Greener Pastures
By Felicia Ferguson
Rating: PG
Keywords: M/R with a little N/V on the side.
All of the original characters make at least some
sort of appearance.
Timeline: Occurs during their fourth year on the
plateau, though readers should assume nothing
beyond "Dead Man's Hill" has been seen, since
that's when I began this little tale.
Spoilers: a few here and there.
Feedback: I would be honored.
Summary: The explorers return to London and
realize the hard truth that sometimes the grass
isn't always greener on the other side.
Author's Note: This is my version of the "will
they or won't they make it home" fic, with a few
added twists. Who goes? Who stays? Who wishes
they had? You might just be surprised…. :-)
Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: Yes, I do wish they were mine, but I
did say 'wish.' Ya'll can keep them for a while
since you're having so much fun with them.
1/?
The day dawned earlier than usual -- or at least
it appeared so to Marguerite, who, not for the
first time since their arrival on the plateau,
was dragged from her bed instead of allowed to
wake on her own. However, it was not an exactly
horrible trade-off since her "alarm clock"
greeted her with a lingering kiss and cup of hot
coffee. She wasn't truly certain which she
appreciated more at that moment, but, suffice to
say, both were welcome additions to her morning.
Having taken a sip of the brew and savored the
flavor long after the liquid had disappeared, she
groused, "What's the damn hurry, Roxton? So
Challenger wants to go looking for some rare
plants. It's not like we haven't done *that*
before."
"Marguerite," Roxton cautioned, drawing her name
out slightly.
Rolling her eyes, she threw back the covers and
muttered, "Oh, alright. I did promise."
The hunter flashed her a cheerful smile as he
tugged out her khaki breeches and a blouse from
the makeshift closet. Dangling the purple garment
in front of her, he tempted, "Your favorite!"
She smiled behind her cup answering, "You would
know better than I." Her mind, like his,
returned to their day at the
beach when she had almost shed the blouse in
favor of skinny dipping with the rugged hunter.
"Ah, yes," he remembered, "but if I recall, we
never reached the most interesting part." He
pulled her closer, loosely caging her to him, the
heat of his hands around her waist burned
straight through her. She caught her breath
sharply as his fingers caressed her skin through the thin
fabric. His dark eyes filled with the promise of
so many things. She leaned into his embrace
intent on raising the temperature in the room
another notch only to heave a resigned sigh when
the inevitable interruption occurred.
"Marguerite! Roxton!" called Veronica from
living-room-come kitchen. "Are you ready yet?"
Marguerite kissed him gently, his regret mirrored
in her eyes, and answered, "We're coming."
***
"Ah, good, Malone," Challenger remarked as the
reporter handed him the last of the tools for the
backpack. "So," he began, glancing around the
room, "are we ready?"
Ned smiled and shook his head. "Not quite,
Roxton went into wake up Marguerite and when he didn't come
back, Veronica went after him." He shrugged and
packed a few more blank journals for the trip
into his own bag. "Maybe they'll appear
sometime tomorrow."
"Dammit, Challenger," Marguerite cursed as she
entered the room. She was now more displeased
with the interruption than the reason for her
early wake-up call, but was willing to take out
her irritation on the easiest, and least
damaging, target. "Only you would pick the
middle of the night to go hunting for plants."
"And a good morning to you, too, Marguerite,"
Malone offered, his smile widening at the sight
of her death grip on the coffee cup.
She shot him a dark look before topping off the
cup and taking another long sip. "You're not
much better...how can anyone be so damn perky this
early?"
Veronica, having grown tired of the older
woman's complaints, interrupted, "Looks like
everything's packed; let's go!" Challenger and
Malone followed her to the elevator and the trio
disappeared a moment later.
Roxton grabbed another handful of bullets and
buckled his pistols around his waist then tossed
Marguerite's belt to her seconds after she'd set
the cup down. "Better get a move on,
Marguerite," he urged at her flash of
irritation, "wouldn't want to suffer the wrath
of Challenger if we reach the site and all of
the best plants are already gone."
She nodded and, tossed a longing glance toward
the still warm coffee, then joined him in the
elevator.
***
Hours later, the group continued to pick their
way through the brambled underbrush en route to
the Zanga's annual planting season celebration.
Every year, when the shaman blessed the fields,
asking the Zanga god for a bountiful harvest,
everyone was asked bring the most unusual plant
that could be found and the winner was awarded a
great honor. Challenger had inwardly vowed to
win the competition for a third year in a row.
It was a matter of pride after all.
The only issue was that the winning plant was
still in the ground.
"It's just through here; I'm certain of it."
"Challenger, I'm telling you, there's nothing on
the other side of that ivy," Veronica warned.
"The flowers from that plant only bloom in
direct sunlight." She raised a hand to shade
her eyes and pointed toward a more likely
location. "You should check over the hill closer
to the village."
"Well, could it hurt to take a look?" He combed
through the tangled strands. "Ah! Here it
is...I've never seen this genus before -- Malone,
make sure we have enough cuttings so I can study
it back at the tree house." 'As well as win the
award,' he added inwardly.
The young reporter shrugged his shoulders toward
the blonde woman, hoping to ease her irritation.
He, as well as everyone else, realized she had
lived here longer than anyone and knew the
terrain better, but the professor was not one to
be deterred when his mind was focused.
"What the..." Challenger breathed as he peered
further into the dense branches. "Roxton! Take
a look at this!"
The younger man shouldered his rifle and pulled
the ivy further back to reveal a rocky
outcropping that sloped gently down to a rich,
green field. However, it was not like any field
he had seen in years. Instead of the tall wild
grasses of the plateau, it was short and well-
kept, as if it were regularly grazed. He could
just barely see domesticated cattle in the
distance. Brow furrowed, he looked back at his
companions, uncertain he believed what he was
seeing.
"My God," breathed Marguerite, "can it possibly
be true?"
Never having seen a cow in her life, Veronica
stared at the trio as if they had gone mad.
"What's so amazing?"
Malone chuckled with disbelief, then turned to
grin at her. "They're cows, Veronica. A whole
field of normal, ordinary cows."
She shook her head, still unclear as to the
significance.
It was Challenger who murmured the words that
echoed in each person's head: "We're home."
2/?
Winning plant forgotten, the group eased through
the ivy, down the outcropping, and into the
world they had left behind more than four years
ago. The plains lay before them, disappearing
into the horizon. Hundreds of cattle grazed
peacefully as if it were an ordinary day and
nothing miraculous had just occurred. In the
distance, gauchos moved a portion of the herd
toward a barn and corral.
Marguerite, unable to believe the sight, pinched
Roxton. "Ouch! What was that for?" he cried,
rubbing the offended arm.
"Just making sure we aren't dreaming," she
replied without remorse.
"Well, if we are," Malone interjected, "its one
hell of a dream."
Challenger gazed intently at their surroundings.
"If I'm not mistaken, I recognize this place."
"Oh, well, then that settles it. We're
definitely hallucinating," Marguerite muttered.
"Challenger," Roxton breathed, "I think you're
right. That complex in the east and the grove
just behind it..."
"What?" asked Veronica, still skeptical after
having witnessed so many failed attempts to
leave the plateau.
"This is Dupont Farms," explained the professor.
"It was our first stop in South America before
we hired Kappakochu and began our journey up the
Amazon."
Marguerite shook her head. "That can't be
right. We paddled up river for two days and
then had a half a day's hike to the launch site
where we were attacked and the bearers were
killed." She looked at Challenger and then to
Roxton, hoping either would agree with her
logic. "There's no way we could have traveled
that distance already."
Malone shrugged as he bent down and pulled a
handful of grass. "Maybe not. After all, we
don't know how far off course the balloon was
blown in those updrafts."
"So, that means this place has been in our
backyard all this time and we never knew it?"
Veronica asked, as she folded her arms.
"It appears so," murmured the hunter, "but we
won't know for certain until we take a look
around."
"Well, then, anyone else up for a trip down
memory lane?" Marguerite asked as she walked
toward the buildings.
The others followed soon after her, but Veronica
placed a staying hand on Malone's arm. He
glanced at her curiously. "What's wrong?"
"I just," she began only to pause, as if
searching for the right words, "I just don't
want you to be disappointed, you know, if this
isn't the same place."
Ned offered her a reassuring smile and covered
her hand with his. "Then I won't get my hopes
up."
***
When they reached the barns a few minutes later,
the gauchos had lassoed several of the cows and
were pinning them to the ground. The acrid
smell of burning flesh permeated the air as the
branding irons hissed melting the letters DF
into the brown hides. Marguerite wrinkled her
nose at the sight. "How could I have forgotten
this place? This is what they were doing the
last time we were here."
One of the gauchos, noticing the new arrivals,
called out in Spanish, "Who are you? Can we
help?"
The heiress answered in kind, "We are visitors
and have lost our way. Can you direct us to the owner so we
might ask for directions?"
Challenger nodded his agreement with her words
and murmured in English, "Good thought. No need
to tip them off that we are any more than that,
just in case this is another trick."
The gauchos, appearing to accept her
explanation, gestured to a large house a few
yards away. "Senor Dupont is at home. He is
waiting for the birth of his grandchild."
***
As the group approached the hacienda, a slim man
in a crisp butler's uniform met them at the
walkway. His hair was slicked back against his
scalp and the fine hairs of his mustache jutted
out from his face like the haphazardly trimmed
bristles on a broom.
"We are here to see the Senor," began Marguerite
in Spanish. The little man bowed slightly and
hurried into the house, leaving the guests at
the front door.
Malone, ever the journalist, took the
opportunity to study their surroundings. "Nice
place," he murmured. And, indeed, it was. When
they had first arrived, the main house had been
under construction with barely the frame and
roof completed. Now, well-maintained brown
stucco blended beautifully with the huge trees
that dotted the lawn while the wood trim was
freshly whitewashed, accentuating the starkness
of the black shutters. In the back yard, a
rather large gazebo held several domestic plants
and flowers.
The butler returned moments later and gestured
for them to enter. Leading them to a room just
off the main hall, he indicated they should sit.
He departed a few seconds later, but the group
wasn't alone for long. A burly and deeply
tanned man, whose hair had faded to more salt
than pepper, pushed open the double doors and
eagerly entered. The bright glow of impending
grandfatherhood lit his face leaving him with a
boyish gaze. "You must forgive Ricardo," he
began without introduction. "He only speaks
Spanish, and even then hardly says a word. But
he's a good enough butler -- my God!"
Challenger smiled widely at the man's shock.
"You look like you've seen a ghost, old friend."
"I have...a living, breathing ghost. Challenger!
When we heard about Kappakochu and the others
and then no word from you, we feared the worst.
It's good to see you alive!"
"Yes," agreed the professor. "It's been an
amazing journey, one that the world should
experience as well. But, we understand that we
have come at an inopportune time. Your daughter
is in labor."
"Well, she was," countered their host. "My
grandson was born not long before you came.
Mother and son are sleeping now so we have ample
opportunity to catch up. Marcus, my son-in-law,
is in Manous, unfortunately. He didn't want to
leave her, but there were supplies that needed
his attention and he thought he would back in
time for the birth. He should be returning this
evening…I would introduce you, but I don't
expect to see him for more than a second once he
hears the news."
The group laughed in agreement as they settled
into the comfortable armchairs, which were
attractively arranged in the room. Roxton,
however, chose to lean against the built-in
bookshelf at the far side; the position allowed
him to better see the entire party, plus the
window nearby afforded an unobstructed view of
the outside. If their host noticed, he gave no
mention of it.
Instead, he rang a bell, which hurried Ricardo
through the door. "Have Maria prepare tea for
my friends. They must be parched." The butler
nodded once and then closed the door, while
Dupont continued, "And I absolutely insist that
you stay for dinner and the night."
"Oh, we don't mean to trouble you," replied
Roxton who crossed his legs as he adjusted his
position.
Dupont smiled widely and shook his head. "No
trouble at all, Lord Roxton." The butler chose
that moment to return with the tea and cakes for
the guests. "Now, we celebrate the birth of my
first grandchild and the return of my friends!
Ricardo, make the arrangements and prepare rooms
for them to stay in tonight."
***
After a leisurely tea and entertaining
conversation in which all were amazed at the
changes that had been wrought in the world
during their stay in the Lost World, the party
was escorted to their rooms to freshen up for
dinner and rest.
Veronica looked around her room, curiosity
pricked by the unfamiliar items which lay at odd
intervals on the dresser. Having picked up a
particularly interesting article, she folded it
over her hands and almost dropped it guiltily at
the sudden knock at the door. "Come in." She
placed it back on the dresser and was nervously
adjusting the position when a young girl peeked
into the room.
"Pardon, Senorita, but Senor Dupont thought you
might wish for a change of clothes. The family
dresses for dinner." She glanced away
uncertainly toward the bathroom a few feet away.
"I will draw you a bath, if you wish."
The blonde smiled wanly at the teenager. Though
Dupont appeared to be everything Challenger
thought, she was wary. The plateau had played
more than one trick on them and part of her
still doubted the authenticity of this place.
For all they knew, they could in reality be back
in the plains unconscious thanks to some type of
spore from the plant the professor had been so
keen on finding. Taking a deep breath, she
replied to the girl, "Yes, thank you, a bath
would be lovely."
While the maid prepared the bath, Veronica
picked up the blue and cream dress the younger
girl had laid on the bed. The material was soft
and light weight, perfect for the humid summer
days. "The dress is beautiful!"
"Si," answered the maid as she returned from the
bathroom, "it is a dress of Senor Dupont's
daughter. Since she isn't able to wear it, he
thought it might fit you."
"Please give him my thanks." Veronica smiled as
she heard Challenger's booming laugh from beyond
the door.
***
"So, tell me, old man," Dupont began as they
walked down the hall toward the wing of
guestrooms. "Did you really see dinosaurs?"
Challenger laughed heartily. "On more than one
occasion. How is it that your land practically
borders the plateau and yet, you've never heard
so much as a roar?"
"Well, let's just say there are some things one
chooses to ignore, especially if those things
would hurt his business. The workers are
superstitious to say the least and I'm too much
of a businessman to worry about what might or
might not exist." He flashed a wide smile
toward his friend. "That's your job after all."
As they slowly walked further down the hall,
past the rooms that had been set aside for the
other explorers, Dupont grew thoughtful. "There
have been nights when the wind was light that we
would hear noises no cow could make. The
gauchos would cross themselves and mutter
something indistinguishable to Saint Mary and
then go on. No one goes over to that area;
consequently, nothing has been seen."
He paused at one of the doors, indicating it
would be Challenger's room. "Dinosaurs, eh?"
The professor offered him an enigmatic smile in
response.
Dupont nodded, and then said, "Well, see you in
a bit. Oh, and George, I *am* glad to see you
alive."
***
Marguerite gave a final shake to her hair,
sending the dark curls tumbling down her back
and over the pale blue dress that had been
provided by their host. Satisfied that she had
maintained her usual level of appearance, even
without her extra eyeliner, she opened the door
and met Roxton outside just as he left his own
room. Roxton took in the sight of his love in
an actual dress and smiled.
"You have something to say, Lord Roxton?"
Marguerite quizzed with mock superiority.
He cocked his head to one side and answered,
"Only that the color definitely becomes you."
Marguerite smiled bashfully at the unexpected
compliment and joined him at the stairs. She
glanced around trying to find another topic to
steer away from the dangerous feelings that
coursed through her. 'Damn the man,' she
berated. 'How does he always manage to throw me
off kilter when I least expect it?' Aloud, she
murmured as she caressed the mahogany-paneled
hallway, "Isn't this wonderful?"
Roxton sobered instantly, all lascivious
thoughts about the woman before him gone.
Marguerite gauged his silence and sudden aplomb
with a measuring gaze. "Roxton, you do agree
that this man is Michael Dupont, right?"
"Yes, that much is certain."
"So, then, what's wrong?"
He offered her a half-smile, his eyes hooded and
wary. "It just seems far too easy, given our
other attempts to leave the plateau."
Marguerite threw her hands up in the air.
"Can't you for once not look a gift horse in the
mouth and accept the fact that we finally have a
guaranteed one-way ticket off this God-forsaken
plateau?" she whispered, mindful of the servants
who hovered in the background.
"Nothing in this life is guaranteed, Marguerite," Roxton
muttered as he shot her a warning glance.
"Yeah, except for death, taxes, and in this
case, a way home!" Seeing he wouldn't relent,
Marguerite gave up. "Fine, have it your way.
Just allow me the pleasure, later, when we step
on that steamer bound for London, to say 'I told
you so.'"
Roxton smiled fondly down at her and wrapped an
arm around her shoulders as he led them toward
the dining room. "Now, when have I ever denied
you that right? Especially when it occurs *so*
infrequently."
She shot him a dark look before sneaking out of
his grasp and taking her seat next to
Challenger. Roxton soon joined her, assuming
the chair on her right. Marguerite took his
hand under the table and gave it a reassuring
squeeze. She truly felt they would make it home
this time and wanted her man to have the same
assurance. Roxton laced their fingers together
and returned the squeeze. 'For you, my love,'
he thought to her, 'I'll put my concerns on
hold.'
As the night wore on and the dinner plates were
cleared in favor of cigars and brandy, the
hunter began to feel the inner peace that
Marguerite had already found. This was truly
the same Michael Dupont, a man whom Challenger
trusted, who was open and honest about his
endeavors in South America and his hopes for the
future. Every word coincided with what he
remembered of the wealthy businessman.
Roxton caught Marguerite's eye from across the room and
nodded slightly, his gaze telling her that he
had accepted her view of the situation. Elated
by his change of heart, Marguerite beamed with
pleasure borne from true happiness. If they
hadn't been in polite company, she would have
kissed him then and there.
Dupont caught the look the two had exchanged
and, correctly reading the obvious, pretended to
stifle a yawn. "My, my, where has the time
flown?" he asked glancing at the grandfather
clock on the other side of the room. "You must
be exhausted!"
"Yes," agreed Malone, "it has been a rather
long, though exciting, day."
"Very well, then. Let me bid you good night.
First thing in the morning, I will order your
tickets for the next steamer leaving for London.
If you would like, I'll have Ricardo take any
messages you want to send into town and have
them telegraphed to your families."
***
3/?
The group had left early that morning with the
promise to return the next day, ready to leave
for home. True to his word, Dupont had
dispatched Ricardo at daybreak with telegrams
and money in hand. Of the four, Marguerite was
the only one who had not sent a message home
about her impending arrival. At the time,
Roxton had accepted -- was even gratified by --
her explanation of, "The only people I would
want to tell are already here." But now, he
realized just how lonely her life had been.
Veronica had sent word earlier to Assai of the
news and bearers would arrive soon to help move
all of the items they had accumulated over the
years. Roxton pulled two bags toward the living
room; glancing at Marguerite's room, he
shuddered at the loads the heiress would be
returning with and didn't envy the Zanga men the
task ahead. He spotted the object of his search
gazing into the forest from the balcony.
"All packed?" Roxton asked as he joined
Marguerite on the porch.
She turned and smiled at him. "Yes, just taking
one last look around. You know, as horrid as
this place has been, I have to admit, I have
some great memories."
"Yes, I'm sure you do, starting with how you
were the plaything of a half-man, half-lizard..."
Shooting him an affronted look, she rebuked,
"Tribune was most kind to me, *and* you, thank
you very much!"
Roxton continued on, undeterred, "Almost married
a boy king and were nearly killed or captured on
so many occasions you lost count."
She whacked him on the arm gently before tossing
him a saucy look. "And what about you, Lord
Roxton? Going to tell dear, old Mom that you
were a vampire for a short while?
I'm sure she'd get a kick out of that!"
Hearing her speak of his family, Roxton sobered
immediately, his thoughts returning to the
reason for his appearance on the balcony.
"Marguerite, before everything goes haywire when
we return, I want to ask you something."
Concerned by his sudden sobriety, Marguerite
took his hand in hers and answered, "Anything,
John."
"I've thought about it for months now -- years,
if truth be told -- and I've come to some
conclusions, some things that must be
said...damn." The man was babbling, and he knew
it. Taking in a quick breath, he searched for
the words he had practiced, and had promptly
forgotten, when the time came for the asking.
Finally, he closed his eyes then kissed her
knuckles and asked, "Will you marry me?"
Stunned by words she never expected to hear,
Marguerite simply stared up at him, speechless.
Roxton mistook her silence for reluctance and
continued, desperate to reach through to her
heart and win her consent. "I can't promise
I'll never let you down or not get angry with
you, but I will promise you this: I'll never
break your heart. I love you and I want to
spend the rest of my life with you."
Seeing tears well up in her eyes frightened the
hunter all the more and he rushed on. "If you're worried
about the manor, don't. We don't have to live
there year round. We can travel, do anything
you want...just please, say you will be there
with me."
Finally, when she realized that she wasn't
dreaming and John was actually speaking the
words she had so longed to hear, she leaned up
and stopped him with her lips. Roxton responded
with an urgency that reflected his continuing
concerns and deepened the kiss, cradling her
face in his hands and fusing their lips
together, showing her what he thought he hadn't
told her.
Minutes -- or hours -- later, they broke apart,
the need to breathe outweighing their need for
each other. Still, unwilling to move too far
apart, their lips clung for a few final seconds
before Roxton pulled back to search her eyes.
Their breath mingling, he whispered, "Please
tell me that was a yes."
Marguerite grinned and brushed her nose against
his. "Yes, John, it was a yes." With a whoop
of joy, the hunter swooped her up into his arms
and swung her around.
Embarrassed, she ordered, "Roxton! Put me
down!"
His grin widened, if possible, and he laughed, a
full rich sound speaking more to his happiness
than his smile ever could. "Not a chance! Now
that I've got you, I'm never letting you go!"
Smiling in awe at the joy she inspired,
Marguerite cupped his jaw and gazed lovingly at
him. "You've had me for a long time. I love
you, John."
The sincerity in her eyes moved him to set her
back down. He threaded his fingers through her dark curls
and kissed her thoroughly. A sharp cough broke
them apart moments later and both turned to grin
at the new arrivals. Roxton, unable to contain
his joy, gripped her hand in his and beamed.
"Marguerite has agreed to marry me when we
return to London."
A hail of well wishes, hugs and handshakes
greeted the announcement. Veronica, hugged
Marguerite and teased, "Well, we've heard this
one before; you two are the real Marguerite and
Roxton, right?"
The hunter merely laughed good-naturedly, while
Marguerite, took offense at the slight.
Crossing her arms, she flashed the blonde a
challenging look. "Since you doubt my
sincerity, where's the Zanga's shaman? We can
get married now."
Roxton's jaw dropped to the floor in surprise
while Veronica gave Marguerite an appraising
stare. "You're serious."
The brunette nodded solemnly, a contented smile
spreading over her lovely features.
The younger woman, convinced by the surety in
the other woman's eyes, if not by the words
themselves, smiled back and replied, "I'll book
the chapel."
***
The overwhelming scent of wildflowers filled the
small hut, bringing to mind another time and
another wedding, one that was not such a happy
occasion. With nowhere else to look since her
hair was being threaded with the small petals,
Marguerite's gaze landed on Veronica. The
younger woman looked almost sad. Unexpected
pangs of guilt stabbed at the future Lady Roxton
and she opened her mouth to comfort the woman
who had become more like a sister than a friend.
Veronica looked over and murmured, "Don't.
Let's not dredge up the past. It's over and
forgotten."
Smiling with acceptance and thanks, Marguerite
pulled a mirror from the folds of her dress and
admired the women's handiwork. "Not bad at all,
I'd say."
"You look beautiful," murmured Veronica as she
took in the older woman's serene expression and
cream-colored gown.
Marguerite's eyes softened. By the end of the
day, she would be Lady Roxton and unlike her
views of four years ago, she was more entranced
with the idea of being John's wife than she was
at the prospect of being wealthy. For she now
realized she was rich in so much more than
material things.
She had never known the kind of love she felt
for him. Certainly, she had seen it in other
people, but to experience it herself was nothing
short of amazing. As a child, she hadn't
believed in fairy tales and yet their time on
the plateau had become a fable in itself.
Stranded in a lost world, their only hope for
survival resting in each other, they were
allowed the opportunity to forget the realities
of their lives and act as normal people albeit
under extraordinary circumstances. They fought,
they loved, but mostly, they lived. And in the
day to day exercise of simply existing in such a
world, they evolved, became better than they
were. How appropriate that the handsome prince
-- or lord, in the case -- continued the fairy
tale and asked her to marry him.
"It's strange," she murmured, remembering the
assassin she had shot outside the Zoological
Society's building. "I owe all this to the
Baron." Chuckling to herself at the irony, she
waved off Veronica's unspoken question with a
"Never mind."
A knock at the door forestalled any further
explanation. The door was pushed open and Malone stuck his
head in. "It's time," he said with a smile.
***
The beat of the tribal drums thrummed through
her, matching the steady pulse in her veins.
There would be no struggle during *this*
wedding, no half-heartedly spoken vows.
Today, Marguerite would bind herself willingly
to Lord John Richard Roxton. She smiled at the
traditional wedding dance being performed by
members of the Zanga and could just barely see
Roxton standing to one side of Jacoba, facing
the shaman. The painted and skull-bedecked man
shook his medicine stick around the area in
which Marguerite would soon stand, cleansing it
from the evil spirits and welcoming their god to
the celebration.
When the dancers finished and the last drumbeat
faded, Jacoba stood. "Bring forth the bride!"
Marguerite easily evaded the sure grips of her
escorts and murmured, "No need to force me down
this aisle." Her eyes met Roxton's as she
stepped from behind the wall, searching for
signs that he regretted asking her to marry him.
The only thing she found in the murky depths was
a calm surety and a smile of welcome.
She grinned back at him, and then walked
forward, relishing the moment and memorizing
every detail. Once she had reached his side, he
took her hand in the traditional pose.
Marguerite had already agreed to translate for
the shaman, but as he began, she found herself
struggling to maintain her composure.
'Damn,' she thought as she wiped away a stray
tear, 'I've *never* cried at weddings --
especially my own."
Roxton squeezed her hand, offering his silent
support. She swallowed once and quickly
translated the beginning of the speech. "The
gods have called together this man and woman to
join their lives. We will honor and celebrate
their decision. Roxton, you will give your life
for this woman?"
The hunter nodded and answered with the expected
response, knowing it was true, "I would a
thousand times over."
"Marguerite, you will give your heart to this
man?" The brunette swallowed back the tears of
happiness that threatened to overwhelm her and
smiled up at the man in question. "I have a
thousand times over."
"Then it is done." The onlookers echoed the
shaman's loud whoops, each offering their own
wish for a bright future.
Roxton leaned forward to kiss his bride, but
Marguerite stepped back, arching an eyebrow.
"Lord Roxton, that's not part of their
ceremony."
"Humor me," he murmured pulling her into his
arms and kissing her. The joyous cries of the
tribe escalated at the sight. Challenger
laughed heartily while Veronica and Malone
clapped with enthusiastic delight.
When the two parted, each more than a little
breathless, Jacoba stood again and decreed, "Let
the celebration begin." The dancers returned to
the center of the gathering area as the
newlyweds were escorted to a place of honor
beside the chief. The other explorers were
seated further down next to Jarl and Assai.
Food and fruit wine flowed freely and the hours
passed more quickly than the explorers imagined.
When the shaman indicated it was time for the
couple to leave and begin their wedding night,
Roxton flashed an uncertain glance toward
Challenger knowing the group had planned to
return to Dupont Farms in the morning. The
professor offered him an apologetic smile and
Roxton nodded squeezing Marguerite's hand
indicating she should stand. She eagerly
agreed, until she saw the disappointment in her
husband's eyes.
She sighed as they walked toward the gates.
"Looks like we'll have to forgo the traditional
wedding night," she murmured with regret as the
others said their good-byes.
"How about just postpone?" Roxton answered with a
slow grin that heated her blood. He glanced back
over his shoulder and found the others still
chatting with members of the tribe. When he
turned back his smile had become almost
uncertain. "I, um, don't have a wedding ring for
you.
We'll have to take care of that when we return
home, but for now…" he paused and tugged the
family signet ring off his pinky finger. Lightly
gripping her right hand, he slid the warm golden
band onto her fourth finger.
The feel was electric and the fit, perfect.
"John," Marguerite breathed as the warmth
encompassed her hand and spread through the rest
of her body. "Thank you."
Malone and Challenger joined them a few minutes
later, with Veronica close behind. Realizing any
further conversation would have to wait for a
later time, Marguerite clutched John's hand to
her waist, relishing the promise of home and a
new life.
***
When the group returned to the tree house,
Veronica, Malone and Challenger hastily retreated
to their bedrooms to allow the pair some privacy.
John smiled at their obviousness, but welcomed it
nonetheless. Marguerite, suddenly nervous at the
prospect of being alone with her husband, laughed
lightly as she watched him cover the short
distance between them.
"Come here," he ordered, the flame that had been
banked in his eyes for most of the evening flared
as his normally cultured voice deepened to a
rough growl. The combination sent a shiver of
anticipation flying over her skin.
"Now, Roxton, just because I married you, don't
think I'm just going to start obeying your every
whim."
The hunter smiled at her, eyes twinkling. "Oh,
this is no whim, my dear. This is one desire
that has existed since we first met."
Remembering a conversation from the early days of
the exploration, she huffed, "So, I'm to be the
trophy you take back to London?"
"Not at all," he murmured, closing the gap
between them and kissing her lightly. "You are
to be my wife." Her tremble at his words
propelled his already raging pulse to a new
level. Cradling her face in his hands, he
lowered his lips to hers. The sensation was like
nothing he had felt before. Maybe it was the fact
that she was finally, completely his, maybe they
both were now tasting the inevitable, maybe --
hell, he didn't care the reason, he only knew
that if he didn't make her his own then and
there, he would likely be a victim of spontaneous
human combustion.
Unfortunately, though, a voice from the smallest
unaffected portion of his brain screamed through
the raging emotions and ordered his body to stand
down. They would be leaving for home in the
morning, and good sense dictated that they would
both need to be rested. Weaning himself from the
feel of her lips under his, he reluctantly pulled
away. "Marguerite, we --" he began only to be
interrupted by her finger against his lips.
"Shh, love. I know," she whispered. She
understood, though her disappointment was
evident.
He kissed her finger then grasped her hand and
kissed her knuckles. "Good night, Lady Roxton.
Sweet dreams."
Marguerite bowed slightly, needing to maintain
the subterfuge in order to calm her body. They
would soon be on a steamer home with nothing to
do for two blissful weeks but sleep, eat and make
love. But tonight, they would have to be content
with dreams of all the pleasures to come. "Good
night, John," she murmured as she turned and
walked into her bedroom, closing the door behind
her.
***
4/?
Hours before the sun had even contemplated
rising, Veronica stood in the kitchen. This
would be her friends' last day on the plateau and
a going-away party was definitely in order.
Unfortunately, her eyes kept blurring while she
gathered up the ingredients and began to knead
the dough.
"Damn morning mists," she murmured as she swiped
a doughy hand across her face. She would miss
them -- more than she realized -- and yet, they
had to return to their world. For the past four
years, the tree house had been alive after a
decade of the hauntingly empty quiet. She hated
the thought that she would soon be alone once
more, but there was no alternative. Her parents
were still missing somewhere in this lost world
and as long as she had hope, she knew she would
find them.
Jerking her thoughts away from the future, she
forced herself to focus on the present, namely a
wonderful farewell breakfast. Coffee beans had
been roasted, tea was brewing and the fruits
picked yesterday were ready to be pared. Veronica
pulled out the bottle of champagne her parents
had brought with them to toast their success and
placed it in the cooler to chill. She hummed
softly to herself as she worked and barely
noticed when Challenger entered the room a few
hours later.
"Good morning, Veronica," he greeted. Startled,
she whirled around.
"Good morning, Challenger!" she returned somewhat
breathless. "Did you sleep well?"
"Like a baby. It's a good feeling to finally be
going home."
She raised a questioning eyebrow as she watched
him strap his pistol belt to his waist. "Not
going nest raiding, are you?"
The professor laughed heartily at the memory. "I
doubt Roxton would agree to a second excursion."
"And what excursion would that be?" the hunter
asked as he entered the room. Plucking a piece
of fruit off the cutting board and narrowly
avoiding the knife Veronica wielded, he glanced
between the two. "Not the Pterodactyl again,
George."
"No, no, old man, I won't be taking any live
souvenirs back with me. We'll have to save that
for the return trip."
"Who said anything about a return trip?" asked
Marguerite welcoming the freshly poured cup of
coffee that John handed her.
Veronica glanced at the other woman as she began
to set the table. "You *will* come back to see
me, won't you?"
Malone entered just as she had spoken. "Wait,
you aren't coming back with us?"
The blonde smiled wanly at the man who had come
to mean so much to her. "This is my home Ned.
It's all that I know. And my parents..."
"Spare me the parents speech!" Malone retorted,
turning on his heel and walking out. "I think I
still have some packing to do."
Marguerite, seeing the flash of pain on the
younger woman's face, placed a reassuring hand on
her arm. "Give him some time. He does
understand. We all do."
***
A few minutes later, Roxton tapped lightly on the
doorframe to Malone's bedroom. "Can I come in?"
"Sure, why not?" he muttered as he thrust a few
shirts into a knapsack. "It's not like this is
going to be mine much longer."
The hunter remained silent and, leaning against
the door, watched Malone with a studied disregard
gauging the younger man's mood and judging it to
be more hurt than angry. "Ned, you do love the
girl, right?"
The young reporter sat heavily on the bed and
nodded, tossing the remaining shirts aside.
"Well then, show her you love her and respect the
decision she's made." Roxton offered the other
man a wry smile. "It wasn't something she
settled on lightly. If you force her to choose
between you and her parents, you'll lose, Neddy
boy. She's loved them a lot longer than she's
loved you."
He paused and glanced toward his
wife, who stood in her own room gathering up the
last remaining items. "But if you allow her the
opportunity to bring some closure to her life,
she'll love you all the more for it. And who
knows where that will take you."
"Sounds like you speak from experience," Malone
teased.
Roxton's eyebrows lifted once as he flashed an
ironic grin. "Let's just say we all have our
demons to slay."
The reporter smiled his thanks, to which the
hunter merely nodded and turned to leave.
***
Moving, no matter the distance nor the
circumstance, always encompasses more than the
party actually expects. Inevitably, the movee has
more possessions than he estimates
and the process of packing and relocating all of
the accumulated items becomes more of a hassle
than a pleasure. Even though each had brought a
limited number of items to the plateau, based on
the aforementioned scenario, the Challenger
Expedition was nothing if not normal. Fifteen
warriors, instead of the requested ten, now bore
the explorers' packs through the jungle to the
ivy-covered entrance back to the civilized world.
None would cross through to the other side, much
to the irritation of one Lady Marguerite Roxton.
"I don't see what the big deal is. So they take
a peek at our side of the world. Who cares?"
Marguerite griped as the group hiked toward the
entrance. "It's not as if they're going for an
extended stay."
Veronica sighed at the other woman's complaints.
Maybe she wouldn't miss them so much after all.
"Marguerite, the Zanga people are extremely
superstitious. It took a lot of effort on
Assai's part to convince Jacoba to allow the men
to come at all. Let alone carry the packs to the
entrance itself."
"Yes, Marguerite," Challenger concurred, "we
should be grateful they agreed to help."
"I don't think you would have been too happy with
the prospect of carrying all of your bags by
yourself," muttered Roxton. He tossed an amused
glance back at his wife and watched as she
struggled with one of the two packs that she had
been forced to carry.
"Who says I would have carried them at all?
That's what husbands are for," she teased,
thoroughly delighted by the startled look that
crossed his features.
The group paused as they neared the bushes and
the Zanga men began unloading and reorganizing
the packs to ease the transition to the men from
Dupont Farms who would help carry the bags to the
house. The organized chaos allowed Ned one last
moment of persuasion. "Veronica, come with us."
"Ned, my parents..."
Malone searched her eyes, trying to ferret out
the actual motive for her reluctance. "Tell me
the truth, do you really think your parents are
still able to be found? Are they the real reason
you want to stay? Or are you just scared of my
world?"
Veronica glanced away from him then gestured
helplessly. "I told you a long time ago that my
world was here. I don't belong in London any
more than you belong on the Plateau."
Malone squeezed her shoulders and murmured, "I
belong with you."
The hope that filled her eyes died as quickly as
it appeared when he continued, "But I have a
story to publish that's been four years in the
making. I have to go back." He turned and
watched the others as they moved their packs
through the entrance and said one last goodbye to
a world in which they had never thought they
would survive.
"I have to go," he murmured almost as if trying to
convince himself of the rightness of leaving her alone.
As Dupont Farms appeared through the ivy, an idea struck
him. He turned quickly back to her, a surety in his gaze that
had been absent only moments ago. Veronica shook
her head, confused by his sudden calm.
"I do have to go, but I will come back. Now that
we know the way…." He thought for a moment. His
editor would want to review every account of
their time in the Lost World and, with four years
of writings stockpiled in almost one hundred
journals; it could take a year before the first
installments were published.
"Give me four months. That's the least amount of
time it will take for the stories to be reviewed
and edited. I don't have to be there for the
publication's release. Four months, and I'll
come back."
"Ned! I can't ask you to do that!"
He placed a staying finger over her lips.
"Shhh...you didn't; I want to be with you…any way
possible."
"Malone!" called Roxton. "Are you coming?"
The reporter glanced over his shoulder to the
others then quickly turned back to his love. She
handed him his pack with a sad smile. "See you
in four months," she whispered then kissed him
sweetly.
"Take care of yourself," he breathed. Giving her
a kiss that would last them both for the days to
come, he then ran after the others. Just before
he reached the brush, he turned back for one last
look.
"Ned! I love you!"
He grinned widely and returned, "Me too! Four
months, Veronica, I swear it!" Then he
disappeared.
***
As planned, the group arrived at the Manous port
with plenty of time to load their bags and settle
into their compartments well before it was time
to cast-off. "Good luck, old man," Dupont bade
as he slapped the professor heartily on the back.
"Thank you, again, for all of your aid in
bringing us to this point. We will be back
sometime," Challenger replied, shouldering his
backpack.
"Back?" the entrepreneur asked. "Why in the
devil would you want to come back?"
"Yes, Challenger," Marguerite agreed, "please
elaborate on why, after four years of trying to
leave, we would ever want to return?"
"The adventure has only just begun, Marguerite.
Imagine what marvels science could explain with
the proper instruments and a more eclectic
combination of trained minds."
"I don't think you could have gotten a more
eclectic group than ours," Ned said, glancing
toward the rocky outcroppings that were shrouded
by gray clouds, knowing that somewhere on the
other side, Veronica remained, searching for her
lost parents and waiting for his eventual return.
"True enough," agreed Roxton who tossed a smile
toward Marguerite. "Besides, I didn't get the
trophy I came for." His smile softened as he
added in a voice so low only his wife could hear
it, "Even though I found something much better."
She rolled her eyes, trying with little success
to keep the grin of pleasure from bursting forth.
"Well, when you put it that way, there are still
several caves whose geologic capacity remain to
be tapped."
The entrepreneur laughed and said, "Well,
whatever the reason, rest assured, you will
always have a place to stay at Dupont Farms.
Goodbye, my friends and Godspeed." He shook
hands with each member of the party and walked
down the boarding ramp to watch them cast-off.
"Professor Challenger? Lord Roxton?" greeted a
uniformed busboy. "If you will, I'll show you to
your cabins." Leaving Ned to his reminiscing,
Marguerite moved to follow, but an officer
stopped her.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," he apologized as he tipped
his hat, "but we have strict rules governing
fraternization aboard our ships."
"Frat--" Marguerite began, confused by the man's
explanation, "We're not going to fraternize…"
She ignored John's mumbled, "Well, at least not
the *whole* trip," and shook her head. "We're
married."
"I'm sorry, but according to your passports, you
have no legal documents proving such a statement.
Therefore, we must operate under the belief that
you are unmarried."
"Oh, I don't believe this!" fumed the newlywed.
"Now, my good man," Roxton interrupted, steering
the officer away from the near-lethal Marguerite.
"I hold a lord's title and, upon my return to
London, will have the option of taking my
family's seat in Parliament. Do you doubt my
word and honor?"
"My lord, I've heard this argument many times
before, and from men much more esteemed than
yourself. The owners of the liner have drafted
strict rules for this sort of thing and, even
though you may indeed be as you say, I must err
on the side of caution in order to maintain our
spotless reputation. If you are concerned about
her safety, Miss Krux will be provided with a
cabin near the captain's quarters."
"Oh, I feel *much* better," she replied, her
acidic tone rolling off the intended target with
no effect.
"Is there a problem, miss?" a tall, silver-haired
man asked as he approached the party. The
stripes that banded the cuffs of his blue jacket
indicated his high rank.
Marguerite flashed a winning smile. "As a matter
of fact, yes. Your officer here is refusing to
allow me to stay in my husband's quarters."
The man's brow furrowed as he asked to see her
passport and papers. "I'm sorry, ma'am but your passport
indicates that you are unmarried."
"We were married by a village shaman…guess he was
all out of certificates at the time," she
answered with ease.
"Without the proper documentation, I'm afraid
Seaman Curtis is correct in assigning you to two
different cabins. The quarters near the captain
are quite lovely and I'm certain will suit your
needs. If you'll follow me, I'll direct you to
them."
"Oooh, I *hate* this! Four years have led up to
what?"
Roxton pulled her closed and lowered his forehead
to hers in resignation. "It's alright, my dear.
When we return to England, we'll go directly to
the London house and I won't let you leave the
bed for a week." His smile degraded to a leer as
he added, "At least."
"Roxton!" she cried, slightly pulling away.
"We're in public!"
"So?" His voice softened with love. "You're my
wife, even if the liner doesn't agree, we know
it." She cupped his jaw and caressed his cheek
with her thumb. Raising a hand to cover her own,
John kissed her palm, sending shivers of pleasure
through them both.
The officer regretfully cleared his throat.
Having witnessed their display of obvious
affection, he had few doubts that they were
married. After all, the lovers he had seen
rarely exhibited the same simple caring that was
evident in the scene before him.
"Yes, yes, we know," Marguerite griped. "Separate
rooms."
***
Four years, eight months, two weeks and five days
later, the steamer sailed into the London harbor
and the Challenger Expedition minus one returned
home. The welcoming party, while not as large as
that which had bid the passengers of
the fateful Titanic voyage good-bye still added
to the teary-eyed effect of their first sight of
London. Big Ben loomed in the distance, a
triumphant hallmark to the stalwart British
resolve. The four met at the starboard railing
for one last uninterrupted conversation before
the inevitable occurred.
"Well," said Malone as he shouldered his
backpack, "looks like this is it. Now what?"
"What do you mean, 'now what?'" Marguerite asked.
"Now we make our triumphant return to the
civilized world. Challenger will be a hero, you'll write the
story of the century, Roxton will be hailed the
greatest hunter alive, and I will disappear
into obscurity as just another old married
member of the peerage."
Roxton snorted. "After all the excitement of
the last four years, I would have thought you
would be more interested in a nice long bubble
bath with plenty of good maid service than
fame."
"Who says I can't have both?" she asked to the
men's answering laughter.
The ship bucked slightly jostling the group as
it bumped into the side of the docks and
forestalled any further conversation. "Time
to see what awaits," Challenger said as the
party moved toward the boarding ramp. "Let's
all agree to meet sometime next week, after the
fervor dies down."
"Wonderful idea," agree Roxton. "Why don't we
meet at my London home…say Thursday afternoon
around tea time?"
"Perfect!" answered the professor while the
others nodded in agreement. "Good luck to you,
then." A crush of reporters greeted Challenger
and Malone as they disembarked, while Roxton and
Marguerite were pulled toward another section of
the crowd.
Grabbing her hand, Roxton forced his way through
the wellwishers and amid the back slaps and hand
shakes, finally found the porter who was now
loading their bags into a taxi. "John!" a
cultured elderly voice called. "John Richard!"
Roxton paid the porter and turned to see the
dowager Lady Roxton, followed closely by her
brother, making her way toward him. "Mother!"
he greeted, dragging Marguerite behind him.
"What are you doing here?"
"Oh, posh!" she cried, shaking the concerned
hand off her shoulder. "I'm fit as a fiddle and
when I received the telegram that you were
coming home at last, I resolved right away to be
here to meet my son on his return."
"I did try to stop her," the tall, gray-blond
man answered, his sharp blue eyes casting an
appraising gaze toward Marguerite. Lady Roxton
realized that her son was not alone and looked
at the beautiful young woman who stood next to
him. She glanced down at their joined hands and
smiled.
Hearing the unspoken question that hung in the
air, Roxton placed an arm around Marguerite's
waist. "Mother, I'd like you to meet my wife --"
"Marguerite Krux," interrupted an authoritative
voice, "you're under arrest."
Marguerite glanced from the officer to Roxton's
family and thought, 'Hell of a first
impression,' even though in the back of her mind
she had expected this.
Shocked, Roxton pulled her closer and blurted, "On what charge?"
The officer grabbed her arm, pulling her out of
her husband's grasp. A split second later, he
had swung her around and cuffed her wrists
roughly. "High treason. She's a German spy."
***
...to be continued...
feliciafergusonmha@yahoo.com
By Felicia Ferguson
Rating: PG
Keywords: M/R with a little N/V on the side.
All of the original characters make at least some
sort of appearance.
Timeline: Occurs during their fourth year on the
plateau, though readers should assume nothing
beyond "Dead Man's Hill" has been seen, since
that's when I began this little tale.
Spoilers: a few here and there.
Feedback: I would be honored.
Summary: The explorers return to London and
realize the hard truth that sometimes the grass
isn't always greener on the other side.
Author's Note: This is my version of the "will
they or won't they make it home" fic, with a few
added twists. Who goes? Who stays? Who wishes
they had? You might just be surprised…. :-)
Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: Yes, I do wish they were mine, but I
did say 'wish.' Ya'll can keep them for a while
since you're having so much fun with them.
1/?
The day dawned earlier than usual -- or at least
it appeared so to Marguerite, who, not for the
first time since their arrival on the plateau,
was dragged from her bed instead of allowed to
wake on her own. However, it was not an exactly
horrible trade-off since her "alarm clock"
greeted her with a lingering kiss and cup of hot
coffee. She wasn't truly certain which she
appreciated more at that moment, but, suffice to
say, both were welcome additions to her morning.
Having taken a sip of the brew and savored the
flavor long after the liquid had disappeared, she
groused, "What's the damn hurry, Roxton? So
Challenger wants to go looking for some rare
plants. It's not like we haven't done *that*
before."
"Marguerite," Roxton cautioned, drawing her name
out slightly.
Rolling her eyes, she threw back the covers and
muttered, "Oh, alright. I did promise."
The hunter flashed her a cheerful smile as he
tugged out her khaki breeches and a blouse from
the makeshift closet. Dangling the purple garment
in front of her, he tempted, "Your favorite!"
She smiled behind her cup answering, "You would
know better than I." Her mind, like his,
returned to their day at the
beach when she had almost shed the blouse in
favor of skinny dipping with the rugged hunter.
"Ah, yes," he remembered, "but if I recall, we
never reached the most interesting part." He
pulled her closer, loosely caging her to him, the
heat of his hands around her waist burned
straight through her. She caught her breath
sharply as his fingers caressed her skin through the thin
fabric. His dark eyes filled with the promise of
so many things. She leaned into his embrace
intent on raising the temperature in the room
another notch only to heave a resigned sigh when
the inevitable interruption occurred.
"Marguerite! Roxton!" called Veronica from
living-room-come kitchen. "Are you ready yet?"
Marguerite kissed him gently, his regret mirrored
in her eyes, and answered, "We're coming."
***
"Ah, good, Malone," Challenger remarked as the
reporter handed him the last of the tools for the
backpack. "So," he began, glancing around the
room, "are we ready?"
Ned smiled and shook his head. "Not quite,
Roxton went into wake up Marguerite and when he didn't come
back, Veronica went after him." He shrugged and
packed a few more blank journals for the trip
into his own bag. "Maybe they'll appear
sometime tomorrow."
"Dammit, Challenger," Marguerite cursed as she
entered the room. She was now more displeased
with the interruption than the reason for her
early wake-up call, but was willing to take out
her irritation on the easiest, and least
damaging, target. "Only you would pick the
middle of the night to go hunting for plants."
"And a good morning to you, too, Marguerite,"
Malone offered, his smile widening at the sight
of her death grip on the coffee cup.
She shot him a dark look before topping off the
cup and taking another long sip. "You're not
much better...how can anyone be so damn perky this
early?"
Veronica, having grown tired of the older
woman's complaints, interrupted, "Looks like
everything's packed; let's go!" Challenger and
Malone followed her to the elevator and the trio
disappeared a moment later.
Roxton grabbed another handful of bullets and
buckled his pistols around his waist then tossed
Marguerite's belt to her seconds after she'd set
the cup down. "Better get a move on,
Marguerite," he urged at her flash of
irritation, "wouldn't want to suffer the wrath
of Challenger if we reach the site and all of
the best plants are already gone."
She nodded and, tossed a longing glance toward
the still warm coffee, then joined him in the
elevator.
***
Hours later, the group continued to pick their
way through the brambled underbrush en route to
the Zanga's annual planting season celebration.
Every year, when the shaman blessed the fields,
asking the Zanga god for a bountiful harvest,
everyone was asked bring the most unusual plant
that could be found and the winner was awarded a
great honor. Challenger had inwardly vowed to
win the competition for a third year in a row.
It was a matter of pride after all.
The only issue was that the winning plant was
still in the ground.
"It's just through here; I'm certain of it."
"Challenger, I'm telling you, there's nothing on
the other side of that ivy," Veronica warned.
"The flowers from that plant only bloom in
direct sunlight." She raised a hand to shade
her eyes and pointed toward a more likely
location. "You should check over the hill closer
to the village."
"Well, could it hurt to take a look?" He combed
through the tangled strands. "Ah! Here it
is...I've never seen this genus before -- Malone,
make sure we have enough cuttings so I can study
it back at the tree house." 'As well as win the
award,' he added inwardly.
The young reporter shrugged his shoulders toward
the blonde woman, hoping to ease her irritation.
He, as well as everyone else, realized she had
lived here longer than anyone and knew the
terrain better, but the professor was not one to
be deterred when his mind was focused.
"What the..." Challenger breathed as he peered
further into the dense branches. "Roxton! Take
a look at this!"
The younger man shouldered his rifle and pulled
the ivy further back to reveal a rocky
outcropping that sloped gently down to a rich,
green field. However, it was not like any field
he had seen in years. Instead of the tall wild
grasses of the plateau, it was short and well-
kept, as if it were regularly grazed. He could
just barely see domesticated cattle in the
distance. Brow furrowed, he looked back at his
companions, uncertain he believed what he was
seeing.
"My God," breathed Marguerite, "can it possibly
be true?"
Never having seen a cow in her life, Veronica
stared at the trio as if they had gone mad.
"What's so amazing?"
Malone chuckled with disbelief, then turned to
grin at her. "They're cows, Veronica. A whole
field of normal, ordinary cows."
She shook her head, still unclear as to the
significance.
It was Challenger who murmured the words that
echoed in each person's head: "We're home."
2/?
Winning plant forgotten, the group eased through
the ivy, down the outcropping, and into the
world they had left behind more than four years
ago. The plains lay before them, disappearing
into the horizon. Hundreds of cattle grazed
peacefully as if it were an ordinary day and
nothing miraculous had just occurred. In the
distance, gauchos moved a portion of the herd
toward a barn and corral.
Marguerite, unable to believe the sight, pinched
Roxton. "Ouch! What was that for?" he cried,
rubbing the offended arm.
"Just making sure we aren't dreaming," she
replied without remorse.
"Well, if we are," Malone interjected, "its one
hell of a dream."
Challenger gazed intently at their surroundings.
"If I'm not mistaken, I recognize this place."
"Oh, well, then that settles it. We're
definitely hallucinating," Marguerite muttered.
"Challenger," Roxton breathed, "I think you're
right. That complex in the east and the grove
just behind it..."
"What?" asked Veronica, still skeptical after
having witnessed so many failed attempts to
leave the plateau.
"This is Dupont Farms," explained the professor.
"It was our first stop in South America before
we hired Kappakochu and began our journey up the
Amazon."
Marguerite shook her head. "That can't be
right. We paddled up river for two days and
then had a half a day's hike to the launch site
where we were attacked and the bearers were
killed." She looked at Challenger and then to
Roxton, hoping either would agree with her
logic. "There's no way we could have traveled
that distance already."
Malone shrugged as he bent down and pulled a
handful of grass. "Maybe not. After all, we
don't know how far off course the balloon was
blown in those updrafts."
"So, that means this place has been in our
backyard all this time and we never knew it?"
Veronica asked, as she folded her arms.
"It appears so," murmured the hunter, "but we
won't know for certain until we take a look
around."
"Well, then, anyone else up for a trip down
memory lane?" Marguerite asked as she walked
toward the buildings.
The others followed soon after her, but Veronica
placed a staying hand on Malone's arm. He
glanced at her curiously. "What's wrong?"
"I just," she began only to pause, as if
searching for the right words, "I just don't
want you to be disappointed, you know, if this
isn't the same place."
Ned offered her a reassuring smile and covered
her hand with his. "Then I won't get my hopes
up."
***
When they reached the barns a few minutes later,
the gauchos had lassoed several of the cows and
were pinning them to the ground. The acrid
smell of burning flesh permeated the air as the
branding irons hissed melting the letters DF
into the brown hides. Marguerite wrinkled her
nose at the sight. "How could I have forgotten
this place? This is what they were doing the
last time we were here."
One of the gauchos, noticing the new arrivals,
called out in Spanish, "Who are you? Can we
help?"
The heiress answered in kind, "We are visitors
and have lost our way. Can you direct us to the owner so we
might ask for directions?"
Challenger nodded his agreement with her words
and murmured in English, "Good thought. No need
to tip them off that we are any more than that,
just in case this is another trick."
The gauchos, appearing to accept her
explanation, gestured to a large house a few
yards away. "Senor Dupont is at home. He is
waiting for the birth of his grandchild."
***
As the group approached the hacienda, a slim man
in a crisp butler's uniform met them at the
walkway. His hair was slicked back against his
scalp and the fine hairs of his mustache jutted
out from his face like the haphazardly trimmed
bristles on a broom.
"We are here to see the Senor," began Marguerite
in Spanish. The little man bowed slightly and
hurried into the house, leaving the guests at
the front door.
Malone, ever the journalist, took the
opportunity to study their surroundings. "Nice
place," he murmured. And, indeed, it was. When
they had first arrived, the main house had been
under construction with barely the frame and
roof completed. Now, well-maintained brown
stucco blended beautifully with the huge trees
that dotted the lawn while the wood trim was
freshly whitewashed, accentuating the starkness
of the black shutters. In the back yard, a
rather large gazebo held several domestic plants
and flowers.
The butler returned moments later and gestured
for them to enter. Leading them to a room just
off the main hall, he indicated they should sit.
He departed a few seconds later, but the group
wasn't alone for long. A burly and deeply
tanned man, whose hair had faded to more salt
than pepper, pushed open the double doors and
eagerly entered. The bright glow of impending
grandfatherhood lit his face leaving him with a
boyish gaze. "You must forgive Ricardo," he
began without introduction. "He only speaks
Spanish, and even then hardly says a word. But
he's a good enough butler -- my God!"
Challenger smiled widely at the man's shock.
"You look like you've seen a ghost, old friend."
"I have...a living, breathing ghost. Challenger!
When we heard about Kappakochu and the others
and then no word from you, we feared the worst.
It's good to see you alive!"
"Yes," agreed the professor. "It's been an
amazing journey, one that the world should
experience as well. But, we understand that we
have come at an inopportune time. Your daughter
is in labor."
"Well, she was," countered their host. "My
grandson was born not long before you came.
Mother and son are sleeping now so we have ample
opportunity to catch up. Marcus, my son-in-law,
is in Manous, unfortunately. He didn't want to
leave her, but there were supplies that needed
his attention and he thought he would back in
time for the birth. He should be returning this
evening…I would introduce you, but I don't
expect to see him for more than a second once he
hears the news."
The group laughed in agreement as they settled
into the comfortable armchairs, which were
attractively arranged in the room. Roxton,
however, chose to lean against the built-in
bookshelf at the far side; the position allowed
him to better see the entire party, plus the
window nearby afforded an unobstructed view of
the outside. If their host noticed, he gave no
mention of it.
Instead, he rang a bell, which hurried Ricardo
through the door. "Have Maria prepare tea for
my friends. They must be parched." The butler
nodded once and then closed the door, while
Dupont continued, "And I absolutely insist that
you stay for dinner and the night."
"Oh, we don't mean to trouble you," replied
Roxton who crossed his legs as he adjusted his
position.
Dupont smiled widely and shook his head. "No
trouble at all, Lord Roxton." The butler chose
that moment to return with the tea and cakes for
the guests. "Now, we celebrate the birth of my
first grandchild and the return of my friends!
Ricardo, make the arrangements and prepare rooms
for them to stay in tonight."
***
After a leisurely tea and entertaining
conversation in which all were amazed at the
changes that had been wrought in the world
during their stay in the Lost World, the party
was escorted to their rooms to freshen up for
dinner and rest.
Veronica looked around her room, curiosity
pricked by the unfamiliar items which lay at odd
intervals on the dresser. Having picked up a
particularly interesting article, she folded it
over her hands and almost dropped it guiltily at
the sudden knock at the door. "Come in." She
placed it back on the dresser and was nervously
adjusting the position when a young girl peeked
into the room.
"Pardon, Senorita, but Senor Dupont thought you
might wish for a change of clothes. The family
dresses for dinner." She glanced away
uncertainly toward the bathroom a few feet away.
"I will draw you a bath, if you wish."
The blonde smiled wanly at the teenager. Though
Dupont appeared to be everything Challenger
thought, she was wary. The plateau had played
more than one trick on them and part of her
still doubted the authenticity of this place.
For all they knew, they could in reality be back
in the plains unconscious thanks to some type of
spore from the plant the professor had been so
keen on finding. Taking a deep breath, she
replied to the girl, "Yes, thank you, a bath
would be lovely."
While the maid prepared the bath, Veronica
picked up the blue and cream dress the younger
girl had laid on the bed. The material was soft
and light weight, perfect for the humid summer
days. "The dress is beautiful!"
"Si," answered the maid as she returned from the
bathroom, "it is a dress of Senor Dupont's
daughter. Since she isn't able to wear it, he
thought it might fit you."
"Please give him my thanks." Veronica smiled as
she heard Challenger's booming laugh from beyond
the door.
***
"So, tell me, old man," Dupont began as they
walked down the hall toward the wing of
guestrooms. "Did you really see dinosaurs?"
Challenger laughed heartily. "On more than one
occasion. How is it that your land practically
borders the plateau and yet, you've never heard
so much as a roar?"
"Well, let's just say there are some things one
chooses to ignore, especially if those things
would hurt his business. The workers are
superstitious to say the least and I'm too much
of a businessman to worry about what might or
might not exist." He flashed a wide smile
toward his friend. "That's your job after all."
As they slowly walked further down the hall,
past the rooms that had been set aside for the
other explorers, Dupont grew thoughtful. "There
have been nights when the wind was light that we
would hear noises no cow could make. The
gauchos would cross themselves and mutter
something indistinguishable to Saint Mary and
then go on. No one goes over to that area;
consequently, nothing has been seen."
He paused at one of the doors, indicating it
would be Challenger's room. "Dinosaurs, eh?"
The professor offered him an enigmatic smile in
response.
Dupont nodded, and then said, "Well, see you in
a bit. Oh, and George, I *am* glad to see you
alive."
***
Marguerite gave a final shake to her hair,
sending the dark curls tumbling down her back
and over the pale blue dress that had been
provided by their host. Satisfied that she had
maintained her usual level of appearance, even
without her extra eyeliner, she opened the door
and met Roxton outside just as he left his own
room. Roxton took in the sight of his love in
an actual dress and smiled.
"You have something to say, Lord Roxton?"
Marguerite quizzed with mock superiority.
He cocked his head to one side and answered,
"Only that the color definitely becomes you."
Marguerite smiled bashfully at the unexpected
compliment and joined him at the stairs. She
glanced around trying to find another topic to
steer away from the dangerous feelings that
coursed through her. 'Damn the man,' she
berated. 'How does he always manage to throw me
off kilter when I least expect it?' Aloud, she
murmured as she caressed the mahogany-paneled
hallway, "Isn't this wonderful?"
Roxton sobered instantly, all lascivious
thoughts about the woman before him gone.
Marguerite gauged his silence and sudden aplomb
with a measuring gaze. "Roxton, you do agree
that this man is Michael Dupont, right?"
"Yes, that much is certain."
"So, then, what's wrong?"
He offered her a half-smile, his eyes hooded and
wary. "It just seems far too easy, given our
other attempts to leave the plateau."
Marguerite threw her hands up in the air.
"Can't you for once not look a gift horse in the
mouth and accept the fact that we finally have a
guaranteed one-way ticket off this God-forsaken
plateau?" she whispered, mindful of the servants
who hovered in the background.
"Nothing in this life is guaranteed, Marguerite," Roxton
muttered as he shot her a warning glance.
"Yeah, except for death, taxes, and in this
case, a way home!" Seeing he wouldn't relent,
Marguerite gave up. "Fine, have it your way.
Just allow me the pleasure, later, when we step
on that steamer bound for London, to say 'I told
you so.'"
Roxton smiled fondly down at her and wrapped an
arm around her shoulders as he led them toward
the dining room. "Now, when have I ever denied
you that right? Especially when it occurs *so*
infrequently."
She shot him a dark look before sneaking out of
his grasp and taking her seat next to
Challenger. Roxton soon joined her, assuming
the chair on her right. Marguerite took his
hand under the table and gave it a reassuring
squeeze. She truly felt they would make it home
this time and wanted her man to have the same
assurance. Roxton laced their fingers together
and returned the squeeze. 'For you, my love,'
he thought to her, 'I'll put my concerns on
hold.'
As the night wore on and the dinner plates were
cleared in favor of cigars and brandy, the
hunter began to feel the inner peace that
Marguerite had already found. This was truly
the same Michael Dupont, a man whom Challenger
trusted, who was open and honest about his
endeavors in South America and his hopes for the
future. Every word coincided with what he
remembered of the wealthy businessman.
Roxton caught Marguerite's eye from across the room and
nodded slightly, his gaze telling her that he
had accepted her view of the situation. Elated
by his change of heart, Marguerite beamed with
pleasure borne from true happiness. If they
hadn't been in polite company, she would have
kissed him then and there.
Dupont caught the look the two had exchanged
and, correctly reading the obvious, pretended to
stifle a yawn. "My, my, where has the time
flown?" he asked glancing at the grandfather
clock on the other side of the room. "You must
be exhausted!"
"Yes," agreed Malone, "it has been a rather
long, though exciting, day."
"Very well, then. Let me bid you good night.
First thing in the morning, I will order your
tickets for the next steamer leaving for London.
If you would like, I'll have Ricardo take any
messages you want to send into town and have
them telegraphed to your families."
***
3/?
The group had left early that morning with the
promise to return the next day, ready to leave
for home. True to his word, Dupont had
dispatched Ricardo at daybreak with telegrams
and money in hand. Of the four, Marguerite was
the only one who had not sent a message home
about her impending arrival. At the time,
Roxton had accepted -- was even gratified by --
her explanation of, "The only people I would
want to tell are already here." But now, he
realized just how lonely her life had been.
Veronica had sent word earlier to Assai of the
news and bearers would arrive soon to help move
all of the items they had accumulated over the
years. Roxton pulled two bags toward the living
room; glancing at Marguerite's room, he
shuddered at the loads the heiress would be
returning with and didn't envy the Zanga men the
task ahead. He spotted the object of his search
gazing into the forest from the balcony.
"All packed?" Roxton asked as he joined
Marguerite on the porch.
She turned and smiled at him. "Yes, just taking
one last look around. You know, as horrid as
this place has been, I have to admit, I have
some great memories."
"Yes, I'm sure you do, starting with how you
were the plaything of a half-man, half-lizard..."
Shooting him an affronted look, she rebuked,
"Tribune was most kind to me, *and* you, thank
you very much!"
Roxton continued on, undeterred, "Almost married
a boy king and were nearly killed or captured on
so many occasions you lost count."
She whacked him on the arm gently before tossing
him a saucy look. "And what about you, Lord
Roxton? Going to tell dear, old Mom that you
were a vampire for a short while?
I'm sure she'd get a kick out of that!"
Hearing her speak of his family, Roxton sobered
immediately, his thoughts returning to the
reason for his appearance on the balcony.
"Marguerite, before everything goes haywire when
we return, I want to ask you something."
Concerned by his sudden sobriety, Marguerite
took his hand in hers and answered, "Anything,
John."
"I've thought about it for months now -- years,
if truth be told -- and I've come to some
conclusions, some things that must be
said...damn." The man was babbling, and he knew
it. Taking in a quick breath, he searched for
the words he had practiced, and had promptly
forgotten, when the time came for the asking.
Finally, he closed his eyes then kissed her
knuckles and asked, "Will you marry me?"
Stunned by words she never expected to hear,
Marguerite simply stared up at him, speechless.
Roxton mistook her silence for reluctance and
continued, desperate to reach through to her
heart and win her consent. "I can't promise
I'll never let you down or not get angry with
you, but I will promise you this: I'll never
break your heart. I love you and I want to
spend the rest of my life with you."
Seeing tears well up in her eyes frightened the
hunter all the more and he rushed on. "If you're worried
about the manor, don't. We don't have to live
there year round. We can travel, do anything
you want...just please, say you will be there
with me."
Finally, when she realized that she wasn't
dreaming and John was actually speaking the
words she had so longed to hear, she leaned up
and stopped him with her lips. Roxton responded
with an urgency that reflected his continuing
concerns and deepened the kiss, cradling her
face in his hands and fusing their lips
together, showing her what he thought he hadn't
told her.
Minutes -- or hours -- later, they broke apart,
the need to breathe outweighing their need for
each other. Still, unwilling to move too far
apart, their lips clung for a few final seconds
before Roxton pulled back to search her eyes.
Their breath mingling, he whispered, "Please
tell me that was a yes."
Marguerite grinned and brushed her nose against
his. "Yes, John, it was a yes." With a whoop
of joy, the hunter swooped her up into his arms
and swung her around.
Embarrassed, she ordered, "Roxton! Put me
down!"
His grin widened, if possible, and he laughed, a
full rich sound speaking more to his happiness
than his smile ever could. "Not a chance! Now
that I've got you, I'm never letting you go!"
Smiling in awe at the joy she inspired,
Marguerite cupped his jaw and gazed lovingly at
him. "You've had me for a long time. I love
you, John."
The sincerity in her eyes moved him to set her
back down. He threaded his fingers through her dark curls
and kissed her thoroughly. A sharp cough broke
them apart moments later and both turned to grin
at the new arrivals. Roxton, unable to contain
his joy, gripped her hand in his and beamed.
"Marguerite has agreed to marry me when we
return to London."
A hail of well wishes, hugs and handshakes
greeted the announcement. Veronica, hugged
Marguerite and teased, "Well, we've heard this
one before; you two are the real Marguerite and
Roxton, right?"
The hunter merely laughed good-naturedly, while
Marguerite, took offense at the slight.
Crossing her arms, she flashed the blonde a
challenging look. "Since you doubt my
sincerity, where's the Zanga's shaman? We can
get married now."
Roxton's jaw dropped to the floor in surprise
while Veronica gave Marguerite an appraising
stare. "You're serious."
The brunette nodded solemnly, a contented smile
spreading over her lovely features.
The younger woman, convinced by the surety in
the other woman's eyes, if not by the words
themselves, smiled back and replied, "I'll book
the chapel."
***
The overwhelming scent of wildflowers filled the
small hut, bringing to mind another time and
another wedding, one that was not such a happy
occasion. With nowhere else to look since her
hair was being threaded with the small petals,
Marguerite's gaze landed on Veronica. The
younger woman looked almost sad. Unexpected
pangs of guilt stabbed at the future Lady Roxton
and she opened her mouth to comfort the woman
who had become more like a sister than a friend.
Veronica looked over and murmured, "Don't.
Let's not dredge up the past. It's over and
forgotten."
Smiling with acceptance and thanks, Marguerite
pulled a mirror from the folds of her dress and
admired the women's handiwork. "Not bad at all,
I'd say."
"You look beautiful," murmured Veronica as she
took in the older woman's serene expression and
cream-colored gown.
Marguerite's eyes softened. By the end of the
day, she would be Lady Roxton and unlike her
views of four years ago, she was more entranced
with the idea of being John's wife than she was
at the prospect of being wealthy. For she now
realized she was rich in so much more than
material things.
She had never known the kind of love she felt
for him. Certainly, she had seen it in other
people, but to experience it herself was nothing
short of amazing. As a child, she hadn't
believed in fairy tales and yet their time on
the plateau had become a fable in itself.
Stranded in a lost world, their only hope for
survival resting in each other, they were
allowed the opportunity to forget the realities
of their lives and act as normal people albeit
under extraordinary circumstances. They fought,
they loved, but mostly, they lived. And in the
day to day exercise of simply existing in such a
world, they evolved, became better than they
were. How appropriate that the handsome prince
-- or lord, in the case -- continued the fairy
tale and asked her to marry him.
"It's strange," she murmured, remembering the
assassin she had shot outside the Zoological
Society's building. "I owe all this to the
Baron." Chuckling to herself at the irony, she
waved off Veronica's unspoken question with a
"Never mind."
A knock at the door forestalled any further
explanation. The door was pushed open and Malone stuck his
head in. "It's time," he said with a smile.
***
The beat of the tribal drums thrummed through
her, matching the steady pulse in her veins.
There would be no struggle during *this*
wedding, no half-heartedly spoken vows.
Today, Marguerite would bind herself willingly
to Lord John Richard Roxton. She smiled at the
traditional wedding dance being performed by
members of the Zanga and could just barely see
Roxton standing to one side of Jacoba, facing
the shaman. The painted and skull-bedecked man
shook his medicine stick around the area in
which Marguerite would soon stand, cleansing it
from the evil spirits and welcoming their god to
the celebration.
When the dancers finished and the last drumbeat
faded, Jacoba stood. "Bring forth the bride!"
Marguerite easily evaded the sure grips of her
escorts and murmured, "No need to force me down
this aisle." Her eyes met Roxton's as she
stepped from behind the wall, searching for
signs that he regretted asking her to marry him.
The only thing she found in the murky depths was
a calm surety and a smile of welcome.
She grinned back at him, and then walked
forward, relishing the moment and memorizing
every detail. Once she had reached his side, he
took her hand in the traditional pose.
Marguerite had already agreed to translate for
the shaman, but as he began, she found herself
struggling to maintain her composure.
'Damn,' she thought as she wiped away a stray
tear, 'I've *never* cried at weddings --
especially my own."
Roxton squeezed her hand, offering his silent
support. She swallowed once and quickly
translated the beginning of the speech. "The
gods have called together this man and woman to
join their lives. We will honor and celebrate
their decision. Roxton, you will give your life
for this woman?"
The hunter nodded and answered with the expected
response, knowing it was true, "I would a
thousand times over."
"Marguerite, you will give your heart to this
man?" The brunette swallowed back the tears of
happiness that threatened to overwhelm her and
smiled up at the man in question. "I have a
thousand times over."
"Then it is done." The onlookers echoed the
shaman's loud whoops, each offering their own
wish for a bright future.
Roxton leaned forward to kiss his bride, but
Marguerite stepped back, arching an eyebrow.
"Lord Roxton, that's not part of their
ceremony."
"Humor me," he murmured pulling her into his
arms and kissing her. The joyous cries of the
tribe escalated at the sight. Challenger
laughed heartily while Veronica and Malone
clapped with enthusiastic delight.
When the two parted, each more than a little
breathless, Jacoba stood again and decreed, "Let
the celebration begin." The dancers returned to
the center of the gathering area as the
newlyweds were escorted to a place of honor
beside the chief. The other explorers were
seated further down next to Jarl and Assai.
Food and fruit wine flowed freely and the hours
passed more quickly than the explorers imagined.
When the shaman indicated it was time for the
couple to leave and begin their wedding night,
Roxton flashed an uncertain glance toward
Challenger knowing the group had planned to
return to Dupont Farms in the morning. The
professor offered him an apologetic smile and
Roxton nodded squeezing Marguerite's hand
indicating she should stand. She eagerly
agreed, until she saw the disappointment in her
husband's eyes.
She sighed as they walked toward the gates.
"Looks like we'll have to forgo the traditional
wedding night," she murmured with regret as the
others said their good-byes.
"How about just postpone?" Roxton answered with a
slow grin that heated her blood. He glanced back
over his shoulder and found the others still
chatting with members of the tribe. When he
turned back his smile had become almost
uncertain. "I, um, don't have a wedding ring for
you.
We'll have to take care of that when we return
home, but for now…" he paused and tugged the
family signet ring off his pinky finger. Lightly
gripping her right hand, he slid the warm golden
band onto her fourth finger.
The feel was electric and the fit, perfect.
"John," Marguerite breathed as the warmth
encompassed her hand and spread through the rest
of her body. "Thank you."
Malone and Challenger joined them a few minutes
later, with Veronica close behind. Realizing any
further conversation would have to wait for a
later time, Marguerite clutched John's hand to
her waist, relishing the promise of home and a
new life.
***
When the group returned to the tree house,
Veronica, Malone and Challenger hastily retreated
to their bedrooms to allow the pair some privacy.
John smiled at their obviousness, but welcomed it
nonetheless. Marguerite, suddenly nervous at the
prospect of being alone with her husband, laughed
lightly as she watched him cover the short
distance between them.
"Come here," he ordered, the flame that had been
banked in his eyes for most of the evening flared
as his normally cultured voice deepened to a
rough growl. The combination sent a shiver of
anticipation flying over her skin.
"Now, Roxton, just because I married you, don't
think I'm just going to start obeying your every
whim."
The hunter smiled at her, eyes twinkling. "Oh,
this is no whim, my dear. This is one desire
that has existed since we first met."
Remembering a conversation from the early days of
the exploration, she huffed, "So, I'm to be the
trophy you take back to London?"
"Not at all," he murmured, closing the gap
between them and kissing her lightly. "You are
to be my wife." Her tremble at his words
propelled his already raging pulse to a new
level. Cradling her face in his hands, he
lowered his lips to hers. The sensation was like
nothing he had felt before. Maybe it was the fact
that she was finally, completely his, maybe they
both were now tasting the inevitable, maybe --
hell, he didn't care the reason, he only knew
that if he didn't make her his own then and
there, he would likely be a victim of spontaneous
human combustion.
Unfortunately, though, a voice from the smallest
unaffected portion of his brain screamed through
the raging emotions and ordered his body to stand
down. They would be leaving for home in the
morning, and good sense dictated that they would
both need to be rested. Weaning himself from the
feel of her lips under his, he reluctantly pulled
away. "Marguerite, we --" he began only to be
interrupted by her finger against his lips.
"Shh, love. I know," she whispered. She
understood, though her disappointment was
evident.
He kissed her finger then grasped her hand and
kissed her knuckles. "Good night, Lady Roxton.
Sweet dreams."
Marguerite bowed slightly, needing to maintain
the subterfuge in order to calm her body. They
would soon be on a steamer home with nothing to
do for two blissful weeks but sleep, eat and make
love. But tonight, they would have to be content
with dreams of all the pleasures to come. "Good
night, John," she murmured as she turned and
walked into her bedroom, closing the door behind
her.
***
4/?
Hours before the sun had even contemplated
rising, Veronica stood in the kitchen. This
would be her friends' last day on the plateau and
a going-away party was definitely in order.
Unfortunately, her eyes kept blurring while she
gathered up the ingredients and began to knead
the dough.
"Damn morning mists," she murmured as she swiped
a doughy hand across her face. She would miss
them -- more than she realized -- and yet, they
had to return to their world. For the past four
years, the tree house had been alive after a
decade of the hauntingly empty quiet. She hated
the thought that she would soon be alone once
more, but there was no alternative. Her parents
were still missing somewhere in this lost world
and as long as she had hope, she knew she would
find them.
Jerking her thoughts away from the future, she
forced herself to focus on the present, namely a
wonderful farewell breakfast. Coffee beans had
been roasted, tea was brewing and the fruits
picked yesterday were ready to be pared. Veronica
pulled out the bottle of champagne her parents
had brought with them to toast their success and
placed it in the cooler to chill. She hummed
softly to herself as she worked and barely
noticed when Challenger entered the room a few
hours later.
"Good morning, Veronica," he greeted. Startled,
she whirled around.
"Good morning, Challenger!" she returned somewhat
breathless. "Did you sleep well?"
"Like a baby. It's a good feeling to finally be
going home."
She raised a questioning eyebrow as she watched
him strap his pistol belt to his waist. "Not
going nest raiding, are you?"
The professor laughed heartily at the memory. "I
doubt Roxton would agree to a second excursion."
"And what excursion would that be?" the hunter
asked as he entered the room. Plucking a piece
of fruit off the cutting board and narrowly
avoiding the knife Veronica wielded, he glanced
between the two. "Not the Pterodactyl again,
George."
"No, no, old man, I won't be taking any live
souvenirs back with me. We'll have to save that
for the return trip."
"Who said anything about a return trip?" asked
Marguerite welcoming the freshly poured cup of
coffee that John handed her.
Veronica glanced at the other woman as she began
to set the table. "You *will* come back to see
me, won't you?"
Malone entered just as she had spoken. "Wait,
you aren't coming back with us?"
The blonde smiled wanly at the man who had come
to mean so much to her. "This is my home Ned.
It's all that I know. And my parents..."
"Spare me the parents speech!" Malone retorted,
turning on his heel and walking out. "I think I
still have some packing to do."
Marguerite, seeing the flash of pain on the
younger woman's face, placed a reassuring hand on
her arm. "Give him some time. He does
understand. We all do."
***
A few minutes later, Roxton tapped lightly on the
doorframe to Malone's bedroom. "Can I come in?"
"Sure, why not?" he muttered as he thrust a few
shirts into a knapsack. "It's not like this is
going to be mine much longer."
The hunter remained silent and, leaning against
the door, watched Malone with a studied disregard
gauging the younger man's mood and judging it to
be more hurt than angry. "Ned, you do love the
girl, right?"
The young reporter sat heavily on the bed and
nodded, tossing the remaining shirts aside.
"Well then, show her you love her and respect the
decision she's made." Roxton offered the other
man a wry smile. "It wasn't something she
settled on lightly. If you force her to choose
between you and her parents, you'll lose, Neddy
boy. She's loved them a lot longer than she's
loved you."
He paused and glanced toward his
wife, who stood in her own room gathering up the
last remaining items. "But if you allow her the
opportunity to bring some closure to her life,
she'll love you all the more for it. And who
knows where that will take you."
"Sounds like you speak from experience," Malone
teased.
Roxton's eyebrows lifted once as he flashed an
ironic grin. "Let's just say we all have our
demons to slay."
The reporter smiled his thanks, to which the
hunter merely nodded and turned to leave.
***
Moving, no matter the distance nor the
circumstance, always encompasses more than the
party actually expects. Inevitably, the movee has
more possessions than he estimates
and the process of packing and relocating all of
the accumulated items becomes more of a hassle
than a pleasure. Even though each had brought a
limited number of items to the plateau, based on
the aforementioned scenario, the Challenger
Expedition was nothing if not normal. Fifteen
warriors, instead of the requested ten, now bore
the explorers' packs through the jungle to the
ivy-covered entrance back to the civilized world.
None would cross through to the other side, much
to the irritation of one Lady Marguerite Roxton.
"I don't see what the big deal is. So they take
a peek at our side of the world. Who cares?"
Marguerite griped as the group hiked toward the
entrance. "It's not as if they're going for an
extended stay."
Veronica sighed at the other woman's complaints.
Maybe she wouldn't miss them so much after all.
"Marguerite, the Zanga people are extremely
superstitious. It took a lot of effort on
Assai's part to convince Jacoba to allow the men
to come at all. Let alone carry the packs to the
entrance itself."
"Yes, Marguerite," Challenger concurred, "we
should be grateful they agreed to help."
"I don't think you would have been too happy with
the prospect of carrying all of your bags by
yourself," muttered Roxton. He tossed an amused
glance back at his wife and watched as she
struggled with one of the two packs that she had
been forced to carry.
"Who says I would have carried them at all?
That's what husbands are for," she teased,
thoroughly delighted by the startled look that
crossed his features.
The group paused as they neared the bushes and
the Zanga men began unloading and reorganizing
the packs to ease the transition to the men from
Dupont Farms who would help carry the bags to the
house. The organized chaos allowed Ned one last
moment of persuasion. "Veronica, come with us."
"Ned, my parents..."
Malone searched her eyes, trying to ferret out
the actual motive for her reluctance. "Tell me
the truth, do you really think your parents are
still able to be found? Are they the real reason
you want to stay? Or are you just scared of my
world?"
Veronica glanced away from him then gestured
helplessly. "I told you a long time ago that my
world was here. I don't belong in London any
more than you belong on the Plateau."
Malone squeezed her shoulders and murmured, "I
belong with you."
The hope that filled her eyes died as quickly as
it appeared when he continued, "But I have a
story to publish that's been four years in the
making. I have to go back." He turned and
watched the others as they moved their packs
through the entrance and said one last goodbye to
a world in which they had never thought they
would survive.
"I have to go," he murmured almost as if trying to
convince himself of the rightness of leaving her alone.
As Dupont Farms appeared through the ivy, an idea struck
him. He turned quickly back to her, a surety in his gaze that
had been absent only moments ago. Veronica shook
her head, confused by his sudden calm.
"I do have to go, but I will come back. Now that
we know the way…." He thought for a moment. His
editor would want to review every account of
their time in the Lost World and, with four years
of writings stockpiled in almost one hundred
journals; it could take a year before the first
installments were published.
"Give me four months. That's the least amount of
time it will take for the stories to be reviewed
and edited. I don't have to be there for the
publication's release. Four months, and I'll
come back."
"Ned! I can't ask you to do that!"
He placed a staying finger over her lips.
"Shhh...you didn't; I want to be with you…any way
possible."
"Malone!" called Roxton. "Are you coming?"
The reporter glanced over his shoulder to the
others then quickly turned back to his love. She
handed him his pack with a sad smile. "See you
in four months," she whispered then kissed him
sweetly.
"Take care of yourself," he breathed. Giving her
a kiss that would last them both for the days to
come, he then ran after the others. Just before
he reached the brush, he turned back for one last
look.
"Ned! I love you!"
He grinned widely and returned, "Me too! Four
months, Veronica, I swear it!" Then he
disappeared.
***
As planned, the group arrived at the Manous port
with plenty of time to load their bags and settle
into their compartments well before it was time
to cast-off. "Good luck, old man," Dupont bade
as he slapped the professor heartily on the back.
"Thank you, again, for all of your aid in
bringing us to this point. We will be back
sometime," Challenger replied, shouldering his
backpack.
"Back?" the entrepreneur asked. "Why in the
devil would you want to come back?"
"Yes, Challenger," Marguerite agreed, "please
elaborate on why, after four years of trying to
leave, we would ever want to return?"
"The adventure has only just begun, Marguerite.
Imagine what marvels science could explain with
the proper instruments and a more eclectic
combination of trained minds."
"I don't think you could have gotten a more
eclectic group than ours," Ned said, glancing
toward the rocky outcroppings that were shrouded
by gray clouds, knowing that somewhere on the
other side, Veronica remained, searching for her
lost parents and waiting for his eventual return.
"True enough," agreed Roxton who tossed a smile
toward Marguerite. "Besides, I didn't get the
trophy I came for." His smile softened as he
added in a voice so low only his wife could hear
it, "Even though I found something much better."
She rolled her eyes, trying with little success
to keep the grin of pleasure from bursting forth.
"Well, when you put it that way, there are still
several caves whose geologic capacity remain to
be tapped."
The entrepreneur laughed and said, "Well,
whatever the reason, rest assured, you will
always have a place to stay at Dupont Farms.
Goodbye, my friends and Godspeed." He shook
hands with each member of the party and walked
down the boarding ramp to watch them cast-off.
"Professor Challenger? Lord Roxton?" greeted a
uniformed busboy. "If you will, I'll show you to
your cabins." Leaving Ned to his reminiscing,
Marguerite moved to follow, but an officer
stopped her.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," he apologized as he tipped
his hat, "but we have strict rules governing
fraternization aboard our ships."
"Frat--" Marguerite began, confused by the man's
explanation, "We're not going to fraternize…"
She ignored John's mumbled, "Well, at least not
the *whole* trip," and shook her head. "We're
married."
"I'm sorry, but according to your passports, you
have no legal documents proving such a statement.
Therefore, we must operate under the belief that
you are unmarried."
"Oh, I don't believe this!" fumed the newlywed.
"Now, my good man," Roxton interrupted, steering
the officer away from the near-lethal Marguerite.
"I hold a lord's title and, upon my return to
London, will have the option of taking my
family's seat in Parliament. Do you doubt my
word and honor?"
"My lord, I've heard this argument many times
before, and from men much more esteemed than
yourself. The owners of the liner have drafted
strict rules for this sort of thing and, even
though you may indeed be as you say, I must err
on the side of caution in order to maintain our
spotless reputation. If you are concerned about
her safety, Miss Krux will be provided with a
cabin near the captain's quarters."
"Oh, I feel *much* better," she replied, her
acidic tone rolling off the intended target with
no effect.
"Is there a problem, miss?" a tall, silver-haired
man asked as he approached the party. The
stripes that banded the cuffs of his blue jacket
indicated his high rank.
Marguerite flashed a winning smile. "As a matter
of fact, yes. Your officer here is refusing to
allow me to stay in my husband's quarters."
The man's brow furrowed as he asked to see her
passport and papers. "I'm sorry, ma'am but your passport
indicates that you are unmarried."
"We were married by a village shaman…guess he was
all out of certificates at the time," she
answered with ease.
"Without the proper documentation, I'm afraid
Seaman Curtis is correct in assigning you to two
different cabins. The quarters near the captain
are quite lovely and I'm certain will suit your
needs. If you'll follow me, I'll direct you to
them."
"Oooh, I *hate* this! Four years have led up to
what?"
Roxton pulled her closed and lowered his forehead
to hers in resignation. "It's alright, my dear.
When we return to England, we'll go directly to
the London house and I won't let you leave the
bed for a week." His smile degraded to a leer as
he added, "At least."
"Roxton!" she cried, slightly pulling away.
"We're in public!"
"So?" His voice softened with love. "You're my
wife, even if the liner doesn't agree, we know
it." She cupped his jaw and caressed his cheek
with her thumb. Raising a hand to cover her own,
John kissed her palm, sending shivers of pleasure
through them both.
The officer regretfully cleared his throat.
Having witnessed their display of obvious
affection, he had few doubts that they were
married. After all, the lovers he had seen
rarely exhibited the same simple caring that was
evident in the scene before him.
"Yes, yes, we know," Marguerite griped. "Separate
rooms."
***
Four years, eight months, two weeks and five days
later, the steamer sailed into the London harbor
and the Challenger Expedition minus one returned
home. The welcoming party, while not as large as
that which had bid the passengers of
the fateful Titanic voyage good-bye still added
to the teary-eyed effect of their first sight of
London. Big Ben loomed in the distance, a
triumphant hallmark to the stalwart British
resolve. The four met at the starboard railing
for one last uninterrupted conversation before
the inevitable occurred.
"Well," said Malone as he shouldered his
backpack, "looks like this is it. Now what?"
"What do you mean, 'now what?'" Marguerite asked.
"Now we make our triumphant return to the
civilized world. Challenger will be a hero, you'll write the
story of the century, Roxton will be hailed the
greatest hunter alive, and I will disappear
into obscurity as just another old married
member of the peerage."
Roxton snorted. "After all the excitement of
the last four years, I would have thought you
would be more interested in a nice long bubble
bath with plenty of good maid service than
fame."
"Who says I can't have both?" she asked to the
men's answering laughter.
The ship bucked slightly jostling the group as
it bumped into the side of the docks and
forestalled any further conversation. "Time
to see what awaits," Challenger said as the
party moved toward the boarding ramp. "Let's
all agree to meet sometime next week, after the
fervor dies down."
"Wonderful idea," agree Roxton. "Why don't we
meet at my London home…say Thursday afternoon
around tea time?"
"Perfect!" answered the professor while the
others nodded in agreement. "Good luck to you,
then." A crush of reporters greeted Challenger
and Malone as they disembarked, while Roxton and
Marguerite were pulled toward another section of
the crowd.
Grabbing her hand, Roxton forced his way through
the wellwishers and amid the back slaps and hand
shakes, finally found the porter who was now
loading their bags into a taxi. "John!" a
cultured elderly voice called. "John Richard!"
Roxton paid the porter and turned to see the
dowager Lady Roxton, followed closely by her
brother, making her way toward him. "Mother!"
he greeted, dragging Marguerite behind him.
"What are you doing here?"
"Oh, posh!" she cried, shaking the concerned
hand off her shoulder. "I'm fit as a fiddle and
when I received the telegram that you were
coming home at last, I resolved right away to be
here to meet my son on his return."
"I did try to stop her," the tall, gray-blond
man answered, his sharp blue eyes casting an
appraising gaze toward Marguerite. Lady Roxton
realized that her son was not alone and looked
at the beautiful young woman who stood next to
him. She glanced down at their joined hands and
smiled.
Hearing the unspoken question that hung in the
air, Roxton placed an arm around Marguerite's
waist. "Mother, I'd like you to meet my wife --"
"Marguerite Krux," interrupted an authoritative
voice, "you're under arrest."
Marguerite glanced from the officer to Roxton's
family and thought, 'Hell of a first
impression,' even though in the back of her mind
she had expected this.
Shocked, Roxton pulled her closer and blurted, "On what charge?"
The officer grabbed her arm, pulling her out of
her husband's grasp. A split second later, he
had swung her around and cuffed her wrists
roughly. "High treason. She's a German spy."
***
...to be continued...
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