by Tamara Gill
The dance.
How could she have forgotten about something she’d once looked forward to? She’d hoped the duke would propose. But now, that dream, along with so many others was gone and she had only her stupid, gullible self to blame.
Oh sure, Wolfe might’ve claimed he was leaving because he believed she planned to sit by, gleefully watching his transformation, but no man could be that blind. Surely he’d recognized the true depth of her love? Maybe he’d even been embarrassed by it? Maybe he’d realized that, once again, in a whole new millennium, he was up to his old tricks of loving women only to leave them? And so no matter what she told him, he’d been ready to fire off his own arguments.
Excellent arguments, that had she not shown him in a hundred ways how much she truly did love him, that she could’ve readily accepted.
Yes, the fact that she’d ever written her WBC papers was wrong but she’d apologized. She’d begged his forgiveness. Wasn’t that enough?
Not for a man who’d already made up his mind to go. All she’d done was hand him the perfect heroic excuse for carrying out his original plan. Get her to declare her eternal love, then start his new life without her.
How could she have done it? Fallen for Wolfe so completely, even after repeatedly telling herself every word out of his stupid, handsome, charming mouth had been nothing but carefully calculated lies?
How could she have given up her professional hopes, her future with her dad, certain stardom—all for one man?
Maybe because Wolfe was no ordinary man?
And maybe because as noble as all of her perceived goals seemed to be, they weren’t. For how could something wonderful come from something so tragic as taking a man’s life—even if that man had broken her heart?
Now it’s time to take the high road, Luce.
Suck it up.
’Cause she had much bigger problems noosing her neck than a few crushed feelings. Starting with telling dear old Dad she’d made another doozy of a mistake.
***
“Okay, gang,” Lucy said Monday morning, voice raised to compete with the driving rain. “It’s been a rough weekend, so work with me. With a minimum of groaning, please turn your e-readers to screen 157.”
“But that’s a quiz!” Lady Regina complained.
“Yes, but since you’ve had a lovely two days to study, you should be bursting with knowledge.”
Groans rounded the room.
Olivia asked, “How come you weren’t at the dance?”
“Bet she was with that giant bloke she was muggin’ on out in the hall!” Sir Tom turned to his best friend Philip for a high five.
“E-readers? Quiz? Any of this ringing bells?”
Lord Randy politely raised his hand.
“Yes?”
“I read in yesterday’s London Times that you’re to be the star of this year’s WBC. Is this true? And if so, will you be leaving the school after your presentation and wedding?”
Wow. Count on kids to ask the really tough questions. While she stood at her lecture podium, debating how much of her personal life to share, whispers rounded the room. The temptation to ignore both of Randy’s questions was strong, but her affection for these young lords and ladies was stronger. They deserved the truth—at least the abridged version.
“Randy, you’re partially right.” After clearing her throat, she said above still-pounding rain, “While I won’t be leaving you little darlings, I will be making a presentation at the WBC. Nothing fancy, though. Merely, a brief apology.”
“Why?” Olivia asked. “Have you done something wrong?”
Besides offering my heart to a frog prince?
“No.” Lucy fought a fresh round of tears. “Just made an error in judgment. I thought I’d found something special. A quite extraordinary new species of frog.” Not to mention, love. “But I was wrong. He was just like all the others.” Pretending his attraction to me, then using me to get exactly what he wanted. Only this time, this man, she couldn’t really blame.
After all, Wolfe’s very life had been at stake.
The only thing she’d stood to lose was her heart, reputation, credit rating and father’s respect and love. No biggies in the overall grand scheme of things.
“Sorry,” Randy said. “I thought it smashing to see you achieve such success.”
“Thanks.” Coming from you, sweetie, that means the world. To keep from bursting into tears, Lucy took a deep breath. “Okay, then, enough about me. Let’s start those quizzes.”
“What about your wedding?” Regina inquired. “Is it to be soon? Are we to be invited? If you’d like, I’ll ring my mum’s social secretary and he’ll give you the names of all the acceptable wedding planners.”
“Thank you, Regina. That’s a lovely offer.” Hand over her aching heart, Lucy said, “Unfortunately, there isn’t going to be a wedding, either.”
“You mean, you’re not to be wed this term?” Olivia asked.
“No, I mean—” Not ever. Unable to hold back tears a second longer, Lucy snatched a wad of tissue from the box on her desk, then bolted for the door. “B-be good,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
“Bugger me,” Tom said. “Guess Miss Gee got dumped.”
“Belt up!” Randy said. “Can’t you see she’s hurt?”
Olivia turned in her desk, glaring at Tom. “Anyone ever tell you, you’re a right royal arse?”
Regina slipped from her desk, walking to the front of the room. “All of you get your e-readers to the quiz screen.”
“Who died and left you queen?” Tom asked.
Randy gave Tom a hard thump to the back of his head. “Me.”
***
Somehow, Lucy managed to live through the week, due in large part to the fact that she’d turned off her home phone and at school her normally mischievous kids were kind, considerate angels—even the usually cocky Tom. Even better, on Wednesday morning, Randy had shyly told her that he’d started replying to his dad’s postcards, and that his dad answered back—without Lucy’s help!
Ironic, how she’d spent so much time trying to reunite her kids with their parents, yet she’d turned the game of avoiding her own father into an art! Oh, she knew she couldn’t avoid him much longer, but at least until she thought up a plausible reason for why she’d been so convinced she’d found a new species of frog, only to have now lost him.
Late Friday afternoon, she was curled up on the sofa, watching Star Wars Episode Ten, when a knock sounded on her door. Figuring it was Bonnie and Luke, self-appointed broken-heart menders with more buttery oyster stew, she padded in her thick white socks and new pink poodle bathrobe to the mudroom door.
Jerking it open, she said, “You guys don’t have to keep popping up like this, I’ll—Dad.”
“How ya doing, Polliwog?” He pulled her into a bear hug. “You feel good. Lost a few pounds?”
“Um, no...” Out of old childhood habits, she clung to him.
It’d been three years since she’d seen him. Sure, they’d talked on the phone, but he was always far too busy to waste his valuable free time visiting her.
Good grief. She swiped rogue tears. She sounded like some spoiled kid. He was an important man. A man who did indeed have far better things to do than standing around, listening to his misfit daughter.
“Why aren’t you in London?” he asked, pushing past her to shut the door on blustery rain.
Fussing with the tie to her robe, she said, “I, um, haven’t packed.”
“I’m sure you’ve been busy with documentation.” He helped himself to her fridge. “But you’ve gotta get a move on. Come on, polliwog,” he unscrewed the lid on a jar of green olives. “Time’s a wastin’. That last photo you sent was sweet—sheer frog perfection.” Amazing what a great picture-doctoring program could do. Through the three olives stored in his right cheek, he added, “There are a lot of important people psyched to meet you. The fact that you’ve made such an incredible discovery on land long though
t to be a virtual biological desert when it comes to new amphibian discoveries opens up possibilities for finds right under our noses all over the globe.” Eyes narrowed, he stepped back to appraise her before asking, “What do you have planned for your hair?”
Lucy swallowed the knot in her throat. Without Wolfe here to tame her unruly curls, there wasn’t much she’d ever been able to do.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said with a grand wave. “I’ve got a publicist waiting for us back at the London Ritz. She’ll put us in touch with a hair guy.” Rummaging through the bottles and jars in the fridge’s side door, he asked, “Got any brie?”
“No.”
“Damn. How about an Asian pear?”
“Sorry. Fresh out of those, too.”
“Well, what do you eat? What’s this?” he blanched, holding out a half-eaten can of beef stew for her inspection. “Oh, Luce. No wonder you’re looking a little hippy.”
“You just said you thought I’d lost weight.”
“Yeah, well, that was before I got a good look at you. Anyway, we’ll get a personal trainer to whip you into shape. And why are you just standing there, fiddling with the belt to that hideous robe? Get upstairs and get dressed.”
“I’m not going, Daddy.” She’d been planning to. She’d even told her students she’d make a public apology, but now that the time was at hand, she couldn’t put herself through that kind of public humiliation all over again.
“What do you mean you’re not going?” he asked. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a case of nerves?” After closing the fridge door, he settled his arm about her shoulders. “I’m sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve been in the company of a girly girl. I’d forgotten how sensitive you can be.”
“I’m not sensitive, Dad.” She shrugged out from under him. “I’m just not going.”
“What about your new species? Everyone’s waiting. You’re mere hours from being a global superstar.”
Mouth dry, palms sickeningly damp, she shook her head. “Like you told me a long time ago, there’s only one star in this family, Dad—you.”
“Oh, now, I’m a big boy. I can take a little competition from a girl pretty as you.”
He’d called her pretty.
How much would she have given to hear that back when she’d been a teen? But she wasn’t a teen anymore and, at the moment, the only person whose opinion mattered on what she looked like was Wolfe. And he was long gone.
Suck it up, Luce.
Time to tell Daddy the truth—that you screwed up again. Big time. Cinching the belt to her robe, she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, then said, “I’m not going to the conference, Dad, because there’s no reason for me to go. The frog’s gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“Poof. Gone.” Performing her best fairy imitation, she wriggled her fingers. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I left the lid off of his terrarium and, the next thing I knew, he was gone.”
“Well, find him!”
“I can’t. He’s been gone for a week.” If he ever really existed at all.
Grasping her roughly by her elbow, her father marched her to the stairs. “Get up to your room and get dressed. You will be ready within fifteen minutes, or I’m coming up after you. Do I make myself clear?”
“No.” She defiantly raised her chin.
“You’re planning on being a no-show at the conference? Do you have any idea how many strings I’ve pulled to get you on the schedule? How many personal jibes about your last fiasco I’ve endured?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was sure this time. Truly, he was unique, but he just...”
“Hopped away?” her father asked with a cruel-lipped sneer.
“Yeah.”
“Well, you do me a favor and hop on up those stairs. You’re going to that conference tomorrow and you’re going to apologize for wasting all of my colleagues’ valuable time.”
“Why? Because the great and powerful Slate Gordon told me to?”
“No.” Her father bowed his head and sighed. “Because this time, I’m afraid there might be enough backlash that even your teaching position may be on the line. But mostly because it’s not Slate Gordon but your dad who’s asking you to.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Get the hell out of my way, you wooly mammoth wanker!”
Wolfe leapt to the edge of what he had only recently learned was called a pavement, flattening his back to the nearest stone wall. Damned cyclists! He would have hurled an insult right back but the bugger had gotten away too bloody fast!
In his own time, a man had either to listen for the clip-clop of a mounted horse, or the creak of a horse-drawn cart to alert him to being crushed. But here, in this London that save for the cold rain bore no resemblance to the place he had once known, all was strange... And at the same time, he thought, staring across the river at the creation called the Tower of London, strangely wonderful.
Had Lucy Gordon seen this magnificent fortress?
He laughed at his own ignorance.
Of course, she had seen this and countless more sights he had yet to imagine.
After taking a wary glance over his shoulder to check for another silent, yet deadly, bicycle predator, he resumed his walk, wondering what the devil to do with what little remained of his life.
In his time, all had seemed simple.
Conquer his enemies. Celebrate victories with friends.
But where were those friends now? Dead and gone, and here he was, alone in this wondrous city with its limitless possibilities whirring like invisible cycle wheels through his head. And yet, in spite of all the infinite paths at hand, he was lost.
The day Lucy Gordon had first kissed him, he had believed it possible to conquer the world and regain his throne, but now reality, like a cold insidious fog, was slowly eking in. Showing him in a thousand different ways just how inconsequential he was to this new world. And just how alone he was forever destined to feel.
Even if he had his life, here in this bustling city where he was but one face among millions, what did his life even mean?
Tired of thinking, Wolfe stopped in the dead center of the sidewalk. While men and women in all manner of odd garb pushed their way around him, he reached into his coat pocket for a candy bar.
Unwrapping the foil on his new favorite, the most agreeable Cadbury Flake Bar, he raised the chocolate to his mouth for a big bite, closing his eyes as the sweet gooey chocolate kissed his tongue.
Gazing upon the rain-tossed river, he recalled how one time Lucy Gordon had returned from her teaching only to eat and eat. She had called it stress-eating, prompting him to laugh at the very notion. But considering the fact that the only time since leaving her that he had managed to feel even somewhat capable of taking his next step was when he held a bar of chocolate to his lips, remembering the times she had done the same, perhaps he was no longer in the position to point fingers.
Stress.
The Ope-rah Channel had taught him much about the word that in his day had been nonexistent.
To be sure, people had had worries. Fears of not having enough food. Or lack of warm shelter for cold winters. But this stress was different. It was knowing you had much to accomplish but not knowing how to start. It was knowing you had somewhere to be, but not knowing why you should be there. Most of all, it was knowing you must seek, but not knowing how to find.
Still transfixed by the great tower, Wolfe walked again. Toward it. Toward the feat of its very existence. He had once planned to be part of such greatness.
But then he had planned on finishing his life as well. He would have married, had more children—legitimate heirs he would have cared for every bit as much as the rest of his motley brood.
Where had he gone wrong? Aye, it was a given he ought not ever have bedded the daughter of a sorceress, but even before that things had not been right. He had been master of his domain but he had never truly been at peace. Not like he had been those last idyllic days
with Lucy Gordon.
Her deceit still crushed his chest with unspeakable pain. The afternoon he had uncovered her plot, his plan had been to crush her, but upon once again seeing her sweet smile, all of his battle plans morphed into that ugly exchange he very much regretted.
His goal had been inflicting enough pain to even them in score.
But then what did that matter? As he himself had said, in the end, they both would lose. Was not his own mother’s death proof enough? After her demise, his father had never been the same.
Wolfe gazed upon the great bridge leading to the fortress. Pausing alongside a rock wall, he rested his hands upon the cold wet stone. How many men before him had stood at this very spot, pondering their sad state of grace with a particularly comely wench? How ironic was it that after being cursed for supposedly being unable to love women, a woman had been his final downfall. He was not talking about the sorceress’ curse, either, for that he could bear, but losing Lucy Gordon—the pain was indescribable.
Strolling farther, deep in thought, the fact that he had barreled into another pedestrian hardly registered—at least until he had heard a decidedly feminine ouch, then gazed down to see a purple-haired woman dressed in black leather, gathering strewn newspapers at his feet.
“Let me help,” he said, kneeling beside her, gathering three papers to her every one.
“Thanks. You all right?”
“Aye,” he said. “You?”
She shrugged before tapping the headline. “Some excitement, eh?”
“What?”
“The conference.”
Upon gazing at the picture to which the wench pointed, Wolfe promptly felt far more than mere excitement seize his system.
Twas her—Lucy Gordon’s image graced the paper’s front page! Her sky blue eyes and curls of fiery red. Only where her most comely smile should have been, lived a most unflattering frown.
“She looks so serious.”
“Lucy Gordon?”
“Yeah. She’s the bee’s knees. If you haven’t heard of the conference, it’s good you’ve at least heard of her.”
