might have even sent me on an
all expenses paid trip to Australia to work off my sentence in the
labor camps. At least there I would have had a chance to escape."
A sudden knock interrupted her rant and she answered, "If it's the Grim
Reaper, you'll just have to wait a few more minutes." When the door
opened, a mousy-looking man stared dumbly at her and mumbled something
about taking her tray if she was finished.
"Yes, yes. Take it," she bit out irritated at the guard, at the whole
situation. She was married to the only man she had ever truly loved
and would die before their vows could be consummated. Fate's wicked
sense of humor caused her to grimace rather than laugh.
Thinking back over the men in her life, she realized how much time she
had wasted on girlish fantasies of the notion. Certainly she had
thought she loved Phillipe and had followed him from Monaco to Shang
Hai on the rush of feeling she felt in his kiss. Determined that she
could make him love her just as she loved him, she had followed him
around for two years living in a notch above squalor all while he swore
that good fortune was just around the corner. One more deal would
solidify it. When he told her she had to sell herself on the street
because they needed the money, she finally realized the truth that had
been present all along. She had left the next day bound for Paris and
had met Adrienne her first night in town.
Then came the millionaire with the 'two mistresses and an overdraft.'
A mistake of grandiose proportions, though certainly not the last.
Several dignitaries and businessmen figured into the years between her
marriages to the millionaire and later to von Gutenburg, all minor
dalliances, though she had loved none of them, each had his place in
molding her into the woman she was now. And for that she offered them
silent thanks.
The man who had taught her the true definition of love had not appeared
until years later when they had been stranded in the middle of no-man's
land. "John," she murmured caressing the fourth finger of her right
hand where his ring had so recently been placed. The inspector had
removed it 'for her own good.' And, having seen her cellmates for
herself, she was glad he had. They were not the type to respect
personal property, especially if it consisted of gold.
Pounding her fist against the cement wall, she cursed, "Dammit, this
wait is killing me!" then laughed harshly at the ironic phrase.
***
"Commander John Davies, please."
"Who might I ask is calling?"
"Tell him it is the Seaman Spy." Riley heard the confused pause and
then was assured that his call would be transferred immediately. He
heard a soft click and then a mumbled response. After a moment, the
phone was picked up again.
"Yes?" the man on the other end of the line asked, his tone laced with
doubt.
"I am a wayward sailor man whom the Crown sent out to sea."
"And for the Crown I'll sail my days, my death soon to meet. My, God,
what in bloody hell happened?" The voice became terse as soon as the
requisite code had been stated and responded.
Riley smiled. John Davies was nothing if not succinct, a trait he had
often admired in his commanding officer. "The woman, Marguerite Krux;
we both know she's not a traitor. But she will hang today if the proof
is not presented."
Tense silence reigned and for a moment, Riley feared the line had been
disconnected. He could hear Davies take in a deep, assessing breath.
"What is she to you? Why risk everything?"
"She's my nephew's wife and the woman he loves. She is his Mary Anne."
Davies didn't respond and all Riley could hear was the occasional
crackle in the phone line. "Alright, I'll get them."
"One more thing, you have to bring them to the judge. I can't be
connected to them otherwise everything will be suspect and they'll hang
her anyway."
Riley could picture the other man pursing his lips, judging the
veracity of his request then agreed, "Very well. Give me an hour or
so. I can't guarantee that they are still where we left them."
Riley nodded though Davies couldn't see it then rang off. As soon as
the line cleared, he picked up the phone again. "Operator, please
connect me with the International Herald Tribune. I need to speak with
Mr. Ned Malone."
***
The ominous clang of the steel gate opening resounded through the tense
prison atmosphere. Executions, thankfully, had been moved inside the
prison walls some time ago, so the only persons in audience were
Roxton, his mother, Challenger, Wilkite and various prison personnel.
Though unnecessary in her mind, Marguerite spotted the judge in the
background. 'Guess he wants to see for himself,' she thought dourly.
She offered each of her visitors a slight smile, the tense lines around
her mouth and eyes making her face feel as though it was about to split
in half. Her gaze snagged Roxton's and held. As much as she wanted to
offer him some type of reassurance, her smile disappeared under the
weight of the knowledge that she would be dead in less than a half
hour. Blinking rapidly to dry the tears that clouded her vision, she
stepped toward the gallows.
John, for his part, had never felt so powerless in his life. Even his
brother's death could not compare to the agony that now gripped him as
he watched his wife ascend the wooden steps. They had gambled and
lost. She had counted on him to find some way to clear her name, but
he had failed and now she would pay the ultimate price. Roxton cringed
as the hangman pulled her roughly into position behind the noose.
Challenger placed a steadying hand on his arm, but as the rope was
tightened about her neck, the lord struggled against the hand in the
vain attempt to try and save her. Marguerite's gray eyes pleaded with
him to accept the outcome, but she knew her husband would fight to the
death to protect her from harm. Even when the exercise was futile.
"Marguerite!" The pain-filled cry ripped from Roxton's chest.
"Challenger, *damn* you, let me *go*!" The lord struggled against the
older man's firm grip and when he discovered his friend would not
relent, Roxton jabbed a sharp left hook into the older man's stomach
and jumped the short row of benches intent on saving his wife. The
sharp click of a pistol being cocked stopped him as the guard pointed
his service weapon at Roxton's temple. The Dowager Lady Roxton,
overwhelmed by the sheer immensity of the scene, screamed at the sight
of her only son in the direct line of fire.
"John, don't!" Marguerite's cry stilled his movements and locking his
gaze with hers he shook his head, unwilling to accept that their love
would end in this manner. She raised her bound hands toward him as if
to caress his face, to bring him comfort. "It's alright," she said
through the tears that trailed down her cheeks. "We knew that this
could happen."
The hangman, who had paused a moment to allow her a few last words with
the man who so obviously loved her, pulled a black hood from the
scaffold wall and moved to cover Marguerite's face with it. Tearing
her eyes from John, Marguerite shook her head vehemently at her
executioner. "No, I don't want it.
"Yer sure, miss?" he asked, startled by her unexpected response. He
had never hanged a woman before and already she showed more courage
than most of the men who had felt his knot. Though she had been
condemned a criminal, his respect for her rose a notch. "Alright
then," he answered then hung it back in its place knowing she hadn't
heard a word he'd said. He glanced surreptitiously toward the man who
still struggled in protest.
Roxton, pain deeply etched into his features, shook his head, eyes
filled with the fear of losing her. "If the prisoner has no further
last words," began the jailer with a harsh regard for the scene before
him. He let his voice trail off and waited for Marguerite to shake her
head, then nodded to the hangman who, with little ceremony, flipped the
lever that held the trap door in place.
Marguerite first felt the drop and then a moment later the excruciating
pain of the rope cutting into her neck. Vaguely, she could hear Roxton
calling to her, but the air in her lungs had disappeared and she was
left with only the tears that coursed down her face.
"Roxton!" called a familiar voice. Malone broke through the guards and
rushed toward him with Veronica and an unknown man in tow. "Roxton,
I've got it!"
John, tearing his gaze from his wife, recognized the reporter as the
words filtered through his brain. With his next breath, he ordered,
"Stop!" and frantically wrestled with the officer for the gun.
Veronica, seeing the bluish tinge of Marguerite face darken to purple,
pulled her knife out from under her skirt and threw it, slicing the
rope cleanly, dropping the older woman to ground.
"MARGUERITE!" the lord yelled as he elbowed the officer out of his way
and raced to the fallen body of his wife. He grabbed Veronica's knife,
which lay a few inches away from him and sliced through the thick rope.
The drop itself was enough to break her neck, but as he gingerly felt
along her nape, he determined she was still alive, if only unconscious.
Malone hurried the unknown man toward the judge opening the file of
papers that he held tightly.
"Marguerite, love, come on, wake up." Roxton combed her long dark
hair away from her face, wincing at the purplish bruises that were now
appearing around her neck. Brushing a kiss on her forehead, he
whispered, "I kept my promise...we found the evidence. Now you have to
keep yours. You swore you would stay by my side through everything.
Don't leave me now, not when we have another chance."
After a moment of tense silence, Marguerite's eyes fluttered slightly.
"I didn't promise you anything," she murmured to her husband who
joyously rained kisses over her face. "You were the one who promised
not to leave *me*."
"Details, details," he replied bringing her more snugly into the circle
of his arms. He eased her up so that she could watch as the new
evidence was presented to the judge.
The stranger stood stock still, almost at attention, his military
bearing evident to all. The Lord Chief Justice paged through the file
a moment and then looked up at the man. "And you can verify all of
this?" he asked, his forbidding tone softening.
"The Battle of Jutland was considered a strategic victory for the
British, but had they not obtained the intelligence provided by Miss
Krux, the Royal Navy would have easily been destroyed and German naval
supremacy would have been assured. If that had occurred, we could well
be under the Kaiser's rule at this very moment."
"Miss Krux, why did you not testify to this?"
From her half leaning position against Roxton, Marguerite cleared her
throat and answered, "My operation was under the strictest confidence;
had the information been released that I had been the spy who provided
the German offensive plans, I would have been killed instantly and
Trader would have lost his ace. During the trial, all I had was my
word and, based on all of the other witnesses, I knew that no one would
believe me."
"How do you explain the deposits in your Swiss bank account?"
"They were for just the reasons that Mr. Merriweather stated. I did
leak information regarding the British forces at the Somme and Arras,
but only as I was directed to so by David Trader. As for the money, it
wasn't like I could give it back. The Germans were paying me for
information. If I didn't accept the payment, then my cover would have
been destroyed and I would have been just as dead."
"It is bothersome that you still took the money, however, I do see your
point, Miss Krux." The Lord Chief Justice pursed his lips as he
studied the files more closely. "Based upon the evidence contained
herein, I must reject the jury's sentence and declare you to be
innocent of all charges against you."
Roxton laughed in astonishment as he hugged Marguerite tighter. She
glanced up at him, relishing in the smile that softened his features
then turned her gaze to the others. "Thank you," she mouthed to Malone
and Challenger who both nodded in response. "Veronica?" she asked,
puzzled by the other woman's unexpected appearance. "What are you
doing here?"
"It's a long story," she answered with a smile. "I'm just glad to see
that you're alright."
"Yes, my dear," agreed the Dowager Lady Roxton, "I believe we all are."
***
12/12
Later that afternoon, Marguerite found herself ensconced in the master
suite of the Roxton family home. John had ordered her to bed as soon
as they had reached the London house, a command to which, while she was
all to ready to obey, she mounted the expected argument against.
Unfortunately, an ill-timed yawn negated her words and she sheepishly
followed the housekeeper off to the room.
By all rights, she was tired, but having prepared for bed and drunk the
tea provided by the ever-efficient Mrs. Pringle, a surge of energy
infused her and, curious about her new home, she pulled on her silk
robe and eased out the door, careful of any lingering servants. She
heaved a relieved sigh when no one appeared to usher her back to bed.
Glancing left, then right, she cocked a curious eyebrow toward an open
door just up the hallway. Her steps, muffled by the soft bedroom
shoes, quickly brought her to her goal and she eased open the door to
reveal a richly appointed library. Never having figured Roxton to be
such an avid reader, she assumed his mother had compiled the book
selection.
Curiosity somewhat abated, she lifted a leather-bound tome from its
place on the shelf and flipped through the pages. "You'll never know
how much he loves you," came a voice from the shadows.
Marguerite jumped, startled by the unexpected presence of Thomas Riley.
Gathering her wits about her, she felt her lips spread in a wry smile.
"Oh, I doubt that."
"Then you know, if it came to it, he would give up everything for you,
for your love." The man languidly rose from his seat in the shadows of
the room and approached her. "I once had to make that choice myself
for a woman I deeply loved. I took the other path and left her. At
the time, I rationalized the decision, factoring my heart out of the
equation but, now I believe, I chose wrongly. Having seen the devotion
clearly evident in my nephew, I wonder if I could have been him all
those years ago."
Marguerite, clearly fascinated by the conversation, remained silent,
allowing Riley the opportunity to speak his fill.
"By betraying the secrets of the Crown and helping you to gain your
life, I hope to find some sort of absolution for abandoning her when
she needed me," he murmured indicating the headline of the London Times
which screamed, 'Krux Innocent.'
Awareness dawned as she mentally pieced together the statement and the
paper. "You were the one behind the release of Trader's papers."
He smiled thinly and nodded. "Yes, I admit that I was. But then, as
'a wayward sailor man whom the Crown sent out to sea' you must have
known that I would, Mrs. Haasdorf."
Marguerite smiled as her memory aged the man who had been her contact
when behind enemy lines and found that it matched the figure of Thomas
Riley. She shook her head and answered, "No, I didn't recognize you
when we met at the docks. I only knew you as John's uncle. But now
that I do, I remember how loyal you were to David Trader. If he
supported my efforts, so would you."
Riley nodded in acknowledgment of the truth of her words and moved
toward the door, certain the conversation was finished once and
forever, knowing neither would ever mention it again.
"My only complaint?" she asked in an almost rhetorical fashion, smiling
with decided amusement as she raised her hand to the alarming bruises
on her neck.
Riley paused with his hand on the doorknob. "What is that, my dear?"
"You're timing could have been much better!"
***
Downstairs in the parlor, John, Challenger, Malone and Veronica toasted
the mysterious caller who had located the Trader files. "So, he didn't
identify himself at all?" Challenger asked taking another sip of the
brandy.
Malone shook his head. "He just said that he had knowledge of
Marguerite's activities during the War. The evidence of her innocence
was being retrieved and would be forwarded as soon as it had been
located."
"Very strange," murmured the professor, "very strange indeed."
"Well, strange or not, I'm just happy with the outcome," Roxton
interjected lighting a cigarette and taking a quick puff. After a
moment, he coughed roughly, his lungs now unaccustomed to the tobacco
smoke. The others smiled at his obvious discomfiture. "Hmm, well, it
was a nasty habit anyway," he murmured, stubbing out the offending item
in a nearby ashtray.
"So, Veronica, how do you like London? Is it all that your parents
described?"
Challenger asked turning their attention to the blonde.
She wrinkled her brow and answered, "Well, it's more than I expected,
but not as bad as I'd feared."
Ned chuckled and leaned forward in his seat. "There are more surprises
to come, I assure you." He flashed a wide grin and thought of his
plans for tomorrow. Robert and Amy Montross had planned a huge welcome
home party for her and he had been sworn to secrecy.
"Which begs the question," she answered, her gaze settling on
Challenger. "Are you still planning a return expedition to the
Plateau?"
The professor straightened in his chair and fingered the brandy glass
thoughtfully. "Now that is a good question."
Roxton cocked a sardonic eyebrow and prompted, "Marguerite and I do
need a honeymoon destination." The sudden tension in the room eased a
bit, but all still waited for the older man's response.
"At one time, I had thought to make my career on the back of the
successful conclusion of the expedition. But now I find myself
curiously desperate to protect the Plateau. Though the world already
knows of its existence, we should let the location be our own little
secret."
"That is a change," Malone murmured surprised by the visionary's
conclusion.
"Ned, I've seen enough of this world since our return to realize that a
place of such innocence should be protected if at all possible. I
would like to return, but only for personal reasons."
Roxton nodded his agreement. "I'll have a t-rex head mounted in the
tree house yet."
Smiling, Veronica at long last felt a surge of contentment. Having
left the Plateau to follow her friends, she nonetheless had feared what
would happen if her visit to the civilized world turned out to be
permanent. "Dupont did say that none of his employees ever venture
over to the entrance."
The professor glanced at her, his gaze comforting. I'm sure he can be
trusted to keep silent on the subject. I'm sorry, Ned, but your story
will have to be published as a work of fiction rather than an
unabridged travel journal."
The reporter smiled easily. "Not a problem. Half the stuff that my
editor read he didn't believe anyway. It'll read better as an
adventure series."
"Not in those 'penny dreadfuls' you're so fond of, I hope," Roxton
added with a teasing grin. The group laughed good-naturedly, the
largest concern settled and talked long into the night content to
relive old memories and eager to create new ones.
***
"Thank you, Marshall," Roxton murmured. The butler placed a cup tea,
double brewed, and milk on the table in front of him. He could smell
the freshly prepared breakfast from the kitchen as the scent wafted its
way to the dining room each time the double doors opened and closed.
Having already eaten his fill, Roxton prepared the tea and opened the
morning paper, curious to see if Marguerite was once more in the
headlines.
The doors behind him opened and he tossed the paper aside to turn and
greet his wife. "Good morning, Marguerite. How did you sleep?"
She smiled smugly. Though they still had not consummated their Zanga
wedding vows, she found that sleeping alone was infinitely preferable
to sharing a cell with five other women. "Like a baby," she replied,
settling into the chair next to his.
"Dream about anything?" he asked, leaning closer to her so that their
lips were mere millimeters apart. The mischievous light in his eyes
urging her to play the game they both loved.
"Only about tonight," she whispered, closing the distance between them
to lock her lips to his in a sweet kiss. Per the Dowager Lady Roxton's
request, the two would be officially married later that day in a small
ceremony at the Roxton family estate in Avebury.
John threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck and
pulled her closer, thoroughly intent on deepening the kiss when a
sharp, "Ahem!" broke through the air.
Resigned to yet another interruption and inwardly vowing to bar any and
all from their wing of the manor, he pulled away and rested his
forehead against hers. "Good morning, Mother," he muttered.
"John, Marguerite," she greeted as she walked fully into the room and
took the seat opposite them. "It's nice to see that you're recovering
so well from your traumatic experience, my dear."
Marguerite had the good grace to blush at the underlying tone in the
Dowager's words before whispering to Roxton, "This is all *your*
fault!"
John shot her an innocent look then returned his attention to the
paper. "Well, my dear, you got your wish."
"And what wish was that?" Marguerite tossed him a skeptical glare
before digging into the plate of food Marshall had silently placed in
front of her.
Roxton's lips lifted in a sly grin. "Maid service and fame."
Marguerite chuckled wryly as she buttered her toast. "Not the sort of
fame I'd hoped for."
"Not to worry," chimed in John's mother with a knowing tone, "by
tomorrow eve the scandal sheets will have found someone else to trash
and you'll be ancient history."
"Looks like they already have," Roxton murmured as he turned the front
page of the paper over and indicated the headline. "'Jungle Beauty
Returns Home.'"
"Oh, poor Veronica!" Marguerite murmured. "I would have thought that
Malone's connections would have kept her identity quiet."
"Mmm...apparently not. Seems that her mother's siblings are eager to
meet her and learn more about her." He paused a moment and glanced to
Marguerite over the top of the paper. "No doubt that's what Malone
meant when he said that he'd found something that Veronica would deem
worth the wait."
"And you, Lord Roxton? Have you found something worth the wait?" she
asked reading the softening in his gaze.
Unconcerned that his mother looked on he replied, "Four years worth?"
He flashed a grin that made her bones melt. "Most definitely."
***
Their second wedding was a quiet affair with only John, Marguerite, the
Dowager and Thomas Riley in attendance. Though the rest of the
expedition had voiced their unmitigated support of the ceremony, they
agreed that this time was private and the two should celebrate alone.
As such, each had had remained in London, Ned and Veronica to visit her
mother's relatives and Challenger to plan his next course at the
University.
After the "I do's" had been said, Roxton led Marguerite out of the
chapel and into the manor's extensive gardens. Marguerite's two-carat
diamond engagement ring caught the afternoon sun and flashed
brilliantly. John took her hand in his and raised it to his lips
brushing a kiss over the stone.
"This was Mother's engagement ring. She wanted you to have it and
asked that you give it to our son for his bride when the time comes."
Startled by the gift, Marguerite raised their joined hands to his jaw
and murmured, "I would be honored." Roxton leaned forward and trapped
her lips under his, the first of many kisses to come in the next hours
and years.
At length, they broke apart. As John placed one last kiss to her
temple, he spied something in the distance that tickled his memory. He
looked down at his wife, eyes narrowing in mock severity, and said,
"Now, about those fairy rings..."
THE END