For Want of a Nail
By S. Faith, © 2008
Words: 26,161 (Part 4: 5,759)
Rating: T / PG-13
Summary: Sometimes it's the little things that make the biggest difference: a poorly made shoe, a missing ring…
Disclaimer: They're still not my characters. They are still my words.
Tuesday
"So what are our plans for today?"
It was an innocent enough question, or so Bridget thought, but from the way both Mark and Nick looked at her, it was as if she'd asked when they were planning on tying tin cans to the tails of the neighbourhood cats. "Well…" Mark and his uncle looked to one another simultaneously, and then turned back to Bridget. "Nick and I have some business to attend to in about a half-hour's time, but aside from that…"
She felt her lower lip slip into a pout. "I didn't think you were working during our time off."
"I'm sorry, love. It's unavoidable, but it will hopefully be quick." He reached to where she sat beside him and combed the hair at her temple back lovingly.
Nick spoke up. "Before the two of you came down to join us for breakfast—excuse me, lunch—Elaine expressed some interest in going outside for wildflowers for the table in the foyer. Why not tell her you'll join her?"
Mollified, she smiled. It looked to be a lovely day out there, she enjoyed Elaine's company very much, and she needed to spend more time outside in the sunshine, anyway, because she was looking far too pallid.
"Then it's settled," said Nick matter-of-factly, setting his paper down on the table, and pushing his chair away to rise. "I've lingered over this table long enough. Have some things to get in order before our business, Mark. We can meet in the library."
Mark nodded, lowering his coffee cup from taking in the remains. "I'll meet you there." Nick departed the kitchen.
After finishing their meal, they parted ways, she for the park with Elaine, and Mark for his business with Nick. They strayed out into the untamed fields bordering the property and found some delightfully brilliant patches of flowers, which they carefully snipped and placed into the basket. Her suspicions on the loveliness of the day were not incorrect, and she turned her face to smile at the sun on more than one occasion. She caught Elaine watching Bridget each time she did so with a smirk on her face.
She must have looked at Elaine with a look of building confusion, and Elaine surprised her with a laugh. "I'm sorry, Bridget, for staring… but the more time we spend together, the more thankful I am to have you in our family."
The statement surprised her a little; Elaine had known her since she was a small girl, so it wasn't as if they were unacquainted before Bridget had begun seeing her son.
"You're good for him, you know," Elaine continued, plucking another bough of lavender from the field.
Bridget felt quite a smug little smile creep across her face. "I'm glad you think so, Elaine."
"It isn't a matter of thinking so. It's a matter of direct observation," she said, glancing up again from her crouched position, then stood again. "You're such a marked difference from—" She stopped. "Well. From any other woman he's been involved with."
"Especially her?" Bridget knew Elaine would know to whom she was referring.
Elaine turned slightly pink, a rarity for the woman. "Oh yes. Especially." They then both laughed. "I've never seen his protective instincts kick in like they do with you."
"That can be both a blessing and a curse," Bridget admitted. "Is it that obvious?"
"Oh, yes," she grinned. "Nick too. I never would have guessed that he would come to love any girlfriend or wife of Mark's like the daughter he never had—with the accompanying protective streak. I've never seen anything quite like it." Bridget felt the smugness bloom. She never thought she'd grow as close to Nick as she had, but she was glad for it. Elaine continued, "They were so hoping you'd come with me today. They had something to take care of and they thought it best if you were occupied with something of a more pleasant nature."
There was a prickling at the base of her neck. "Oh?" she asked, her voice more strained than she intended it to be. "Did they mention what it was?"
"They didn't, and curse me for opening my big mouth, but you're better off in the sunshine anyway. Come on, let's go over to that yellow patch and see what we can find."
Bridget was suddenly very interested in getting back to the house, but didn't want to rouse suspicion. They walked towards the patch Elaine indicated, letting her bow over the flowers and choose the nicest of the blooms.
"Those'll look so lovely in the foyer," said Bridget, smiling wanly. "Maybe we can start heading back towards the house, though. I'm a little tired."
"Oh, of course, Bridget." She rose to her feet. "You should have said something."
"I just did."
Elaine chuckled, patting her daughter-in-law on the shoulder.
As they came in through the patio door, Bridget could hear Nick's voice in the hallway in greeting, then another, unknown voice: "I'm so sorry I'm late…"
"Bridget, why don't we go down to the kitchen for some lemonade?" asked Elaine, a little too quickly, in Bridget's opinion.
As she brushed past Elaine and barreled down towards the front door, she drew in a deep breath just as her eyes met with a man she had not seen since she was in her early teens.
For his part, Theodore Llewellyn looked equally stunned. Aside from the passage of years (which had been very kind to him), and the short-cropped cut of his dark hair, he did not look very different than the Ted she remembered.
"Bridget? Bridget Jones?" he stammered. "What on earth are you doing here?"
Mark had the decency to rein in the affront he must have been feeling, instead saying pleasantly, "Bridget's my wife."
Ted turned his brown eyes to Mark, surprised at this additional revelation. He looked truly shaken.
"So. Shall we convene this meeting?" Nick cut in brusquely. "Who is this client of yours?"
Ted looked to Nick, as if he had forgotten entirely what had brought him to the Darcys' home. "Certainly." Nick held out his hand to indicate Ted should proceed down the hall with him towards the library.
As the three men walked past her, Bridget said defiantly, "I'm coming too."
Ted looked back to Bridget. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought there was a glimmer of fear in his eyes. Mark and Nick glanced back as well, knowing better than to protest, then directed their gazes forward at Elaine, who stood there mutely at the end of the hallway. Bridget suspected it was not the kindest of looks, not even for a dear sister or mother.
Mark scrutinised Ted's every move from the moment he came into the house, and especially so after Bridget's appearance. Mark wasn't quite sure what Ted's surprised outburst meant—did Ted think she wasn't good enough for Mark? Did Ted think Mark wasn't good enough for her?—but it had nonetheless raised his hackles.
Mark also certainly did not want Bridget there, but upon seeing Ted's discombobulation at Bridget's appearance, he realised it might be advantageous to have Ted in such a state. They might be able to get more information out of him that way.
Before they could truly begin the meeting though, Bridget said, "Mark, Nick, may I speak to you for a minute?" She tilted her head towards the far side of the library. They followed her.
Once they had convened their little group, she turned her fury on the two men who had conspired to keep her in the dark. "'Lesson plan' indeed! I can't believe you were about to do this without me! And roping in your mother to do your dirty work? Unbelievable!"
"There was nothing about talking to Ted regarding his 'clients' that you needed to be involved with," explained Nick coolly in a calm, quiet voice Mark was sure could not be heard from where Ted was. "It was a conversation between lawyers, nothing more."
The same could not be said Bridget's voice, however; as she spoke again, Mark could see Ted's head swivel towards the group. "I am not a child, you know," she said. "You don't have to find me a babysitter! You don't have to protect me like I can't take care of myself!"
"Nick's right. You didn't need to be here. But since you are, will you stop acting like the child you say you're not and allow this to proceed?" Mark said crisply and quietly.
Bridget's mouth dropped open, then she closed it, looking somewhat chastened.
"All right," she said civilly. "Let's begin."
The three of them returned to where Ted was sitting, but as they sat, Ted stood and to their surprise, began to pace.
"Mr Llewellyn? Everything all right?" asked Nick, as he circled back towards where they'd seated themselves.
Ted stopped, looking between the three of them. "This isn't a legal tête-à-tête at all, is it?"
The resounding silence that followed told him all he needed to know; neither Bridget, Nick or Mark were very skilled liars.
"When did you realise?" asked Mark.
"I might ask the same of you," Ted said quietly, taking his seat again.
"What do you mean?"
"When I saw Bridget here, saw her insist on coming to the meeting, I thought you must have figured it out."
"The most we deduced at first," said Nick, taking the reins of the conversation in his usual imperious manner, "is that you were unloading a portion of your grandmother's possessions without her knowledge for reasons known only to yourself."
Bridget made what Mark recognised was a snort of disbelief, but she was right; she had, after all, been the one to get this whole thing started.
Nick continued, "But instead of selling them for money as one might expect with the theft of valuable items, you donated them to a charity auction with no expectation whatsoever of profit for yourself. Upon deeper digging the origin of the items was identified—as stolen property, not stolen from your grandmother, but from much earlier." Nick looked to Mark, then conceded a glance to Bridget as well. "Does that pretty much sum it up?"
"It does," Mark said. Bridget remained unexpectedly quiet.
Turning back to Ted, Nick said, "So if you would be so kind as to explain how your grandmother came to be in possession of a cache of items stolen by an infamous French thief, we're all ears."
Ted said nothing at first; Mark wondered if he would deny that they were in fact his grandmother's things at all, or revert back to the flimsy 'client' story. He began to speak in a very controlled manner. "You were right. It's true that they were my grandmother's, but I had no idea they were stolen. I noticed these things among my grandmother's possessions and wanted to donate them. I don't kid myself into believing she's going to be with us for much longer; as her only living family there's no reason why I shouldn't begin to divest her estate of items I have no particular interest in."
"Without her permission makes it theft."
"Oh, she gave her permission."
"So if I were to ask her," said Mark, "she'd say so?"
"I don't know what she'd say," said Ted, in a tight, impatient voice. "She can hardly remember what the year is or what she had for breakfast."
"What an astonishing coincidence that every item you chose to donate with permission happened to be stolen!" Nick said with amusement. "Yes, that explains it all quite tidily; however, there is also the matter of your grandmother's late lamented nurse."
"A tragic accident," Ted said curtly, "which has no bearing on the management of my grandmother's estate."
"I think that it does," said Nick. "Did she figure out that your grandfather was a thief, that you were haring off with your grandmother's things to get rid of them before anyone else suspected? Couldn't very well have her tell anyone, could you? That would have done very bad things to your career."
At this Ted turned white as a sheet. "Now hold on. Are you suggesting—"
"Ted," cut in Bridget in a soft, caring voice, shooting Nick a vile look before looking back to her old boyfriend with compassion. "Enough of these silly lawyerly cat-and-mouse games. I believe in you, really. I only want to help. Just tell me the truth."
Ted sighed, his posture revealing the defeat he felt. He then opened his mouth and began to explain.
It all began when I was flipping through, of all things, a popular culture magazine I never would have ordinarily read, while waiting at the dentist's, of all places. I was glancing through an article about an upcoming sure-to-be blockbuster release about a heist, and an associated sidebar article about famous unsolved burglaries at home and abroad. Most prominently featured was this story about this string of burglaries in the south of France about fifty years ago, with photos of some of the stolen goods. This really got my attention, because I recognised everything in the photos. When I saw a more specific list attributed to this famous burglar, this 'Le Lapin', I realised I knew everything on that list, too. I started to feel a panic and dread the likes of which I have never felt.
Oh, the amount of time that had passed and the country of origin certainly made possession of the items clearly legally my family's at this point, but I knew my grandmother had never traveled outside of the UK, that everything she had had been gifted to her by her husband, and with the mysteriousness of his early life only one conclusion could be drawn: that my grandfather had been the famous burglar.
Anyone with hopes of ascending the bench knows that such a notorious familial connection is a death knell for those hopes. I knew I had to act, and quickly; my grandmother is old and ailing, and when she dies everything she owns will be cataloged as part of her estate, the bulk of which would go to auction. I could not take the chance that those items would draw undue attention to the connection, so I made plans to right the old wrong. Throughout the house I was able to locate everything I could from the list—the dentist's office was kind enough to let me keep the magazine—and my plan was to collect all of the stolen items and return them to their original families.
There was one small problem, though. While my grandmother would not notice my doing so, her nurse surely would, as she had been in my grandmother's company for quite some time and knew the contents of that house as well as I ever had.
And here is the God's-honest truth: I had been pondering how I could work around this obstacle when the tragic accident occurred. I was at the pub with some old school mates—your brother among them, Mr Darcy—when the call came in from my grandmother. She was terrified to even go and look at what had made such a racket. I raced home and found… well, the unfortunate sight of Nurse Paula lying at the bottom of the staircase. I rang 999 but I knew in my heart it was too late for her, and I was right.
I couldn't leave my grandmother without a nurse, so I arranged to employ another immediately. Before this new nurse began, though, I had to get those things out of there. I gathered up everything I'd previously located—the entire list in full, which relieved me, as I didn't want any surprises on down the road—and packed them into my car.
I had little difficulty locating the families for the majority of the items, and I simply anonymously shipped those things back to those families. A perusal of the local newspapers from the south of France told me I'd had success, as story after story of the miraculous return of items stolen by Le Lapin began to reappear.
However, there were some things I could not locate the rightful owners for, and rather than be saddled with the items I decided what better way to unload them than anonymously donate them to be auctioned for a charitable cause? And that was well on its way when the auction house called to say the auctions had been suspended, thanks no doubt to the call from Mr Wentworth.
There was silence as everyone seemed to take in what Ted had said, the gravity of everything that had occurred, but there was one unanswered question Bridget couldn't let lie.
"Ted," she said quietly, "how on earth did you get Agnes to take off that horrible old ring?"
Unexpectedly, Ted began to laugh, and truly, the tension penetrating the entire room dissolved away. "That was the last of the items I took away, unavoidably after the new nurse started. I had been telling her for months that the arthritis in her hand was being exacerbated by that bloody thing, the doctor and Nurse Paula had agreed… but she would not take it off. So I decided for the good of all to wait until after her tea and biscuits on a day when Mariah was off-duty. Wasn't easy, but I got it off with a bit of soap."
Bridget was horrified. "You didn't!"
"Sadly, as undignified as it was, I did. The thing is… she didn't even notice it was gone."
"Ted, that's awful! That was her engagement ring, her pride and joy…" She saw both Mark and Nick sit back on the sofa, almost literally rolling their eyes. "I don't know how you could do that to her. Or how the new nurse couldn't tell it was gone!"
"I didn't want to, believe me…" He looked penitent, but then grinned. "While Mariah has turned out to be an excellent, patient, good-natured nurse, she has the tendency to dismiss Agnes during her moments of lucidity, and flat out not even notice the smallest of changes, like the disappearance of Agnes' favourite ring."
"She did seem a bit of a dolt," said Bridget, to which they all began to chuckle, until Ted sighed again.
"I've worked so hard to do something right with my life, to right the wrongs I'd committed as a boy… and all I could think of was how that was all about to be destroyed by something that was beyond my control." He reached forward and took Bridget's hand. "It was your wake-up call that set me straight, Bridget. Your father was right to forbid you to see me." She glanced to Mark and instead of the slightly jealous look she expected to see, he looked as if he were gloating, undoubtedly at being right about her father. Bastard. She pursed her lips and scowled at him, before turning her eyes back to Ted. "Your shunning of me, your father's talk with my parents that got me sent away to school—it's something I will be forever grateful for. So thank you again."
She smiled, squeezing his hand before letting go. "And thank you for proving me right." She glanced smugly to her husband and his uncle. "Best as I can tell there hasn't been any crime committed, right? We can't prove you didn't actually have permission from Agnes."
"Well, except for his admission about the ring," offered Nick, smirking.
Bridget frowned until another idea took hold, brightening her face. "Oh! Give it back to her."
"What?" asked Ted.
"Give it back to her. The ring."
"She shouldn't be wearing a ring, anyway."
"Okay, fine, then don't put it back on her hand, but maybe hang it on a chain around her neck, or put it into safe keeping for her. You could say she had second thoughts about donating that one."
"As for the rest," said Mark, "we could confirm to the auction house that the items were in fact legally hers—rather, your client's—to donate."
"There's no reason for anyone to ever know the identity of your client," added Nick.
Bridget watched as the true meaning of Nick and Mark's words sunk in, and Ted looked as if he'd just been granted a new lease on life. She even saw tears welling in his eyes before he blinked them quickly away. "Thank you," Ted said, turning to each of his colleagues.
"If you'll excuse me," said Nick, "I'll make that call."
Once he had exited the room, Ted said, "You've all done more for me today than I can ever express gratitude for."
"Once we had the whole story, the choice was clear," said Mark matter-of-factly. Bridget's heart swelled with love for him. "You owe us nothing."
"Mr Darcy—Mark, if I may—I owe you all my very career. That isn't 'nothing'."
Mark nodded very slightly. "You're welcome, then, but if you must thank anyone, thank Bridget." He turned his eyes towards her; she couldn't tell if he was being serious or attempting to remind her that this whole palaver was essentially her fault, since she was the one who noticed the missing ring in the first place.
"It would seem I owe you yet again, Bridget," he said with a grin.
Within minutes Nick returned, and they all stood at his appearance, eager for the news. He quickly conveyed that the auctions, save the ring, were back up and running. Mark went to put his arm around her, but she pulled away. "All may be well that ends well," she said archly, addressing her husband, "but I'm still peeved that you tried to have this meeting without me."
Ted laughed. "Oh, I think that's perfectly reasonable that he wanted to protect you from me. After all, I might have been a killer…"
"Oh, great. Not you too," she sulked. With her defenses down, Mark encircled her shoulders with his arm, squeezing tight.
"Despite my initial reaction, it was wonderful to see you again," Ted said, sincerity in his eyes, "and I'm glad to see you're so happy."
She grinned, thinking of Agnes' continued insistence that Ted wasn't good enough for her, which she doubted very much but it was a theory she was unwilling to test. "Thanks. It was good to see you again too."
Ted grinned. "I know Mark from professional circles in town; maybe we'll see each other sooner rather than later."
"That'd be nice."
"Well. I should get going, get over to see my grandmother."
"Thanks for coming out here," said Nick.
Ted shook Nick's hand, then Mark's, then held out his hand for Bridget to shake. Instead she went to him and gave him a hug, her cast catching once or twice on the tweed of his jacket.
As he stepped back, he looked slightly concerned. "How did you break your arm, anyhow?"
"A traitorous shoe whilst running," she admitted, holding her arm up.
He looked down to her cast and started to laugh. "Nice drawings."
She was sure she turned bright pink as she quickly lowered her arm.
"And while I'm out here," Ted continued, "do your parents live in the same house?"
"Mine?" she asked stupidly; who else could he mean? "Yes, they do."
"Do you think your father would mind if I paid him a visit?"
Bridget didn't need to ask why. "I don't think he'd mind at all," she said, "just don't tell him you thought he was right all those years ago. He'll be insufferable if you do."
"But he was," said Mark and Nick in unison.
Mark at least had the good grace to appear immediately regretful at the look she gave him. To Nick she said, "You don't even know why he forbade me!"
Nick shrugged casually. "I know your father; I know you. And dear child, I'm certain it was justified."
"Speaking of insufferable…" Mark said, closing the bedroom door after them.
"Whatever do you mean?" she said in total innocence.
"You. Crowing all evening over dinner about not only being right about Ted, but about Agnes not willingly parting with that ring of hers." Mark folded his arms over his chest. "Need I remind you that you at first were very sure he was stealing to pay for a vice?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Curse you and your bloody memory."
He laughed, breaking his stance to embrace her. "Now can we have a pleasant, relaxing remainder-of-our-stay here in the country? No more thefts, possible murders, decades-old burglaries or notorious criminals?"
"Mmm, I suppose," she said, resting a cheek on his chest, returning the embrace.
"You suppose," he teased. "Can you at least promise me not to go looking for trouble?"
"I promise," she said, then giggled. "I can't help it if it tends to come looking for me, though."
Truer words were never spoken. "You aren't upset with my mother, are you?"
"Your mother?"
"For agreeing to babysit you today…?"
She laughed. "Of course not. I understand all too well that you can be hard to say no to."
He chuckled again and tightened his arms around her. He thought he heard her wince; she'd forsaken taking any pain pills in order to have wine with dinner, so he asked, "How's your arm?"
"It's fine," she said.
"Not hurting?"
"Not after that wine tonight," she said. "In fact…" He felt her hands slide down over the small of his back then into his back trouser pockets. "I'm feeling exceptionally fine." She curled her fingers. "And suggestible." She arched into him.
He raised his hands and threaded his fingers into her hair, gently pulling back to lift her face to his. "And I hear I'm hard to say no to," he said in a quiet, throaty voice.
If she had a reply, it was obliterated by the kiss he claimed her mouth with, then forgotten as his hands moved from her hair down over the light cotton dress covering her breasts, hips and bottom. He walked her backwards until they got to the bed, then lowered her down onto it, mindful of her arm. He then commenced to search for the edge of that dress with his fingers, running his palms up her smooth, bare legs as she sighed into his mouth.
Further progress was, however, interrupted by a firm but insistent knocking on the bedroom door.
She huffed out a breath as he dropped his forehead to touch her chin. This suite was supposed to afford them privacy. "Yes?" he barked.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but Nick said to come up, said you'd only just retired for the night. I need to speak to Bridget, if you please."
Bridget stiffened beneath him. "Jesus. Dad. Again."
One of two things were going to happen. Mark was going to have words with Nick, who knew full well what 'retiring for the evening' meant for them because he never ceased to let them forget it. If this pattern continued, Mark was also going to develop an aversion complex to making love to his own wife. He'd rather die first.
"Just a moment, Dad," called Bridget, reaching for the edge of her dress and pushing down as she wriggled to stand to her feet. She implored with her eyes for him to get to his feet and right his mussed shirt, the tail of which had been yanked up out of his trousers, the first few buttons of which she had managed to undo.
"I'll be in the loo," he said under his breath, closing the door behind him.
He heard her open the door, heard her greet her father, but the specific words they exchanged were too low to be made out except for an "I'm sorry." Mark furrowed his brow. The low murmurs continued for a few minutes more until he heard the bedroom door close again, then the bathroom door opened, revealing a teary Bridget.
He immediately went to her. "Darling, what's the matter?"
"Bloody Ted," she said through gritted teeth; she was upset, not sad. "Wish now I had turned him in."
"What? Why?"
Her blue eyes met with his own. "Ted and my dad went for dinner at the pub and Ted let it slip to my dad I didn't stop seeing him for some time after I'd been forbidden to. Now my dad is disappointed in me all over again."
He knew how she felt about disappointing the people who loved her; he took her into his arms. "Oh, my love, I'm sure he's not, not really, not past the initial surprise. That was a long time ago, and it must mean something that you didn't keep seeing him."
"He didn't have to come all the way over here, though."
"It was on the way, I'm sure, and he doesn't have a mobile, does he?" He patted her hair down in consolation. "I'm sure that Ted didn't do it on purpose."
She sighed. "I know."
"And your father wasn't angry, was he?"
"No. And he accepted my apology with a smile, said something about knowing I was younger and sillier then."
He laughed. "'Younger' I'll grant. I'd have to argue the 'sillier' point."
As if to prove him right, she stuck out her tongue at him, then smiled.
"I kind of wish I'd known you then," she said, drawing her hands up to his shirt.
He thought of himself as a eighteen-year-old and shuddered mentally: gawky underdeveloped limbs, bad haircut, no self-confidence to speak of. "I have my doubts you would have spoken to me."
"Why would you say that?"
"Ask my mother for the photos I reluctantly allowed at eighteen and you'll see."
She giggled. "In that case, you would not have spoken to me. I had horrid plastic spectacles, thick glass lenses, orthodontics, and badly-styled hair… though to my credit I was very skinny."
His hands found her hips, then slowly roamed over her backside. "You know my feelings on the subject of your figure." He then nuzzled into her hair, planting a kiss along her hairline. "I don't want to think of you overly skinny. The thought of this lovely bottom of yours that much diminished offends my sensibilities."
She laughed again, slipping her arms around his neck. "I guess we met when we were meant to meet."
"Hm." He was studiously working on her earlobe now.
"Though it might have been nicer to meet a little sooner, to avoid so much fuckwittage," she rattled on. "You could have done without your cruel first wife and I certainly could have done without—"
"Bridget?" he interrupted.
"Yes, Mark?"
"Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?"
Once again he prevented her from answering.
Epilogue
From the moment Mark entered the home he shared with his wife, she knew good news was not forthcoming. His face was long and he looked very troubled. She stopped what she was doing immediately.
"Who died?" she said jokingly.
He looked down, clearing his throat. She felt faint.
"Oh my God. Someone actually died?"
He nodded. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but… I saw Ted Llewellyn today. His grandmother passed away this past Sunday."
She felt tears spring to her eyes as she pursed her lips tight, willing her chin not to quiver.
"I'm sorry, darling. I know you were fond of her."
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak just yet. He dropped his attaché onto a nearby chair and took her into his arms at once.
"If you'd like we can go to Grafton Underwood to her service. It's tomorrow morning."
She nodded again, then whispered, "I'd like that."
She felt him place a kiss into her hair.
He stood and consoled her in silence for a few more minutes before she stood away, wiping the tears that had spilled from her eyes. "I know she was old, and I knew this was coming, but…" she began with a sniff of her nose.
"I know. It's never easy even when you're prepared intellectually for it," he said. "However, I have something from her for you." She blinked in confusion, so he elaborated: "Actually, from Ted. He said she told him she wanted you to have this."
She looked at him worriedly. "What, from beyond the grave?"
He chuckled. "No, before she passed on. He tried to return this to her but she insisted he give this to you, instead."
"Return—?" The realisation of what he must have meant hit her all at once. "Oh God, it's not…"
He reached into his attaché and pulled out a small bag. Nestled in the bag was a nondescript box, which she opened to reveal exactly what she suspected she'd find:
The fugliest ring ever to exist.
She couldn't help it: she smiled, then chuckled, then laughed outright, clutching the ring to her chest then slipping it on to the smallest finger of her left hand, the only finger it would fit on. Mark looked at her in a most alarmed manner, asking without words if she was all right. "It's fine… I'm fine. It's just that she did say I was always her favourite of Theodore's girls. Maybe she forgot I'm already married."
At that Mark began to laugh. "As long as he doesn't think of your accepting it as a promise of any sort," Mark joked.
"Nah," she replied. "Besides, nothing could persuade me to replace your ring with this one."
"Not even after I'm gone?"
She laughed, thinking back to the embarrassment of her loud, half-drunken declaration in front of his mother about a shag-mate. "Not even then."
"Are you sure? He's a rather handsome fellow, that Ted," Mark said, quite to her surprise.
"Not handsome enough to tempt me," she teased, kissing him, sliding her cast-free arms about his neck, then drawing her hands over his hair and his face.
"Ow," he said as he broke away suddenly, grabbing her left hand and turning it palm up.
"See? I told you the ring was scratchy."
"I could see why you'd remember that." He slipped it from her hand and palmed it. "I'm going to put this in your jewelry box, then I'm going to pack some things for us, call my parents to make up the big room and expect two more for dinner."
"They won't mind?"
He kissed her deeply, then said softly, "They never mind."
She grinned. "And then?" she prompted.
Softly he said, "Maybe a story before bed."
The end.
Notes:
As the nursery rhyme goes:
For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.
