AUTHOR'S NOTE: There is an attached apology letter at the very bottom.
Chapter Sixteen
Foothold
Part One
Lord John Roxton – once a cheerful and spirited man – was slumped on the elegantly carved maple swing, squinting against the spray of the early spring rain as his bare feet sunk further into the grass, the chilling mud seeping between his toes. The skies grew angrier, releasing a sharp shrill of thunder before igniting the sky with a brilliant display of lightning. He didn't flinch. Instead, he sighed and bowed his head until his chin rested against his chest. In the distance he heard the squawking of his name being carried against the slashing wind and he cringed.
All right, he reasoned, it isn't squawking. I just want to be left the bloody hell alone.
"Roxton," the voice was closer, clearer. "What are you doing out here in the rain? You're going to get sick."
Roxton wanted to ignore his friend and slip back into the depths of his mind, but sulking wasn't one of his better attributes. He forced a smile, pushing himself into a stiff stance. "I was only thinking." He shied from eye contact and – weighted with remorse – he staggered the rest of the way to the tree house.
Ned Malone was hot on his heels, studying the older man with silent concern. It wasn't enough to lose his son, but fate had decided to steal his wife away as well: or at least her mind. "John," the reporter prodded gently. "Perhaps if you take her back to London…to doctors…"
"No," Roxton snapped, shaking his head vehemently. "I don't ever want to go back to London again! I hate that bloody place!" He viciously whacked a chair. "Marguerite will get well here: away from the malicious eyes of society!" He slammed his foot against a bucket of water, which toppled over. "The reporters who dig their claws into your personal lives like scavengers!" He punched a picture off the wall. "The gouging of shrinks whose only purpose in life is to pry into your deepest emotions, piercing through your agony like a hot iron rod!"
Malone flung his arms around the angered man stopping him from tearing apart Veronica's latest painting. "Calm yourself, Roxton! You've been so high-strung since you've gotten here! How do you ever suppose Marguerite to get better if you yourself can't show more restraint and compassion!"
Roxton didn't struggle against Malone, but instead grew weary and crumbled to the wooden floor, pressing his palms into his eyes. He was exhausted, tired from the pain and rage he held so tightly to his heart. "I can't help it, Ned," he moaned.
Malone, who hadn't let go, sadly sighed. "You lost your son, John. Do you want to lose your wife, too?"
A sob escaped him. "No," he groaned. "No. I love her. I really love her."
"Then you need to tell her," Malone ordered sharply. "Snap out of your self-pity! You're marriage isn't going to last another year if you don't stop this damn nonsense and take care of your wife! Adam's dead, Roxton and I'm sorry; I know it hurts, but this is getting childish! Marguerite needs you now more than ever: are you going to let her down?"
Roxton was ready with a bitter retort, but clasped his tongue, contemplating his words. "You surprise me, Ned. I never took you for one to be so hotheaded."
"Well you know me, I'm usually calm and soft-spoken, but there's one thing I could never handle: my family or friends being hurt." He sat back, shrugging his shoulders. "I know I'm a lot younger, but keep in mind that I have a family, too. I know what I'm talking about."
"I can't help but to always view you as the little lad with the pure heart and wild urge to write the most adventurous story." Roxton smiled, softly slapping Malone on the back. "You came here to prove your love to a woman who didn't love you in return. How innocent is that?"
Malone chuckled. "Boy, was I naïve and fool hearted back then."
"And now look who is," Roxton pointed out. "At least when you were fool hearted it was cheerful and delightful. I, on the other hand, have been dark and foreboding. But, damn it old man, you're right. I can't bring Adam back. But I can try and keep Marguerite from leaving."
"That's the spirit!" Challenger came bounding into the room. "Uh, I'm sorry," he said sheepishly, "but it was near impossible not to overhear your conversation." He set a vial of mysterious green liquid on the table, slipping his hands into his vest pockets. "But what if Marguerite wants to go back to the city?"
"I don't," a voice demanded. Marguerite stepped out of her bedroom, staggering slightly – still not easy on her feet. "I don't remember London, but I doubt I liked it."
Roxton rolled his eyes. "You say that now, but when we were lost here all you cared about was finding your way back to London."
"Shut up, Lord Roxton. I don't want to hear it from you."
Roxton barked a laugh, climbing up from the floor. "God, see what I have to put up with?"
"Whatever, John." She lowered herself onto a chair. "Now be a dear and make me some soup."
"Yes, ma'am."
End Chapter Sixteen
SierraSunshine: I hope this lowered your stress level. Lol. Thanks for hanging in there. Wishes: Sorry, but I kept you waiting. And don't worry: typos come with the privilege of computers. LoveMR: I'm glad you're understanding. Fab: I'm thrilled you enjoyed the slight touch of humor. I figured it was time to add a bit in. TheChosenOne3: She wouldn't be Marguerite if she didn't get caught in lies. Lol. Barbiedahl: Thanks for your review. I'm glad you're liking it, even though it made you cry. Obi-Wan'sPadawan: It's ok if you're a bit confused. Just be aware that this is an AU, so not everything correlates with the show anyway. Zeusfluff: I hope you didn't give up on me! Spirita: I hope to get it wrapped up soon. I'll try to do it quickly. Thanks for hanging in there. Shorty: I'm working on their relationship, I promise! MadgeSmith: I'm glad you reviewed. It's always nice to hear from old and new reviewers. Sorry it took awhile.
DEAR READERS,
Sorry this took so long, but I've been ill. I know that's not much of an excuse. It's been over a month since the last chapter was posted. I'll try and not make installments so far apart, but I can't guarantee anything. I'm still under the care of physicians. Sorry. I feel terrible for leaving you all hanging. It wasn't very considerate of me. And I know there must be a ton of typing errors, but I'm exhausted. Forgive me.
Angel LeeAnn