Chapter 2

Patrick

We paced slowly to the circle drive outside the grand estate. I waved at a driver to bring his carriage forward and groaned internally as I noticed the vehicles cluttering the road up to the street.

As much as the petty scandals of England's nobility could amuse me, I had grown tired from this fiasco of a gathering. Appearances held little space in my regard and being forced to keep them up for any sort of time was bound to bore me out of my senses. But Madeleine had insisted—attending this meaningless ball was an important part of our bargain. Now that it was over, I was anxious to get going. I wanted to investigate the new clues in my hands.

The night was calm, a soft breeze blowing from the direction of the river. I let go of Teresa's hand and half-turned to observe her.

She was grooming her appearance. She pulled her waves of ebony hair out from inside her cloak, then proceeded to wear her gloves. Her trembling hands stood against the task.

She was obviously ruffled. A little afraid, even. I wondered whether it was because of her friends' reaction to her announcement or her cousin's mention of her uncle. I considered asking her, but decided against it. She probably wouldn't like to know I was aware of her discomfort.

I knew that at least part of it owed to the fact that she did not remember my name. I would have told her, but then I decided that watching her trying to step around it and hide the fact was far too entertaining a sight to let go of.

In truth, I didn't know what to make of her. She was such a dainty, feminine thing, and yet she could use her fists like a man. She was like an angry princess. I smiled at the thought of the nickname and decided it suited her.

She amused me. Of all the brides I could have ended up with, she was an interesting one.

And undeniably attractive.

I ignored the voice that added the last part.

"Your ex-fiance didn't believe you, you know," I commented.

She looked up at me, her gaze sharp, her bangs in disarray.

"I beg your pardon?"

"In case you're worried that he will spill our secret to your uncle... you shouldn't. He believes you simply lied to make him jealous."

She let out an incredulous gasp. "You can't possibly know what he thinks."

"Think about it. He's a conceited fool. It would be easier for him to believe you lied than accept the fact that you got married to a stranger. And one of no noble title at that."

She blushed, opened her mouth to disagree, then looked away. "I admit that does sound like something he would believe."

Her honesty was refreshing. I caught myself smiling, then quickly turned it into a frown as her eyes moved upwards. Her green emeralds were aflame.

"Can you believe I almost married the man? I thank God for my hourly escape of such a tragedy," she said.

Her tone was entertaining. Even though I had heard all about how the prick had dishonored her, I wanted to keep her talking. "Hourly?" I repeated.

She nodded, her eyes widening. "Hourly."

Our carriage rocked to a stop in front us then, denying me my free entertainment. I held the door open and waited for her to get inside. I settled in the seat across from her and leaned back on the wall of the carriage.

Still, it seemed we were a long way from starting our journey, for the driver was still negotiating his carriage through the traffic.

"I looked for you for a good ten minutes. I honestly thought you'd gone and left me," Teresa remarked. I registered the subtle notes of irritation in her voice. It wasn't just a comment, her tone entitled her to an answer.

I was astonished at her authoritarian manner. And quite humbled, I had to admit. I had already witnessed first-hand her masterful skill in ordering those around her. But it was rather an exciting new experience to be the target of her command. Someone so small could be so threatening, if she chose to.

"You have nothing to say in your defense?" she demanded, when I didn't give her an answer.

Exciting, indeed.

She had obviously been upset at the incident for her to linger on it so much. I wavered between telling her the truth or repeating the lie I'd given her earlier in the ball. Then I wondered what her reaction would be to the truth.

"I was watching you from afar. I wanted to have an idea of what you were like before I came up to greet you," I admitted.

She swallowed and clasped her palms together. It was a damned shame that it was so dark in the carriage. I wanted to see her blush.

"That's… honest of you," she commented.

"Would you prefer I had lied?"

"No, of course not."

I smiled. She was so easy to vex.

The carriage started moving then. I heard her sigh quietly.

We were finally on our way.


Teresa

"You don't remember my name," he pointed out. I'd swear he was smiling.

I was more than grateful for the dark inside the carriage, because I would die if he saw my expression right now. How ridiculous. I did not remember the name of my husband. I guess I would be able to appreciate the comical of the situation, weren't I so embarrassed about it.

"It's alright, I take no offense," he said when I didn't answer.

I raised my chin, refusing to be indulged. "To be fair, you had plenty of chances to hear my name this evening," I passed on the defense.

"You're right. That is a fair point."

I heard the rustle of cloth and saw his hand move in the shadows of the carriage. "Patrick Jane," he introduced himself.

Of course, I thought. Like the girl.

I shook his hand. "You may call me Teresa."

He had a firm grip and smooth, soft skin.

He leaned forward. "Named after the saint, I presume."

The moonlight lit his face. His smile was dazzling. I gawked at him, grasping at words to answer.

"Y—es," I mumbled, nodding.

I realized I was still holding his hand and quickly let go of it. His smile broadened. I scurried to avert the attention from myself.

"Perhaps we should discuss how this arrangement between us is going to work," I suggested.

He shrugged, leaning back. "What's there to discuss?"

"I don't know… Are you having any second thoughts?"

"I promise I will keep my end of the bargain. I will travel with you to Boston and deliver you to your legal advisors there. After that, our roads will part."

I nodded, then smiled. "I think I can see why Madam chose you."

"And why is that?"

"You don't like being married anymore than I do."

"This doesn't make a lot of sense." It sounded difficult for him to admit he had failed to catch my meaning.

"It does to me," I started to explain. "I wanted to be free and getting married to you insured that. Uncle Volker would most probably force me to marry someone of his esteem. But now I am legally protected against him. Because I carry your name."

"In this day and age, no woman can be forced to marry against her will," he remarked.

I snorted—a rather unladylike sound of me. "You poor innocent. Perhaps that's true in America, but not in England. Not when entire trusts and fortunes are at issue."

He seemed to consider my answer for a moment. "Still, you don't exactly seem like the kind of person who would run away from their problems. Your grandmother could just as easily have found an English man. Unless.." He raised his finger. "What exactly do you expect to find in Boston?" he inquired.

I shrank. His question had caught me off guard.

"My brother. His wife passed away. He needs someone to take care of him."

I didn't know what had prodded the lie out of my mouth. For some reason, I didn't want to mention my niece as of yet. My grandmother always cautioned that any single man was bound to run at the mention of a child. And I needed Mr. Jane not to run for the moment. At least until I reached Boston and ensured my niece's safety.

His quiet made me worry. He was about to see through my lies, I thought. Hadn't he proved an exceptional reader of human conduct after all? His answer spared me my crisis.

"Your brother must be very old and feeble."

I let my silence be deemed as affirmation, ignoring the subtle suspicion in his voice, and scurried to change the topic again.

"Mr. Jane—" I started.

"Please, call me Patrick," he interrupted me.

I cleared my throat. "Patrick." For some reason calling him by his first name didn't sit right with me. "You have a ranch somewhere in the wilderness?" I asked.

He stiffened all of a sudden, as though the subject did not appeal to him.

"In Montana Territory," he answered shortly.

His reaction caught my curiosity. "It must be pretty isolated to live there," I pressed for answers.

"After the gold rush ended, much of the population left the area. There is a very small town nearby."

"What's the name of the town?"

"Redemption."

It sounded wonderful, I thought.

"Do you visit often?"

"No. Not in quite a few years."

"Right. Your work at the carnival must have hindered you from doing so."

He was silent for a moment. "Your grandmother didn't fill you in on the particulars about me?"

He sounded surprised. From the little I'd known him, I felt that didn't happen very often.

"No." I cleared my throat. "There wasn't time."

I was aware of the cheapness of the excuse. The man was my husband after all. And even though we would eventually part ways, it still looked rather naïve not to have a clue about who he was. But I had trusted Madam. She would have never given me to someone without proper morals.

He nodded slowly. "I see," he murmured. He took a deep breath. "I no longer work at the carnival."

I shook my head, confused. "But my friend, Kim, said she saw you in the Fair."

"Your grandmother paid for my journey here. Travelling with the carnival simply granted me anonymity."

I nodded slowly. The more I questioned him, the more alarmed I became about my dreadful lack of knowledge related to his character.

"You still seem quite capable to pose as a psychic," I commented, determined to get at least one fact right about him. "You certainly proved that much back at the ballroom."

"Cold reading," he said.

"Cold reading?"

"You for instance, you cared for a dysfunctional parent. Father, probably."

I was speechless. I snorted. "You got that from watching me across the ballroom?" I asked, hoping light sarcasm would hide my surprise and discomposure.

"No," he replied, unfazed by my tone. "I got that from watching you with your friend, Kim. She lost a parent at an early age. Probably, her mother. Her unhappiness reminded you of your father's unhappiness. It's what forged your connection to each other."

"It's not—" I started, then abruptly came to a stop. I cleared my throat and looked away. His intuition was admirable alright, but it was overwhelming to be the target of his talents. Had I not known better, I would have certainly fallen victim to his deception and given him my money. Which brought me back to the initial matter at hand.

"Why would you ever quit the carnival life?" I asked.

"That," he started, leaning to look outside the window, "will be a conversation for another time."

I was about to question his evasiveness, when our carriage came to a stop.

I peeked outside and saw a street bustling with activity. Drivers unloaded packages and letters from wagons, carts with piles of luggage stood randomly in the center of the street, passengers rushed to gather their belongings, while several huddled outised the ticketing office. Merchants advertised their wares and occasionally I heard people shouting in enquiry of a relative or a lover. The port was around the corner, but our carriage could not move further from all the clutter.

"Are our suitcases already on board?" I questioned, dreading the thought of having to find them in this chaos.

"They've been delivered to our stateroom," he said as he unlatched the door.

I went pale. "Our stateroom? You mean we don't have separate quarters?"

He hopped on the pavement and turned to offer his hand at me. "Your grandmother insisted there was only one reservation on the log. Plus, it's more romantic." To my great surprise, he winked at me.

I did not move to take his hand, instead feeling frozen in my seat. Did he really expect me to share a bed with him?

He smiled, leaning back inside the carriage. His proximity tingled my senses.

"Don't fret," he said. "I wouldn't seduce you over a shared bed. That'd be very sophomoric."

"I didn't think you were trying to seduce me."

"Come on, how could that thought not have entered your head?"

I swallowed, taking great effort to remind myself that he could not, in fact, read my mind.

"Your denial that it did intrigues me," he added.

I ignored his hand altogether, feeling suddenly irritated. "Bite me," I muttered, as I picked up my skirts and stepped out on my own.

We started walking toward the end of the street. The crowd swelled near the corner and Mr. Jane reached for my hand once again. I would have refused it under normal circumstances, but the last thing I wanted was for us to lose each other amidst the chaos.

Pickpockets darted in and out of the crowd, some as young as eight. I spotted men staring at me, felt disgusted and fought to keep the edges of my cloak closed over my chest.

"I should have changed my dress after the ball," I thought loudly. "It's drawing attention."

Mr. Jane threw a glance at me. "It wouldn't have helped," I thought I heard him mutter.

I didn't have time to speculate over his words however, because about that time we turned the corner and the port finally came in full view. My breath caught as I spotted the Emerald in the distance. The ship was immense in size and the moonlight made it appear almost mystical.

"It's so beautiful," I whispered in awe.

He looked at me, then followed my gaze. "Yes, she is beautiful," he agreed.

The magnitude of my actions suddenly hit me at full force. I was really doing it, I thought. I was leaving it all behind, on to start a new life. I had no remorse, no second thoughts. I would not shed a single tear for leaving my homeland. A smile crept to my lips.

The crowd had pretty much pressed me against Mr. Jane now. He adjusted his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side. I had the strangest desire to cling to his warmth, to rest my head on his shoulder. I fiercely resisted.

Annie came to my thoughts then. Soon, I would be able to see her again. Would I even recognize her after this many years? The last time she was only a baby. I closed my eyes and sent a few prayers to God.

I would find her and protect her, I promised to myself. And should uncle Volker ever come to find us, I would shoot the scumbag.


Patrick

A sobbing woman was struggling to move a heavy crate across the deck. Her white night gown waved about her and her long hair shone a bright red in the moonlight.

The Emerald was sailing on its third night now. The deck was usually empty at this hour, and, as usual, I was lying on my bedroll in my corner against the staircase, battling insomnia. Now I was wondering whether sleep had actually come under my notice. Why, the woman must have been a dream.

She finally managed to move the crate over to the railing. I watched her climb on top and latch onto the side. She tried to get one leg high enough. The wind was particularly strong tonight, hailing a storm, and so she almost lost her balance. She gripped the rail tightly, before she could fall backwards. She slumped against the rail. Her crying became louder now, almost a howl ripping the air. It woke some sense into me. I realized, with great terror, that she was very much real.

I leaped on my feet and took a step in her direction, when I heard the rustle of silk and spotted a shadow approaching her. Teresa stepped into the light, her movement entirely cautious, so as not to provoke the woman into rushing over her task.

"Hello there," she said.

The woman whirled around and squinted into the dark. She quickly wiped her tears, self-pity and guilt written all over her features. She was shaking all over.

I knew that look, I realized. Her pain was no ordinary pain. There was darkness in her expression.

Fear gripped my heart suddenly. My reaction surprised me. In truth, not the reaction itself, so much as the reason behind it. I did not fear for the woman's life. But for Teresa's sake. Someone would think I was starting to care about her. And I could not afford to care about anyone. I discarded my troubling thoughts and moved further in the shadows, deciding I would offer my assistance only if it became necessary.

"Please, miss, could you consider stepping away from the rail? I am sure we can find a way I can offer you my assistance."

"Yes, assist me over the side," the other woman said bitterly, her tears dried.

"Don't speak like that." Teresa's voice came sharp, authoritative. She immediately seemed to regret her tone, as she then added softly, "I'm sorry, but you gave me quite a start, seeing you perched up there. Come on, climb down, tell me what's wrong and I promise I will help you."

"No one can help me," the woman insisted.

"I cannot know that unless you explain your circumstances to me."

The woman shook her head. "If you knew... you would run away from me."

"I doubt that." There was the tiniest bit of hesitation in Teresa's voice. I knew she was afraid of what the woman might be hiding. Yet she decided that saving her life was far more important than any atrocity she might have commited.

Once again, I was at a loss regarding her character. It was getting cold and chilly, and yet she was determined to protect this stranger as though it was her loyal duty. In the past three days, I'd gotten in the habit of filing away attributes about her in my mind. Lady Teresa Lisbon was sincere, dutiful, orderly, religious, authoritarian—her virtues were endless. And now I was inclined to add to the list.

She was brave. And selfless.

"What's your name?" Teresa asked her after a long silence. She started slowly pacing toward the woman.

"Grace," the woman uttered. "Grace Van Pelt."

"That's a lovely name," Teresa commented.

Grace nodded, then pain crumbled her face again. She buried her face in her palms as sobs shook her body anew. Teresa took the opportunity to cover the rest of the distance between them. She stood next to the crate and stretched her hand out to the lady.

"Take my hand, Grace. Things will become easier, I promise."

Grace mopped her tears and stared at Teresa's hand for a long while, making up her mind. Several seconds passed, and I became almost certain the woman would refuse, but she surprised me when she abruptly grabbed hold.

She had done it, I thought, astounded. Teresa had really managed to save this woman's life.

Teresa slowly helped Grace to climb down. She put a hand around her shoulder to help guide her away from the side. But the woman apparently misinterpreted her gesture—or was simply desperate for affection—and literally threw herself in Teresa's arms. After recovering from her first shock, Teresa slowly moved her hands around Grace's frame and patted her softly on her back. It was an awkward-looking hug, what with the woman being taller than Teresa and the latter obviously unaccustomed with such displays of emotion.

Grace weeped for several minutes and Teresa patiently waited it out. When the woman's violent need to cry receded, she started rambling incoherences.

"I trusted the man..." she said between efforts to control her breath. "I loved him and I believed with all my heart that he would marry me."

Uh-oh, I thought.

Grace pulled herself back and folded her arms at her stomach, shaking. She avoided looking Teresa in the eyes as she revealed the rest of her truth.

"I found out he was after my father's fortune. And when I confronted him, he showed me his real face. He would kill me. I had no choice..."

"You killed him," Teresa whispered in realization.

Grace nodded.

"I shot him three times in the chest," she said through her teeth. "Luckily for me, my father managed to muffle the scandal. But then I found out..." Her voice broke. "I found out..."

"Dear God," Teresa cried out. "You're pregnant."

Grace looked her in the eye, all her tears dried. "I was my father's angel," she said coldly. "Now I am his disgrace."

Teresa shook her head. "Carrying a baby is a gift, not a disgrace. And you acted on self-defense."

"He ruined me. I will never look at the world the same way again. My life is over."

"The life you had is over," Teresa said vividly. I had the impression she wanted to shake some sense into the woman. "Now you'll start a new one. So get yourself together and come sit with me."

Grace nodded and let Teresa lead her to one of the benches along the wall next to the strolling deck. I adjusted my position accordingly to be able to hear them.

"I was such a foolish girl," Grace blamed herself.

"You were naive and he took advantage of it. Honestly? I am glad you managed to protect yourself."

"Did I? Now I am responsible for his death. I will forever carry this burden with me."

"Do you feel like you miss him?"

"No," Grace said emphatically. "I curse his ashes."

A moment of silence.

"Do you have relatives to accommodate you in America?" Teresa asked.

Grace shook her head. "I hadn't planned that far," she muttered. "I used what money I had left to purchase the ticket for this journey."

"What about your parents? Didn't they secure trusts for you at the bank?"

Grace snorted. "I wish. No, they disowned me as soon as they found out about the baby."

"They did what?"

"I guess murder faired lower in their list of things they could tolerate from their daughter than pregnancy," Grace said bitterly.

Teresa huffed. "Nobles. Take their riches and their fancy clothes and what remains? Morally demented idiots."

Grace gave her first smile. I was smiling right along. There couldn't have been more accurate words. But also, I couldn't miss the irony. Teresa was a noble herself and yet she spoke as though she did not consider herself one. It was yet another interesting fact about her.

Grace nudged her chin. "What is your name?"

"Teresa Lisbon." She used her maiden name and not mine.

"You mean as in the Lady Teresa?"

Teresa grimaced. "You've heard of me?"

"Of course, milady. Everyone has."

Teresa looked mortified. I wanted to laugh. "Why?" she questioned.

"The humiliation... oh, my God, forgive me, milady, I shouldn't have mentioned—"

"For Christ's sake," Teresa fretted. "It wasn't a humiliation. It was a blessing as far as I am concerned."

"So you no longer love him?"

"I never did love him. I realized it after he left me for my cousin. I felt betrayed of course. But also, utterly relieved. I never reconciled myself with the concept of marriage," Teresa confessed.

Her answer brewed satisfaction inside me. I felt annoyed with myself. It shouldn't matter to me where she placed her affections.

"You don't have to marry someone if you don't want to. It's not every woman's destiny," Grace remarked.

"Well, I did get married to an American."

The other woman showed her teeth, confused. "I don't understand."

"It's pretty complicated and probably, a story for another time. Right now, what matters is you. And your baby."

Grace's hand crept onto her still rather flat stomach. "I haven't really thought about the baby. I was too busy feeling sorry for myself," she said guiltily.

"It was only natural. You went through a lot."

The wind was getting stronger. A sudden gust lifted both women's hair in the air. Grace yawned loudly, then caught herself and apologized.

"We should probably return to our cabins," Teresa suggested, getting on her feet. "It looks like a storm's coming."

Grace nodded and stood up. She gave Teresa an earnest look.

"Thank you," she said.

Teresa hesitated. She was obviously not used at receiving gratitude. She gave her a nod of acceptance.

Grace smiled. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, let's meet in the ship's library at two o'clock," she said in her no-nonsense tone. "I've noticed that the room is usually deserted at that time. We should have plenty of privacy to discuss our plans."

"Our plans?"

"Did you really think I'd give you a friendly pat on the back and walk away? Our plans for our shared future, of course."

"I wouldn't like to be a burden, milady."

"Please stop calling me your lady. We are friends. And you're certainly not going to be a burden. I want to help you."

Grace's smile took over her face. "We are friends?"

Teresa smiled hesitantly. "Of course. Come, I'll walk with you to your cabin door so I'll know where to find you."

They climbed down the stairs together and disappeared into the ship.

I realized I was smiling. The little scene I had witnessed had rekindled a strange sensation in my heart. A sensation I hadn't felt for... a long time.

Hope.


A/N:

Thank you very much for your comments. I will try to make this a weekly (or at most two-week) update.

Some clarifications:

Angela is in fact dead. Jane simply talks to her in his mind as he has admitted in canon.

Gabe Mancini had to take the fall and be a jerk in this story. I'm sorry if this ruined his character for you, but I chose him for this part simply because no other love interest of Lisbon's fitted and he was the one we knew less about in the show so I could take liberties with him.