January 16, 2007
ANGELIQUE

Perhaps I would have been more nervous about this night if I had not been so concentrating on the actual wedding day and the ceremony and the vows and the dinner and the wedding night ...

Ah. The wedding night.

I smoothed my dress down and glanced down at the little sandals I wore. Then I shook my hair out and knocked on the door before me. It opened ... he'd obviously left the door ajar and was expecting me to not stand on formality. I entered his rooms quietly. He stood before an opened sliding glass door. He was staring out into an evening that was soft, sultry, sensuous. I swallowed hard and felt an eyebrow rise at the instant reaction I had to him. It had been far too long since I'd touched him ... since he'd touched me ... Oh, but this vow of celibacy ... Could I make it until our wedding night in just about 24 hours? How could I if he would stand there with his hair loosened, that lovely white shirt billowing ever so seductively in the breeze off the ocean and showing off the tawny beauty of his tanned skin ...

His skin ... how I longed to taste it and stroke it and ...

Mon Dieu! This would never do. I must gain control of myself!

My eyes lowered and I breathed in deeply, calmly. I wondered if Jack had any idea what the sight of him did to a woman? How it made her want to possess him?

Alas, I have only one solution to this quandary I am in. I may want Jack, but I shall not suffer alone. I believe I may actually feel a bit better about this if, in fact, I can make Jack suffer a bit more than me.

"Jack? Chéri? Qu'en penses tu? Do I look acceptable?"

And with that little bit, Jack turned to look at me with eyes that switched from somber to fire as I twirled before him; I knew my little flippy skirt gave him thoughts he should not have entertained that night.

Oh, but he did not have to utter even a word. That little groan of his was music to my ears. He would be in fine fiddle by our wedding night.

When he approached, obviously intent on kissing me ... no! I could not allow that! His kisses always weaken me and I knew that I must be strong! As he leaned toward me, I turned. "I wondered if I might impose on you to finish zipping me up, chéri?"

I felt his breath on my neck as I held my hair up out of his way. His warm fingers lingered as they stroked up my spine in raising the zipper. I shivered almost uncontrollably when he placed a languid kiss upon my nape as he finished.

Oh la la! That man! I had to dash away before I weakened totally in the face of the temptation he presents to me without even any attempt at his part to do so.

My hands were still shaking when I reached the small restaurant on the resort where I was meeting the other ladies in our group. While the men got up to no good at all in passing Jack's last night as a bachelor, the ladies were treating me to a special evening to celebrate my coming nuptials. I was looking forward to the first uninterrupted time on this trip in which the allure of sex was not the most over-powering matter in my brain ... does that make me sound inconsequential? Then so be it. But the longer I stayed unable to be with Jack, the further away the wedding night seemed. One more night and then ...

So as I entered, I was pleased that this night I would be with women who would pass with me a time of genteel reflection on the seriousness and grandeur of the rite of marriage.

As I entered the room, I admit that I felt a soft blush come to my cheeks to see that all the women of the group were already there. They rose to toast my arrival and I went from woman to woman to greet her.

I feel as though one of the many gifts of this trip has been coming to know these women in this way. That they are here to share this with me means the world. That they have joined their men in giving the grandest gift that Jack could ever receive makes them treasures I will always care for deeply and reverently.

Uma seemed her normal reserved, sophisticated self at first ...

"Angelique! About time you showed up ... thought we might have to send out a search party for you. Was Jack running out the great gun for a practice session after all?" I bussed her on the cheek and turned to Faye, who cheered my arrival by informing me brightly that the stripper was warming up for his show.

"A stripper? Oh non! Mon Dieu!" I looked about at the other ladies, and realized that I needed to laugh at their silly joke at my expense. "Ah. I was so hoping there would be more than one! There can never be enough male flesh, can there?"

Ann pressed a glass of champagne in my hands as I went to hug her. Now, on Ann, I know I can rely. She has only Jack's best interests at heart and she has such tenderness toward me. "C'mon, c'mon. You're behind already. Like your attitude, Angelique. Can't let it only be the men having a wild night, can we?"

"What's sauce for the goose ..." I started ...

And Ann jumped in to finish with ... "... makes the gander as nervous as a one-eyed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, as Jack might say."

As they all laughed, I drank down the glass of champagne and wondered what had come over them all. I was so grateful to feel Heather's warm embrace. She is such a deep, sweet soul. It is to Heather one can always look, I feel, for just the perfect touch of sincere, ladylike sensibilities toward others.

"Woooohoo....  A stripper!  I hope I'm not the only one with a digital...." she giggled.  "What?  Come on!  For posterity, you know?"  Her eyes twinkled.  "And because I know a few choice shots will wind up a certain redhead's....er.... posterity .... later on. Hey!  Don't look at me like that.... consider it a preemptive strike.  The smart money says a prank free night is just too much to ask."  Ann was nodding.  So was Faye.

Uma grabbed my hand and led me to the head of the table. As I took my seat, the others raised glasses to me. I returned their salute.

"To love," Faye said.

"To life," Uma said.

"To lust for life," Ann said.

"To the love of your life," Heather said.

"To you each, every happiness of life," I replied.

Ah, it was a charming way to begin the evening. Just women ... and yet, not just women, do you see? We share a very special bond, we women. This evening is a celebration of that bond and an acceptance by each of us for our place within this familial group.

Over dinner, we chatted about children and schools and family. Uma had planned this night's meal and it was lovely. A different wine with each course, of course, and by the time we were on the entrée, the sound level inside that room made it seem there were 20 women rather than five.

"You are all so very dear to me," I told them during one toast.

It was in this soft moment that I noticed the ease between Ann and Uma. I had remarked upon their formality with the other when I first saw them interacting with the group. Jack had hoped that time, and the changes over the years, might have seen a closer camaraderie between them. So in this evening, it gave me such pleasure to notice that they seemed more than simply friendly but they seemed comfortable with each other. And Heather ... like me, there were times I knew she was simply watching. But she is friends with them all and has a soft touch to help the others bridge across any misgivings or nerves. Then there is Faye ... a remarkable young woman who brings a spirit of gaiety and earthiness that has quickly ingratiated her to us all.

My eyes caught Heather's and I saw a question there within their depths. It does give me pause to think on what she might see of me and of my relationships with the others in this room. I have taken to them all. I have been amused more often than startled to see them in person and know them better.

But then Jack has told me so much about what happened, and so much about these people he loves. Perhaps others are not aware of what a sharp observer of people that Jack is. He may pretend but he is always aware and paying attention.

"No, I'm serious. I think we should ..." I hear Ann say to Uma, who rolls her eyes skyward and shakes her head. "Oh, c'mon. Think what fun it would be to hear about these men."

"To hear what about the men?" Faye asks as a waiter pours more wine for her.

"She wants to ask us personal questions, nosy bint," Uma says with a giggle.

"I do not! I just thought it'd be fun to share little things ... things they'd die if they knew we would say to each other. But things that ... are so revealing about who they are," Ann protested.

"Like what?" Heather asked, her eyes sharpening.

"Please be aware that I will in no way speak of Jack's ... personal ... of his ..." I blushed as they all looked at me. The flowing wine had more than loosened my tongue by this point ... it had also loosened my more carnal thoughts of Jack. For the last course, I'd taken to noting the number of items upon the table that brought bits of his anatomy to mind.

"His what?" Uma asked.

Was that me giggling? Oh, my! Was that me saying, "You may pull my fingernails out and I will never describe the glory of his penis!"

There was total silence in the room for a second or two and then they all fell about laughing at me.

"Why, Angelique, dear girl, I do believe ten days without any has got you rather focused on only one thing," Heather said, shaking her finger at me.

"I would never ask something that personal," Ann said, "... and then again ..."

"You wouldn't!" Uma said.

"No. Course not. I was going to ask something like ... oh, let's see ... like where's the oddest place you've done it or what's the most romantic thing he's ever done for you or what's the stupidest argument you've ever had or what's the sweetest gift he's ever given you ... things like that."

"Sure you were. And then you'd slip in something about describe the most inventive position or some such ..." Heather said. She and Ann looked at each other and started laughing.

"Romance," I said. They looked at me. We all smiled at each other. "Let's start with romance. Who goes first?"

"Most romantic thing Dino's done for you, Heather. Girl, you've no doubt got a lot to choose from," Ann said, leaning back in her chair.

We all looked upon Heather.

I do not know about the other ladies, but in that space of time where Heather looked up at the ceiling and sighed deeply as she thought, I was thinking about what my answer was. Just the thought of Jack's romantic side made tears leap to my eyes.

HEATHER

"A lot to choose from?  Well..... Yeah."  I giggled, squirming a little in my seat.  I was well oiled enough to consider answering such an intimate question candidly, but part of me was nervous too, even in the company of these ladies who were becoming so dear to me.  No blood tied any of us and yet through the men we loved, we were all connected in some miraculous way. 

They all looked to me for an answer.  "Well, come on then!  Out with it!"  Uma was twitting on as Angelique topped off my glass.  I drank deeply.  I hate to be the center of attention.  And I really hated answering questions like these, partly because I was afraid of revealing too much about the man I love and partly because in situations like this were everyone offers up some sort of anecdote, I never seem to be able to settle on one that's as poignant or as telling as everyone else's.  It's like I never think of the perfect story to tell until I'm lying in bed later... and then it comes to me in a flash and I think: Oh man!  I should have said...

Women love to brag on their men and I usually walk away from nights like this with this lovely sense of other women's men and feeling like I let my man down because I didn't pick a revealing enough story for fear of giving away too much.  Isn't that just like a woman?   

"I'm thinking!  Give me a minute.... I've had wine..."  They all laughed and I got back a chorus of 'well so have we!' as I stared up at the ceiling in thought. 

A deluge of the romantic things Dino had done played in my mind's eye.  Ann was right, there were a lot of them.  Dino likes to pretend otherwise, but he is such a romantic.  There were picnics on the green down at the Capitol.  Walks under the cherry trees as the blossoms fell.  Strolling hand in hand through the snow.  Surprise front-row balcony tickets for The Phantom of the Opera's run in London.  A lazy morning in bed at this little B&B in the Smokey Mountains.  Him cooking dinner for me and the boys.  How this one night not long after Aidan was born, he took me to the garage, heaters blowing furiously, and set me on a padded bench where he tenderly gave me a sponge bath, washed my hair and shaved my legs before giving me a luxurious massage with scented lotion and then wrapped me up in a blanket he'd warmed in the dryer before bringing Aidan to me to feed while he held us both.  That was the most romantic thing we'd ever shared, but there was no way I'd give that one up.  Ever.     

And then suddenly, it came to me. The perfect story.

"I have it!"

Uma snorted.  "Took you long enough!"  Faye pounded on the table with the flat of her hand and Ann giggled into her wine.  Angelique was smiling but her eyes looked misty.  I wondered if she was thinking of Jack.   

"Hey!  You want to hear this or not?"  Like they were going to shut up?  They didn't, of course.  I didn't either; full of laughter and that warm fuzzy feeling all those memories had called up.  "Okay... once while he was away working a case in Argentina-"

"Phone sex doesn't qualify as romantic!"  

I ignored the teasing and marched on.  "Dino had been gone for five weeks.  I was about six months along with Aidan, getting to that point where you're really wanting your partner with you more and more."  Faye nodded, having recently had a child herself, and Uma stroked the swell of her own belly absently with a soft smile.  "And then I got this package in the mail, with a postmark from South America.  Inside, there was a letter for us all, toys for Andy and Seth, and a plain manila envelope with what felt like a magazine inside for me."

There were hoots and speculation from the girls on the contents of the magazine.... Ann guessed he'd sent a travel magazine with spots in Argentina where he wanted to take me on vacation.  Angelique and Faye guessed photographs.  Uma said porn.  They were all wrong.  "While the boys played with their presents, I opened it.  It was a magazine he'd made called 'Heathers'."

"What do you mean 'made'?"  Four sets of curious eyes were watching me intently.  "Like he had it made for you?"

I sighed softly at the memory of it.  "No.  I mean he made it.  He'd stolen Andy's watercolors and painted a picture of me.  He used that for the cover.  It was complete with red lips and dark hair and the bump of my tummy and everything."

"Awww....."

"He even put glitter on the shoes."  There was more laughter and those sighs women do when they hear something really romantic.  "I was dying just over the cover..."  Imagine Dino painting?  He probably hadn't held a paintbrush since elementary school.  The childlike crudeness of the painting only made me love it all the more.  "... and then inside, it was filled with all these little clippings and mementos.  He'd glued in tickets stubs he must have had in his wallet from movies we'd been to and there pictures from Argentina... you know, vacations spots, including this one of a topless beach he wanted us to go to."

They all screamed with laughter.  Ann was crowing how she was right.  So was Uma.  "And there was a picture of this cradle he'd found and arranged to have sent home to us.  It had a headboard carved by local artists..."  I smiled inwardly at his inherent proclivity for grand romantic gestures.  "There were magazine clippings too, glued in and decorated with glitter and yellow highlighter and stuff." 

The girls cooed with pleasure at that little gem.  It was like some office supply store had gone mad.  And it was so also very sweet.  I didn't tell them about the best page, titled: A Gleam in My Eye.  It was filled with pictures of redheaded babies.  And under it was the caption: The rest of the team.  He might have been on the other side of the world, but in that moment, I felt the warmth of his presence so strongly he could have been standing beside me.  I think maybe he was.  The proof was there in my hands.  His heart was here.

The whole thing must have taken him hours and hours to do.  The thought that he'd spent so much time on a present for me, wrapped up in memories of all our private little details... well, it made my eyes wet even now.  "And there were these adorable little stick drawings and pictures of things that had caught his eye.  Even this one list comparing car seat safety features."  Heh. 

"How like a man!"  Angelique's eyes were dancing.  "But so sweet he was thinking of you and the bébé, n'est-ce pas?"

I nodded, warming even more as I thought of the rest of what he'd put in it.  "And he'd filled in all the space between the clippings with little handwritten notes.  Articles.  Poems.  Memories of the boys.  Love notes.  Sex columns..."

There was more hooting and screams of how romantic he was and how lucky I was.  Like I didn't know that?  "And the funniest thing was, it was all bound in this clear plastic report cover."

"The conclusive kidnap and ransom report on just how much he missed his heart, huh?"  Ann was smiling.  

It made me feel good.  Terry was over the moon about her, but this new Ann... I'd always had misgivings about her.  It's one of my worst flaws, this tendency to hold on to things too long.  And I'd been holding on tight to my loyalty to the first Ann and to my skepticism that Terry could really find a healthy relationship with a woman who had the face of his previous wife.  This trip had really been good for me.  Seeing them together in love had assuaged my fears in a way no words ever could have.  And it helped me let go of a few old things to make room for embracing something new.

I guess that was a big part of this trip.  I think all of us were skeptical in some ways, afraid to embrace something new.  Little wonder, considering how badly we were all hurt the last time.  We all struggled with coming here.  It couldn't have been easy for Uma to face everyone after her affair with Terry, or for Angelique to meet this Ann, a former lover of a Jack from a different world.  And what must it be like for this Ann?  Knowing we all knew the other Ann so intimately.  And Faye... I liked her so much, saw so much love between her and Lachlan, and it just made me cringe inside when I wondered what Lach had told her about me or what she might have heard about me from the others.  None of us were innocent.  But we'd all suffered and there was a strange feeling of sisterhood in that.   

A night of bearing our souls in humor and friendship was just what we needed.  It was what I needed anyway.  The laughter seemed to blow out the cobwebs of our haunted past and to help show each other that we weren't a threat.  We were all loved by the men in our lives and we loved them back just as deeply.  The evidence of that was all around us.  And sharing it, letting each other get a glimpse of the stability we'd all fought so desperately for, it was healing in a way I never expected. 

These women were my family.  We were all drawn together by the men we loved.  And now our children, the next generation of this incredible Family, bound us all in a new way.  And it was with laughter, and a few tears too, that we finally put the past behind us and embraced each other as friends and the future with hope.                  

ANGELIQUE

The conversation flowed around me. I watched each of these women and noticed something that surprised me, for I should have seen it before. There were wounds there that were only now truly getting their last measurement of healing. How good this is. How right this is. Who could have imagined that from what had been, they would emerge all the stronger ... and more capable of love?

As Jack has done.

This overwhelming wish to hold him came over me. To shelter him from any more pain. To protect his tender heart. To keep him always safe, nurtured and loved. Above all men, Jack deserved this after what had happened. Tuning out the voices around me, I smiled and gave in to the desire to take just a bit of time to myself, just to remember how it had all started.

When I first met Jack Aubrey, he was a broken, beaten man. There was such a well of despair around him that I knew immediately that any woman who became involved with him was dooming herself to the pit of his black perspective on love, women and life.

The very last thing I ever needed in my life was a man capable of dragging me along the pitiless route of being a woman in love who believes she can save a man who does not wish to leave his self-imposed, emotional prison. In fact, I had said something very much like that to my uncle in our weekly phone call not two nights before I first became aware that Jack Aubrey even existed.

My uncle had been so amused; he often was when it came to me and men. But I had given up on men months earlier. Not that my uncle thought much of my pledge; he said to me that love has a way of finding a way when one deserves it.

I am not certain I ever deserved to find a man like Jack; I certainly did not make it easy on him to find love with me.

Stephen told me later that I met Jack after the second performance that they attended. They had been in the audience in Rennes the evening before during one of that year's final performances of L'Orchestre de Bretagne, for which I was the violin soloist. Rennes, that marvelous city of Brittany (Bretagne), was the chamber orchestra's home base. How odd it is to realize that Jack and I almost never met.

The week after the performances they first attended, we embarked on the spring tour. The evening we met, I arrived in my dressing room to be greeted by one of the finest sprays of roses I'd ever received. There was a card from an admirer. It said he was enchanted by my interpretation of the selection of Boccherini pieces and that he was so moved, in fact, that all he could think of was to count the hours until he could attend that evening's concert to once again be captivated by the notes. It was written with such a fine, old-fashioned hand... it reminded me of my dear Oncle Alain. I was so certain the flowers were sent by an elderly man who simply and purely adored the music that I left word at the ticket office that I would be honored if he would join me in my dressing room after the concert.

Imagine my surprise when the elderly gentleman turned out to be Jack and his particular friend Stephen!

They insisted I join them for dinner. I demurred. I served them each a glass of port and they expounded on several segments of the evening's chosen suite of music. I cannot say that from the beginning I looked upon Jack as a romantic possibility. He swears he was not pursuing me then. He has made oath after oath that at least that first night, he was moved only by the music. He tells me, however, that by the end of our visit, he was interested in understanding the soul that created the notes that spoke to his soul.

I noticed him and Stephen at the final two concerts in Rennes. I took it as a compliment that these English gentlemen of obvious breeding were attending the concerts.

In Lorient, a town not far from Rennes, they were again in the audience for the two-evening run of concerts. Both evenings, they sent me invitations to dinner. I declined the first one; I accepted the second.

The truth is, I was intrigued. If I thought of them as men in any way it was to be disappointed that a specimen as attractive and masculine as Jack was apparently involved romantically with his male friend. Over dinner, I realized that I'd been wrong. There was love between these two, but it was not the kind of love I had presumed.

While in Brest, I took to looking in the audience before I came out on stage for my first solo. If I did not see Jack and Stephen, I felt oddly put out. I mentioned them to my uncle; I told him they had become my porte-bonheurs. With them in the audience, I had specific people to play to. And I could tell, just by watching Jack's face, when my performance met the depth and heights I sought.

We were in Brest for four performances over a week. The second night, I accepted another invitation to dinner with them. However, only Jack arrived to escort me from the concert hall. He said Stephen had taken ill.

Over dinner, I saw a lingering sadness in Jack that touched me deeply. I had been struck by this contrast ever since I'd had the first dinner with him. He always appeared bright, engaging and entertaining. But sometimes, when Stephen would talk about cellos or their home in England, I would glance at Jack... and his face would be set almost hard and closed, as if... It was as if this was how he really was when he was not "on" and being charming to a lady who was his guest.

But in this first occasion when it was just the two of us, I believe he struggled not to show the low spirits. Only later did I learn it was the anniversary of a great tragedy the year before.

Something very powerful happened in that evening when I was first alone with Jack. Perhaps he had already captivated me. But seeing that sadness within him scared me. I did not need a man like this in my life. Such a man was responsible for my own repository of pain. I believe now that in some mystical way, Jack responded to the pain I was putting into my music. He believes it was the music that showed him that we were kindred spirits, each struggling daily against the weight of remorse and the absence of love in our lives.

From Brest, our tour took us to Cherbourg. This time, Stephen only attended the first concert. I had not planned to go to dinner with them again ... indeed, I had resolved to never see Jack again except as a member of the audience. For, you see, I realized that Jack was interested in me. I did not wish to encourage it.

Stephen sent me a note that came to my dressing room after the performance. He was leaving the next day to return to Portsmouth; he asked if I would do him the honor of being his guest for dinner. He made clear it would only be the two of us.

At dinner, he was very plain. Jack was intending to follow the tour. Jack claimed it was the music alone; Stephen said it was me. Stephen worried that Jack's heart was still too filled with the void of his loss and the agony of feeling betrayed by a woman he'd sincerely if unwisely cherished. I told him I was not interested in Jack, not in any sort of romantic way ... that I did not have it in me to take that kind of risk. You already have, Stephen said quietly. I told him he was wrong.

Before we parted, Stephen took my hand and looked deep in my eyes. Give Jack a chance, he begged me. He is the finest man in the entire world, he said. Let him discover that love is still a possibility for him and that there are women who can be trusted.

Jack's pursuit began in Brest with Stephen's departure. He attended every performance. He always reserved a seat that placed him directly in my line of sight. I had been so used to him as a sort of muse; I hated that I no longer could do that.

I complained to my uncle. I complained bitterly every time a new elegant bouquet of flowers would be delivered. I complained about each piece of jewelry I sent back. I complained about the poems and the love letters and the way he waited for me each night outside the stage door.

By the time the tour wrapped in Paris, I was in serious trouble. I was weakening. My resolve was under almost constant assault. He pursued me relentlessly; his letters captivated me, moved me, thrilled me.

No man has ever been so ardent in his pursuit, I told my uncle just before the Paris concerts ended. He said I should see Jack ... une seule fois encore. Go for a stroll in the park, my uncle advised me. A gentleman like Jack will not make advances in a public place. And you can test if this is the blossom you wish to nurture or the weed you wish to pluck.

It was a glorious day. From the weather to the company. I felt relaxed, as if Jack was an old friend. He was courtly and interested in me. He regaled me with tales of great Naval battles and adventures in the time of Nelson. I had not known he was a military historian, I told him. How can a man who studies war also be a man devoted to music, I asked him. One is an avocation; the other a passion, Jack said; a true man knows that either one is worthy of giving his life for if, and only if, the prize has the truest worth in the world.

That night, I could not sleep. I hated that I liked him so very much. I despised that he intrigued me. I abhorred that he made me feel emotions I did not want to feel.

I called my uncle the next day and demanded that he come to Toulouse for the ending of our tour. I need your strength, I told him. You must come to me, I said. He promised he would be there by the first night.

I have never been more grateful to see anyone. My uncle swept in and took me to dinner after the concert. Jack was, of course, waiting at the stage door, flowers in hand, that wonderful look upon his face. Le voilà, I hissed to my uncle, get me out of here. From the safety of the hired car, I looked back to see Jack's stormy face. A very large part of me realized that I might just have done the exact right thing to ignore Jack. Perhaps that's what I need to do from now on, I told my uncle.

He chuckled at me. Why not let this man woo you, he said; something merveilleux and unexpected may await you. We had our heads together as we sat side by side in the booth at the elegant restaurant where we dined. My uncle had, as is his unfortunate want, forgotten his hearing aids. I had to speak almost directly into his ear to be heard.

Perhaps this is why we did not see Jack arrive at the restaurant.

We did not, in fact, notice a thing until he strode boldly up to our table and stood there before us ... anger written on him in the shades of red upon his face and the rigid set to his body.

He called me a strumpet, a gold digger ... a dishonest woman who had led him to believe he had a place in her heart but who turned out to be every bit as vile and wretched and untrustworthy as every other woman on the planet.

He called my uncle a degenerate, a fool ... a lecherous old man who should know that for all his wealth, he could not buy love from the likes of me because the best he could buy was a warm body in the night.

Fortunately for both Jack and I, my Oncle Alain was a wise man not easily fooled.

Although Jack stormed off after his tempestuous display and I flounced out, dragging my uncle with me, immediately after ... and even though we both must have sworn deep within our souls to never see the other again ... my uncle knew passion when he saw it. And he knew two hearts who needed each other or they would never find love again.

He tracked Jack down the next day and introduced himself. Explained our relationship. Jack was, of course, mortified. My uncle assured him there was no harm but that Jack would need to make amends with me.

I refused to see Jack. Absolument. I had him barred from my concerts. I ordered security to escort him from the stage door area. He sent me bouquets of flowers; so many they filled my dressing room. I ordered the staff to dump them out the stage door and to tell the blonde English brute to leave me alone.

The last concert, I was leaving the stage door with my uncle. There was a terrible commotion. Two security guards were trying to keep Jack away from me. He shouted; they shouted. He pushed; they pushed. And then ... oh, how I remember this ... then he fell down the stairs. There was a hush. My uncle pushed me through the crowd. Jack lay there, so still, his face so pale. My heart nearly broke to think I'd been the cause of this.

Ce pauvre homme! All he'd ever done was try to get me feel something for him. What crime was that? Why had I been so horrid?

I had him taken to my dressing room at my uncle's suggestion.

And this was when I found out that Jack and my uncle and the security guards had all been in collusion. It had all been an elaborate ruse, a strategic "flying of false colors" to induce me to lower my guard and allow Jack clear sailing through my defenses.

Everyone left once he was carried in and placed upon my couch. I was tending to his wounds, putting ice upon his temple where he said he'd been struck.

His hand kept caressing mine that held the ice pack to his head. His eyes stayed on mine. They were so expressive, so beautiful, so alluring.

"I would endure any pain in the world for just this one chance to tell you how very sorry I am for my actions. I acted the scrub, accosting you and your dear uncle ... saying the most vile things ever to a woman who deserves only the finest of words to match the splendor of her spirit. If you could forgive me for my rash, unseemly actions, I should consider it the greatest honor I have ever received ... being out of your favor has left me bereft. I will not survive another night without your forgiveness," he said softly. "My actions, though inexcusable, were those of a man driven half-mad with the thought that the woman he loved was choosing another. I am in love with you, Angelique. I can put it no purer than that."

I gasped and went to pull away but he held on to my hand.

"Did you not know I burn up with my love of you? How could you not? I follow you from city to city, satisfied just to exist somewhere I can glimpse you, hear you play, see you smile."

But what could I say?

"I am not in love with you, Mr. Aubrey. Not now, nor will I ever, sir."

"Captain Aubrey," he said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"My name ... my title ... Captain Aubrey, at your service, madam."

And so it began.

That simply, that complicated. It began, truly, with that conversation. For all I might have thought I had known about this man over the two months of the tour, I was to begin within the space of that silly conversation to learn that there are depths and complexities to Jack Aubrey that I never could have guessed at.

ANN

By this night, I believe I had simply decided to shuck away the reserve and accept that I was with friends. We were women with a unique bond. It was the first time in years, really, that I was with a group of women who knew, understood and accepted something fundamental about me: I came from a different world. But then, so did each of our men.

It was something about this gathering, I think. I never got to just be a giddy woman with other people, except maybe Terry. With everyone else, I always felt like I was guarding myself lest I be found out. Lest I inadvertently say something that would endanger him. But in my giddiness of the night, I did drink a bit more champagne and let the side of me out that simply wanted to laugh.

"What's the most romantic thing he's ever done for you?" I had asked, just to continue the conversation. I'd asked other questions ... and I had others I was sure I'd ask as the night got rowdier. I hoped it would get rowdier. Uma called it a "Hen's Night." We knew it as an adult bridal shower cum Girls' Night Out. The guys were off doing their Bachelor Night mayhem.

"I hope Dino and Terry don't talk the others into too much," I said to Heather, leaning over to giggle at her. In all this time here in Terra Nova, I guess I'd never felt like she'd given me a break. There was always this feeling that I was never going to be accepted. But in the short time we'd been here, the ease of this place and the ease I felt more and more each day to be here with Terry, feeling like our life was regaining its focus and ... well, I was easier in general. We'd only spoken a time or two since the run-in regarding the parasailing misadventure. But I had picked up new vibes.

And in this night, sitting there slowly getting tight with her sitting next to me, I just guess I didn't care so much to have to work for her approval. It was like ... well, she either got over it and let herself get to know me or she didn't. There it was -- and it seems the moment I stopped trying to prove myself to her was the moment I saw her better. And do you know what? If she never really accepted me ... I was okay with that. In fact, it was kinda nice. Imagine having a friend that loyal? Imagine what that says about her and that other Ann ... how close they must have been? Imagine what that says about how she must care about Terry to maybe still be the least bit worried that I wasn't 'right' for him?

Why is it then, that we seemed so much more relaxed with each other? It wasn't just the alcohol ... maybe it really was that we were giving each other a break and we were letting our guards down with each other. She is such a hoot, you know, I mean, really? She is. She seems quiet and nice, but she's got a wicked bone in her that kills me.

She rolled her eyes when I had said that about Dino and Terry getting the others up to mayhem ... and she said she hoped Terry just didn't get Dino to pull a prank. But then she said, all low and throaty, "Though, what's a given is that one of them will and then they will each blame the other.  They're like two naughty little boys.  And after, Dino always gives me this smug defiant look like he's daring me to send him to his room, or something."  Her eyes twinkled naughtily and she snorted.  "Although, that punishment might be more effective if he didn't enjoy it so damned much."

"You mean if you didn't enjoy it so damned much."  I couldn't help but toss that out.  Hey, I was feeling no pain.  But for the first time, when our eyes met, I saw an openness there I hadn't seen before.  And it was nice.  Really nice.  A beginning.      

And just then Angelique said, "Now, Ann. You must ... certainly Terry has such romance. What ..."

I waved my hands in the air and said, "Oh, but he hasn't a romantic bone in his body."

"Though speaking of his bone ..." Uma said.

Through the laughter that greeted that remark, I was reminded of another Uma. Another me. Another time. Even now, those kinds of thoughts could reach out and sober me.

"He divorced me." I blurted it out. Don't know why. Most romantic thing Terry had ever done for me? My God, the list to choose from was so long. Why this? Into a lull of voices, I said, "For Christmas. Our first Christmas together. He gave me the papers. All legal, neat, final. It was a surprise ... well, a shock really."

"I don't understand," Faye said. "How can a divorce be romantic?"

"It was the most romantic thing any man has ever done for me," I said, realizing it then for the power it still held over me.

We still hadn't even decided where we were going to live. I was still living in St. Martinville, Louisiana, in my little house with the studio attached. Not that I had been there for more than a few weeks at a stretch since we'd found the way to each other through all those worlds and all the time and all the complications.

The only thing we knew was that we weren't going to live in her home. In the other Ann's home in DC, that is. We just couldn't start living together on the dregs of his memories for her. I felt like an intruder there. I never felt I belonged. I was afraid, still even, that I wasn't going to be able to stay in this world and living in her home made me ever aware that I had come from another world for no reason, no explanation ... and that it could just as easily reverse itself. That I could lose all this ... that I could lose this man who was becoming the acknowledged center of my life.

Right after we'd realized it was love between us, we had gone to St. Martinville for Terry to finish recuperating. Not that he really needed it as he was healing nicely. And he was active. Really? It was time we just needed with each other to make some sense of the leap we'd taken. We were more than friends now. We loved out in the open.

I never once introduced him as my husband. Not to my neighbors who'd never known the other Ann so they'd never known Terry, her husband. I didn't feel married to him. I felt awkward ... like I'd cheated on life and stolen that 'official' title when I hadn't earned it.

He never once called me his wife. Or referred to himself as my husband.

Yet we were married. Officially. They'd been married when she slipped away from him; we'd never gotten around to doing anything about that once I came in her place and the months slipped by.

When he went on his first assignment for his company, I stayed behind in Louisiana. I wasn't sure how we'd move forward but it never mattered. I knew we would. And it just seemed to fall into place because it's what we wanted and we made it happen. I traveled with him when it was appropriate ... trips to check out client sites, train executives on personal security, that kind of thing where we stayed in a hotel and simply were together when he wasn't working. But when he was negotiating, I either went home or stayed in whatever bigger city he was basing operations out of. I was in London a lot; Miami not as much as I would have enjoyed; even Rome a time or two.

It never mattered to me where I was, for some reason. I think home was wherever he was and that was enough.

Not that it was for him. He kept pushing us to figure out where we were going to really live. It would have been most convenient for him to live in London or DC. He was reluctant about convincing me to live in either one. I was pragmatic; I'd make do wherever we settled.

This was me then. New and a bit improved.

But then the holidays came around. God, but I wanted to be home. Thanksgiving was spent in London. Imagine a purely American celebration done in England with a guest from Australia. It was okay and I rolled with the punches. I couldn't cook the meal because we were in a hotel; I made do, though. He took time from work to spend with me. He kidded me about Indians and Pilgrims ... and turkey and football ... but he was a good sport.

But it was Christmas that made me homesick. He left on a mission to Colombia right after Thanksgiving so I went home in time to enjoy the buildup to Christmas. He called me a week before the big day and said he was coming to me. It was the best Christmas gift you can give me, I whispered to him. He said he wanted something to unwrap under the tree. I told him I'd wear a shiny bow. He said that would do. But that he also expected some toys.

What do you get a man who has everything? I found another netsuke of Bushido. I wasn't trying to imitate myself by choosing a precious gift I'd given the first Terry I knew; I was just being me. And just as I hoped that talisman was keeping that Terry safe, I wanted this Terry to be protected when he was away from me. I gave him assorted other things ... a box full of all sorts of candy he'd told me he used to love as a child and never could find again ... isn't the Internet a wonderful resource for such searches? ... a new watch engraved with nothing but the date we met ... because sometimes as sober as reality is, it's important to note it ... and a box of plastic toy soldiers because he's still a boy at heart and he told me once how he'd wanted toy soldiers for Christmas one year so bad but his mother thought it was silly and by the next year, he should have outgrown them but that he'd never forgotten being disappointed that Santa hadn't come through for him that year ... and I think that's what Christmas can be about, too, about Santa making up for things.

We opened gifts Christmas morning. I had only one box under the tree from him. It was big, maybe the size of a very large hatbox. We got silly drinking champagne while he opened his gifts and he wouldn't let me open mine until every other box from family and friends had been opened.

It was a big box with a lid, I discovered under the wrappings. I took a long sip of my champagne and considered the box, then considered him. Open it, he growled.

I slipped off the lid. Folded back the tissue paper.

Inside, I found three things: a cardboard tube, an envelope and a pillow.

I looked at him. The tube first, he said.

Inside the tube, a legal document was coiled. I pulled it out and unfurled it. It was a divorce decree from the Cayman Islands. I sat there looking at it. Not understanding. Feeling like one more foundation of my life was being taken away from me just when I'd begun to feel safe that I was building a new place. I don't know why I felt that way, honestly. I guess I just had relied upon that legal relationship between us in a way I never realized before that moment. If we weren't married anymore ... then what?

My eyes finally looked up at him. He was just watching me. No explanation. No excuses. No nothing. Just a blank face.

"Okay." It came out as a whisper. "I don't understand."

"I married her. Not you."

"Okay. That's fair." I looked back down at the paper and saw my hands were shaking. "But then again ... It isn't like I ever forgot that."

"Give me the pillow," he said, his voice strangely on edge.

I slipped this pillow out. It was green, brocade, the tassels shimmered like emeralds. It was a floor pillow, I realized as I got it free of its confined space. "Maybe you should have had me take this out first. That way, when I fell over from the body blow of you divorcing me, I would have had something soft to cushion my fall," I said.

"It's not really for you. It's for me."

I just looked at him as he accepted the pillow from me. He turned it over in his hands as he studied it. His tongue licked his bottom lip. He reached for a cigarette but then put it back. He took this deep breath and then carefully placed the pillow on the floor almost in front of where I was sitting next to him on the couch.

He slipped from where he was, down to the hardwood floor ... until he had one knee on the pillow and was leaning into the bent knee of his other foot. One hand fussed at his eyebrow before smoothing his short hair back.

I was barely breathing. I know what I wanted to be happening ... I also know I was terrified of it. My greatest fear had always been that I'd never deserve this man and this love. I refused to give it up now. My secret fear has always been commitment. Yet I was deeply committed to him, to us. On the other hand, I'd never had to admit that I was never cut out for anything more than love. And there is so much more a man like this not only needs but deserves.

"I will not accept a life with you on any other terms but that they be between us," he said softly as he took my hands. "Whatever happens from here on out, it happens on purpose and it happens because we both commit to the future."

"Terry ..."

"Let me finish." He stared into me, no longer nervous in the face of my final fear. "Whatever has made you the woman you are and the man I am, this is the best thing life will ever hold for either of us. I am convinced of that. You are, too. It could never be better. Imagine being in love, this much in love, with someone who's this good of a friend? I never could have. Marry me, Annie. I will spend my life making you happy you threw your lot in with this sorry man before you."

"Oh God ... This is why you got the divorce? So you could ask me to ..."

"Marry me, babes."

"Yes."

"Yes?"

He looked so shocked. Like he'd expected me to say 'no.' Like he didn't think it would happen. Like he'd rehearsed all these reasons to tell me to get beyond all my objections, all my fear of commitment, all my fear that I wasn't good enough, all my fear that this was going to be taken away from me some day.

And then he shook himself as I gave this nervous chuckle at his reaction.

"Shit!"

"What?"

"Fuck, I forgot! I was so nervous ..."

"You? You never get nervous."

He gave me that glare he does that makes me wet. His hand slipped down into the pocket of the silk robe he wore; he pulled out a small jeweler's box, snapped it open so I could see inside ... an engagement ring ... a diamond surrounded by small emeralds. The opposite of a ring I'd once worn to remind me of what my best friend Gen thought I was capable of becoming again.

"I had planned this all out, see? I was going to show you the goods so you'd see I was ..."

"Serious?" I stroked over his hand holding the box and looked hard into his eyes. "I love you, Terrence Thorne. There is no other man I'd be willing to take this risk with. I will try so hard to be a good partner to you. A good wife."

"Just love me."

"That's a given. I never really had a choice, did I?"

I have to admit that I loved the fact he was nervous. It was a mark of how much of him was on the line. It was a mark of the importance of this gesture to him. It was a mark of how serious our commitment to each other, to marriage, to friendship, to love would be.

The final part of the gift? The envelope? It held plane tickets. To anywhere I wanted where we could get married on New Year's Eve. He wanted to bring in the new year secure in a new life.

"Where did you go?" Faye asked me.

I looked at Heather. She giggled.

"Las Vegas. The Little White Chapel Of Love. The cheesiest ceremony in the world. We were married by an Elvis impersonator."

"Terry wore a tux," Heather added.

Yes, he did. I even wore a long dress. It was white. Ironic, eh?

I wiped away at tear. Even now, the memory of how he'd gone to all that trouble, understood me that well, risked so much for me ... imagine that. He was always the bravest man I ever knew. He is also so vulnerable. It is a fascinating, deadly combination for me.

ANGELIQUE

How does love begin? I pondered this as I listened to yet another tale of the expression of love between a man and a woman. Perhaps it is important to note that I did not fall for Jack right away, even after his declaration. Well, I mean, I did fall for him ... I had already fallen for him, as my uncle knew very early on. But what I mean is that I did not admit it to myself ... and most assuredly, not to Jack ... not for a long time.

When the tour ended, Jack and I began to keep regular company in Rennes. We did not spend every moment together as he would have wished; I still refused to allow him to take over my life.

But as the weeks went by, my resolve was tested.

Imagine, if you can, to be pursued by a man as romantic as Jack. And then to one day realize that a man who can kiss a woman as Jack can ... such a man has a passionate nature that will not be denied.

We became intimate on a night in which fate seemed to intercede to throw us together. I had been visiting my uncle's home in Avignon. Oncle Alain had given me such a scare but after a short stay in the hospital, he was on the mend. I had been with my uncle for two weeks. Jack had gone to Plymouth in the interim to check on his house and to see Stephen. Neither of us had known the other had returned to Rennes.

 I returned rather late in the evening and when I entered my apartment, I was unaccountably and desperately lonely. I had not felt lonely in too long, perhaps ever. It was rather shattering to feel that way. By the time I'd unpacked, I realized it for what it was: being there, in this place where Jack had begun to be an important part of my life, it made me miss him so badly.

What was worse was that I knew then what this meant but I closed my mind and argued with myself. But sometime around midnight, I left my apartment, intending to take a long walk through the park and drive thoughts of Jack from my mind. Before long, I found that I'd walked in the opposite direction and my feet now trod the cobblestones that lined the street leading to the building that housed Jack's rented rooms. Knowing he was safely in England, I continued on and stood gazing at the old house.

From nowhere it seemed, a haunting, lyrical strain of violin music filtered through the night. I stood transfixed as some unseen, unknown violinist put into music what I was feeling. It was loss ... and the fear of hoping too hard that perhaps you've found the one person who can heal you but you are so afraid to take that step, to take that risk, to lay your heart on the line one more time.

I stood there upon that dark, lonely street and all I could think of was Jack. And how I loved him but how I believed myself no longer capable of the kind of total love a man such as him deserved and would demand. But that music worked its powers upon me. I realized how foolish I was being. How could I go on another second and not admit what I felt for him? How could I not be willing to risk my heart with a man I already knew was true and brave and fine?

From inside my purse, I pulled my notebook and I wrote Jack a short note, asking him to come to me as soon as he returned. I ran up the stairs to the second floor, intending to slide the note beneath his door so it would be the first thing he saw when he returned from England.

But the closer I came to Jack's door, the louder the violin became. When I reached his door, I saw that light was coming from the bottom crack and knew he was home. The music came from within.

When the melody stopped, I knocked. Jack answered the door. He was holding a violin and he had such a look upon his face. I had never known he played. He had never told me. Imagine how that felt ... to know, through his music, what was in this man's soul and what was true in his heart.

Somehow, it was so natural. He touched me; we kissed; we embraced. It would have been like holding back a spring tide.

From the beginning, he was a tender, affectionate, enthusiastic lover. By turns gentle and needful, then aggressive and thrilling, then serious and stirring. We simply fit together in that marvelous way of love that is eternal and blessed.

UMA 

"Tell us the most romantic thing he ever did for you?"

I had said nothing while the others had eagerly jumped in - but then I was sober, they were not. It was a delight to hear their reminiscences, to hear of their tough and formidable men, men like Jack, Dino, Terry and Lachlan behaving like lovesick boys. It was so amusing to hear of their other side. One thing they all seem to share is a sentimental nature and an incredible softness where their women were concerned. Just like Maximus. Not that I told them that, of course!

The wine and cocktails were flowing freely - another bottle was being opened as I sipped my Perrier and watched them grow more loquacious and daring. Ann, the eternal mischief maker, was egging them all on. Faye, all bohemian honesty, was spilling quite shamelessly. Heather, shy but with a devilish glint in her eye, made us squeal with laughter. And  Angelique with her sharp wit and gaiety revealed things Jack would have died if he had known we knew.  We were all helpless laughing at their exploits. I thought they would forget about me. I should have realized that they would not.

"So...Uma...what about le beau Maxim? Surely he has his moments, n'est-ce pas?"

I shook my head. "Leave me out, girls, I cannot! He would never forgive me. You have no idea what he's like!"

"Cherie, that is why we ask!" Angelique was relentless. Ann picked up on my reluctance.

"S'only fair, Uma. We came clean. Now tell us what the general does when he goes a-courtin'!"

"I can't! I just can't!" I replied shaking my head. 

Heather joined in the teasing. "You must! It is inexcusable for you to chicken out of this one. No excuses!"

Faye giggled. "It's obligatory if you want to join this sorority of women. We insist! A secret. On the table - now!"

I was trapped. Taking a deep breath, I gave a last plea: "Please don't let him know I told you...!"

They all promised that their lips were eternally sealed and then they leaned closer, clearly waiting for this revelation. Maximus fascinates everyone.

"Well, after we got back together..."

"....Which is another story that we expect to hear from you one of these days..." Ann interrupted.

I raised my eyebrows. "...After we got back together, my dear husband began to come home later and later at nights several times a week - usually with no explanation. He's a terrible liar and I knew he was hiding something from me, but in his job I tend to ignore the cloak-and-dagger, need to know moments, so I thought nothing of it. Then just before Christmas, he told me that we were going out in central London the following evening and I would need an overnight case as well as a cocktail dress. There was no way he was going to be more informative than that - you have no idea how monosyllabic Max can be when he has a mind to be. So, I just did what he said..."

"I'd have gone mad with curiosity," Ann said.

"No use...he won't talk. Anyway we checked into this classy hotel and got ready. I was feeling a bit frisky as we were alone for once but he had one of his serious faces on and wouldn't take the bait. I didn't realize that what was wrong with him was he was nervous..."

"Nervous? NERVOUS? Maximus, nervous?" They all screamed - even people on another other table turned their heads.

I smiled. "Oh yes...there are things that make him nervous. Anyway we had dinner - a very elegant one, I might add, although he seemed more and more distracted as the evening went on. He was tight-lipped and seemed miles away; I found myself getting a little annoyed with him. I mean - what was the point of all these elaborate arrangements if he was just going to ignore me?"

"WELL??" They all chimed in, absolutely riveted to the story by now. 

"Well, we played with our desserts and my eyes drifted over to a small dance floor where a few people were dancing. There was a band playing some Latin American music and I observed the couples there moving gracefully to the sound. Just then, Max took my hand and I turned back to look at him.

"Will you dance with me?" he muttered all at once. It wasn't the most gracious proposal that I had ever had but it was still enough to surprise me.

"Dance? With you?" I repeated vacantly.

He smiled a little shy smile. "If you would. I would be honoured."

"Whoah! I hardly knew what to say. He stood up and held out his hand and led me to the floor. For a moment, he hesitated and I recognized his intense focused expression. Maximus was psyching himself up for an ordeal. He gave me a slight bow, not much more than a nod, and then he reached for me and I slipped into his arms. And we danced."

I sat back and smiled dreamily. It had been such an amazing moment; I don't think I had even allowed myself to breathe.

"How did he do?" Heather gasped. "I thought he didn't know how..."

"Well, that was the point! He did well. More than well. He was fantastic. He just knew exactly what to do, even if he did appear to be concentrating very hard - he bites on his tongue when he's doing that, you can always tell - but he was great. We just moved around that floor like we had been doing it forever..."

"That is magnifique! That he would overcome his reserve, just for you!" Angelique clapped her hands.

"It was even better than that. Afterwards, I asked him how he had done it. He admitted he'd been going to classes for weeks, Lily's ballet teacher, Miss Grey, had consented to give him private lessons in the evening..."

"...I'll bet she did," giggled Faye. "I imagine she thought her number had come up when he asked her!" We all laughed at that.

"...So, that's my story. General Maximus swallowed his pride and learnt how to dance just so he could take me out and give me a night to remember..."

"That is so, so romantic...what did he say about it all?"

I smiled, remembering his words when I had asked him what had prompted him to do it. I opened my mouth to answer but then I changed my mind. "That..." I grinned, "...is none of your business!" They all giggled at my words as I raised my eyebrows suggestively.

"A night to remember then?" Ann asked with a saucy look.

"Oh yes....and the dance wasn't bad either!" I retorted. 

ANGELIQUE

It seemed as if on cue ... dear Uma had just finished telling us her trés magnifique tale of Maximus learning to dance ... when music blared in toward us.

Oh, I would wish to say that I reprimanded the ladies for indeed arranging for a male stripper as entertainment ... but I have never liked liars. In this instance, however, it is important to note that I had been drinking rather steadily. Therefore, I believe my loud and rather rambunctious greeting can be forgiven?

He was a lovely young man ... finely boned, dark-haired, lithe ... except for his generous chest and ample bulge, he was the opposite of Jack Aubrey. Well, not that his bulge came near to earning any complimentary comparison to my love's bulge!

I believe I actually said that aloud ... that comparison to Jack's hefty, soft, warm, delicious bulge ... the women doubled over in laughter and I myself might have laughed longer and louder.

Oh, Jack!

There are moments ... and as the young man set up his portable stereo and began flirting with each woman in turn, I had one of those moments ... but there are moments when the appreciation for the luck of meeting and loving Jack overwhelms me.

It was not always so, mind you. I can be quite stubborn. Even after Jack and I became lovers, I fought what was happening. He asked me to marry him the first night we spent together. I told him to never mention it again, that it would ruin everything.

A month later, my world dissolved.

The phone call came just after the sun rose. Jack was already awake. He answered the call; he was the one to tell me the horrible news. My uncle, my sole surviving relative, had passed away in the night.

I was never prepared for it. I would not have survived it if not for Jack. He held me together with the force of his love. And then he put my life back together after.

After the funeral, we stayed on in my uncle's home. I felt unable to move on with my life and Jack stayed with me to pack up my uncle's belongings and prepare the house for sale. In the course of this time, we grew closer. Perhaps it was the shock of realizing how alone I was in life now. I believe, though, that more than anything it was that Jack stood there with me through it all and never once faltered. His unwavering strength and care for me was the final key to the destruction of my resolve. Even within myself, I admitted quite clearly that my love for Jack was a finer love than I had ever known. I made the decision to open up every part of me and if I was not good enough for him, then so be it. I told Jack all the things of my past that I had sworn to never tell him.

Later, he found the way to show me that it not only did not shake his love for me, but that in many ways, it made it that much more firm. And the way he demonstrated this was by having the trust in me to tell me the entire truth about himself.

I remember to this day, sitting in the sunny breakfast nook, sipping coffee and listening, breathless. He began by telling me about Isobel, the wedding, the curse ... about her cheating on him with his brother, a priest. About how much he'd thought he loved her ... about how his heart had shattered when he found out she'd betrayed his love ... about how she'd cheated on him the night before their wedding with the man who would perform the ceremony for him ... about how it felt to know your own brother had a hand in such a betrayal.

And then he told me about the duel. He never blinked from telling me what he'd done. He said he regretted bitterly that, though he'd lived by his time's code of honor, it led to the death of his brother.

What do you mean by "your time," I had asked him softly.

And this is when he told me the rest of his story ... of who he really was ... of how he came to be there. I had never seen his film; in all honesty, I am not a cinema aficionado.

The revelations were stunning. But by then, I knew Jack so well ... I knew his heart and his soul ... and, I think, somehow I knew he was from somewhere I had never been. There just is something about Jack that is so eternal, noble and honest.

When he finished telling me his story, he asked me if I remembered meeting his two brothers, Max and Terry, months earlier when we'd been in Paris. This is how he told me of his family.

"If this changes how you feel about me, Angelique, I will understand, of course," Jack said. "I would never seek to hold you if it is not your wish now that you know it all. I would have told you sooner, but I did not dare for fear you would not stay with me."

"Oh, Jack."

"No, I must say this and be done with it. It was a wholly unworthy thing to not have told you from the moment in which we became lovers. But I was a coward, my dear. I simply could not have borne it to lose you."

"But Jack, don't you know? I love you. I will always love you."

This was, in the end, how I told him what had been in my heart. True to his philosophy of not losing a moment to take action, once he understood what I'd said, he pulled the ring from his pocket and placed it upon my finger.

"Mais, Jack! You haven't even proposed! You must fall to your knee and await my decision, don't you see?" I teased him.

"The devil take it," he said firmly. "You have no choice but to marry me, my dear. Surely you can see this?"

"But that's ridicule! Of course I have a choice. You must ask me properly," I said, but we both were smiling too broadly, as if our hearts could not contain our joy.

His face suddenly sobered. A look of absolute intensity came over him as he said, "If you do not marry me, Angelique, I shall simply wither up and die before you. For I love you too much to live without you, my little dear."

Tears sprang to my eyes. I reached for him. We embraced. I whispered to him, "Then I truly have no choice."

Perhaps I never had a choice about loving Jack. All I really know is that he is my life. I would wither up and die without him. I will spend all my days making him happy he heard the music within me.

FAYE

As Uma's lovely story came to a close, this wild music thundered up.  The kind of rhythmic pumping music that suggests the driving of a man's hips.  The kind that makes your blood pound and your feet tap and seems to call up this answering wildness in your breast.  We all screamed and waved our arms, stamping and laughing with pink cheeks and wide smiles. 

It was the play of ladies, different than the adult play of men, but no less crude.  We giggled and gossiped and had the most cheeky fun watching the stripper's lithe golden body undulate to the grinding music in this exaggerated simulation of how a man moves his body during sex.  He was young and pretty, with a body like a sculpture.  I like them older.  Heavier, with more hair and buckets of cocky attitude over steely resolve that hides a really tender heart.  A warrior with a heart of a poet?  More like a pilot with the tongue of a poet and a heart as big as the sky he loves so much.

But strangely, as the prurient show went on, my mind began to drift to more serious matters.  Perhaps because it was a dance designed to engage the physical rather than the mental.  It was easy to watch the ripple of his muscles and the crude bounce of his heavy, half-hard penis and yet still somehow remain detached.  I felt the loosening of my body as it responded to the purely physical image of a nearly naked man running his hands suggestively over his golden skin, but the raunchier the show got, the further my mind seemed to drift.

At first it was within the same erotic vein.  I thought of the last time Lachlan had done something that had aroused me.  But where the stripper was overtly salacious, my mind seemed to latch onto the intimate little things Lach did in our everyday lives that unintentionally flooded me with desire.  The last time had been while we were getting ready for this night. 

He was drying himself after a shower, rough with the towel over his chest and down his long legs but so careful as he pulled back the skin and dried his most sensitive bits.  And then, towel forgotten, his fingers grasped his cock and he closed his eyes and casually rubbed the skin back and forth a few times with a shiver, simply because it felt good to him.  A man's honest appreciation for his penis and the pleasure it could bring him.  It was a hundred times more arousing than the stripper's prurient display.

He danced on and my mind drifted further still, no longer lingering on the erotic, but still circling around Lachlan.  Our family.  The Family.  This trip.  What it all means.  So many divergent threads seemed to be slowly being drawn back to a single fist, picked up one by one to join the others.  And as usual, my Lachlan was at the very heart of it all.  I wondered if any of them suspected.  Wondered if any of them were even aware of it.

When he first spoke to me of his extended family, I was struck not only by what he said, but by how he spoke about them and his place among them.  He seemed not to see his own worth.  How like a good man.  Not only did he never expect praise or respect for what he'd done and the burden he'd carried, but he never even considered it anything special or even noteworthy.  He was simply being the man he'd been taught to be.  A man I loved more and more each time a piece of the puzzle was revealed to me.       

The story he told was extraordinary.  Heart-wrenching.  And even if I didn't already believe in the fey, the deep well of sadness in him was the most quietly elegant proof any woman could ever need.  I learned all the main facts in one night over a couple bottles of Shiraz.  The rest of the details he gave away slowly, over time.  Mostly without really meaning to, I think.  And each one made me die a little inside for him.         

What all of them suffered for one scheming whore's selfishness was horrifying, but that Lachlan, the most innocent of them all, had endured so much was simply unforgivable.  He was the one real victim.  Even Jack, maligned so terribly and duped by the woman he loved, had his share of guilt for pulling the trigger, even if in his heart he expected to be the one to bleed the ground red. 

The fact that Lachlan had had the finger pointed at him just made me sick.  They actually had the nerve to imply he failed in his duty to that little whore for not looking after her when Cort died.  That witch's actions killed him as surely as if she'd put the bullet in him herself.  But isn't that always the way of the guilty?  They point the finger at everyone but themselves.  Blame others for their own deeds in an attempt to push off their shame onto the real victims while they bemoan their fate, conveniently forgetting it is of their own making.  But the cloak of victimhood is warm, and as they hang there on a cross of their own sins, they spew vile lies, maligning the quiet heroes with their pathetic revisionist history. 

In my more charitable moments, I wonder if they actually believe their own lies... but in my heart, I think it's simply that they cannot face what they are and what they know deep down to be the truth.  When you have so grievously and maliciously wronged others, innocents, for no other reason than your own petty selfish desires... well, owning up to that is a bloody hard thing to do.  It takes a lot of courage to stand up and admit your faults, as the good people I've come to know here have done. 

As for the others?  Well, I have to admit, I content myself with the knowledge she will get hers.  Even her own Wiccan law states that any energy sent out will come back on the sender threefold. 

Wherever she is, she can tell herself, and everyone else, whatever lies she needs so she can look herself in the mirror.  Somehow, I doubt it will do a bloody lick of good when the energy of damaging so many good people's lives comes zinging back to her. 

Bitterness?  

Hardly.  

Try karma.  Or fate.  Or justice.  Call it what you will; I believe we all get what's coming to us in the end.  Some just have to wait longer than others.  And I believe in my heart that it is by no mistake Lachlan and Jack, the two most wronged of all, were rewarded with a new, deep and lasting love.  And Lachlan, who suffered so much, has not only found love with a woman who will keep him first in her heart forever, but he now has a daughter created by that same love.  A little person with whom we can share that extraordinary love for ever and always.

The only thing that would make him happier would be if his boys were here to share in the joy of this place and the people in it.  He misses them.  And he still suffers because wherever he is; he's always missing someone he loves.  I cannot say I feel much pity or charity for his wife after what she did, but that's my own cross to bear. 

I'm smart enough to know perpetuating the rancor won't help his boys.  He knows it too.  They have found a middle ground.  And for as much as I hate what she did to him, how terribly she wounded his precious heart with her foul lies, she is a good mother to his boys; though I wouldn't want to be in her shoes when they're old enough to hear the story and make up their own minds, just as I must one day tell our daughter our story and wait for her judgment.

I think most of the people who came to this island weren't expecting a warm reunion.  In truth, I think most didn't want to come at all, including Lachlan who still worked to get as many of the others here as he could, despite his own reservations.  I think his burden will never get lighter in that regard.  Nor will he ever see himself for what he really is.  The true heart of this family.  He is the original unsung hero. 

Though he was one of the first to cross, it was Maximus who took the position as the titular head of this strange clan.  Lachlan seems not to place any importance on the fact that it was at his urging.  Nor does he recognize how he held them together.  It is his nature to suppress his own needs and keep silent while encouraging others to talk in that matey way he has.  He is everyone's friend....  Brother....  Father- though even now he still cannot see it.

When the family was shattered, while everyone else was mired in their own hurt, it was Lachlan who set aside his own pain and accepted the yoke of responsibility in that quiet unassuming way he has, helping to settle the newly crossed men.  It was Lachlan who did without to send part of his paycheck to help support O'Brien's ex-wife and two little girls after he ran off with Mrs. White.  It was Lachlan who appealed to Maximus, the family figurehead who'd turned his back on them all.

I like Maximus.  His broad shoulders have carried much and he has born things most men never dream of.  He is a great pillar of strength and the one the family looks to for guidance and acceptance.  And yet, it is Lachlan who is the strength at the base of the pillar, shoring it up.  Shoring them all up.  For all his cocky chatter, the quiet role suits him. 

I think he would be as surprised as the rest of them if I ever told them how it looks to an outsider.  Like Angelique, my life was only touched by the tragedy because I love a man who weathered it, and that gives both of us a unique perspective.  A clearer view in some ways, even if it highlights our otherness. 

Despite Lachlan's initial reluctance, I wanted to come.  I am honest enough to admit part of me wanted to show off our perfect little daughter, but for the most part, it was curiosity.  I wanted to meet the people who inspired such loyalty in Lachlan.  To look in their eyes and see what was worth the sacrifices he made.  I wanted to make a place for him and our daughter in this extended family.  I wanted to come to know the men and women I'd heard so much about.  And I wanted them to know me.  And our daughter.

I was so curious about them all.  I wanted to hear their stories.  And I am not ashamed to admit that I wanted to see Heather.  Women are so inquisitive.  Where a man can so easily shut the door on his past and compartmentalize his life, a woman cannot.  I was not threatened by her.  I am secure in our love.  But he had spoken to me of her, of how she'd helped him when he was at rock bottom.  He didn't tell me that he'd helped her too.  He didn't have to.  I know his heart. 

I liked her.  And I saw a lot of Lachlan in her husband.  Despite his cocksure flippancy, he was another one suited to quiet duty.  Someday when I know her better, I will thank her for what she did for Lachlan.  And maybe, if I'm lucky, she'll tell me what he did for her.....

The screaming and clapping of the others brought me back to the present.  The music had returned to a normal level and the sweaty stripper was heading over to the bar with a swagger, calling out for a bottle of icy cold water.  Angelique was fanning herself and saying how she needed one as well.  I don't blame her. 

We all sat back down with a fresh round of drinks and fell back into the gossip and storytelling that is so important among ladies trying to forge a new beginning.  We share of ourselves through embarrassing and silly and intimate anecdotes and through them, give up little pieces to each other and collect different ones in return. 

Some of them had seemed reluctant to speak on some topics, but ever the odd one out, I was excited when it was my turn and all eyes fell to me.  It amused me that even the bartender and the stripper were listening to our feminine banter, as if drawn in by this extraordinary glimpse into the intimate world of women.

We had been speaking of moments that moved us; the real things that bind men and women and I couldn't help but think perhaps those young men were learning about what makes a real man attractive to a woman.

Everyone knew so little of the real Lachlan.  His wife sure hadn't done him any favours with them, now had she?  Even though it's unfair, people - especially men - often judge other men by the company they keep and the women they choose to share their life and their bed.  Jack and Lachlan's honour and judgment had been circumspect after the truth about their women had come to light. 

It doesn't matter that they were both wronged so terribly.  It's human nature to doubt those whose reputations have been sullied and besmirched and I relished the chance to show them all the kind of man Lachlan really was.  His wife's betrayal had wounded him so deeply.  Building him back up was one of the most private and meaningful experiences in my life.  Though I would never share part of it with anyone, I wanted to build him back up in their eyes too.  To show them what a beautiful noble man he was, not by bragging outrageously, but in the same quiet way that he'd always had. 

The moment the topic of most romantic moments came up, I knew just want I wanted to say.  Some things I have shared with him are just for us, but others.... well, I believe when you share a golden moment and it lives on in another person, the experience becomes something more.  Divide your happiness with someone else and you'll find it multiplied.  Funny, isn't it, how the simplest messages from childhood turn out to be the most apt life lessons?

I smiled at the flushed happy faces grinning at me.  I was curious about them, but I think they were curious about me as well.  My smile got softer as I began to speak.

"Our most romantic moment...."  It took a moment for me to gather myself to speak around the lump that had suddenly risen up in my throat.  Such sweet empathy was etched on their faces.  "It was a gift.  One of those quirky little things that say so very much."  They all nodded knowingly.  "A sandbox... for the baby."

I looked away as memories the words invoked overwhelmed me.  When I looked back, they were looking from one to the other, bemused.  I could see what they were thinking.  'A sandbox?  How is that romantic?'  They would know soon enough.  I blew out a soft breath.  "We met in Trouville."  At the seaside in France.   

Angelique gasped and clapped her hands.  A smattering of excited French followed.  We all laughed.  

"He took me back to the sea there for Valentine's Day."  

"The sand...."  Ann always was so very quick.

I nodded and added quietly.  "We made our daughter there."  I blushed saying it, but it was an integral part of why the gift was so very precious to me.  Lachlan is a man from a time when men do not speak as they do today.  And yet, he found a way to tell me how dear that memory was to him.  That he remembered that craggy windswept beach where we met.  That he remembered sinking into that same sand a year later, just two lovers oblivious to everything but the call of each other's heart. 

I looked up.  Heather's eyes were wet and shining.  I wondered what was in her mind and then she smiled and said, "With Aidan, it was a tree house."

Uma stroked her belly so gently.  Her answer was a simple shrug.  Nothing more.  

Ann also remained strangely quiet, but Angelique's voice rose in the soft lull following Uma's response.  "I hope for us that it's here in this magical place.... we plan to make a habit of coming back," she added, wrapping her arms around her slender middle.  We all raised a glass and drank a swallow to someday.

And then, with twinkling eyes I told them the rest of the tale.  How after he found out I was pregnant, every trip across the pond would find him in Trouville, toting home a bag of sand.  "Eleven trips in all to get enough."  They cooed with envious pleasure at the lengths he'd gone.  "I knew nothing of it until the morning he woke me with a kiss, told me to close my eyes, and carried me out of the new tiny house we'd purchased.  When he put me down outside, my feet touched sand not grass and he whispered into my ear what he'd done."

I sniffed and felt no shame for the tears on my face.  He'd told me he believed in moments.  That when you make one, it stays with you forever and then he touched my belly and told me he wanted to make the intangible tangible for me as I had done for him.  He also told me that as moments last forever, so would his love.  And he gave me a ring that day, standing there with our toes wiggling into the cool gray sand.  Just a simple circle of gold that he put in my palm and traced with his fingertip. 

And he only said one word.  

Unbroken.  

ANGELIQUE

When Faye spoke, even our young male entertainer was rapt. I believe I read in his eyes that he wished to someday find a woman who would love him with the honesty and sincerity for which Faye loves our sweet Lachlan.

Upon finishing her tale, she looked around at each woman and offered a toast. For Uma, she wished a life that would rival the richness of imperial Rome. For Heather, she gave hope that there was a world big enough to hold the boisterous hearts of her clan. For Ann, she wished that life would hold adventures and excitement in equal measure to the security of the bond she shared with Terry. For me, she wished a life as golden as Jack's hair and as fantastic as Jack's heart. For herself, she celebrated the winds that had brought her nothing but the most important thing she would ever know: the fruit of the love she shared with the finest of men.

In the wake of these tender if slurred words, we each of us gazed slowly around our table.

What women I was with this night! What journeys they had undertaken in their lives. What better proof that life holds promise if one but holds onto the love that makes your life make sense?

Our young male stripper suddenly leapt from his seat, apologizing for having gotten so wrapped up in our tales that he had fallen short of his duties.

Heather uttered a nasty and quite sexist comment about him not falling short in the most important area ... we all gaped at her ... she is such a quiet one ... but they do say, still waters hide nothing but uncharted reefs. Or perhaps that is only Jack who says such things?

Ah ha ha ha!

Our stripper turned on his stereo and one by one, he coaxed us up to dance with him. Soon, we were all on our feet, dancing and gyrating to the music ... Uma did a most indecent bump and grind that the young rascal certainly enjoyed. Ann tried to convince him to dance upon the tabletop so we might have a better view ...

But I had the better idea ... "Let's go dance under the stars," I said. "Jack always swears by sex upon the ocean and the beach is the next best thing."

"Honey, I think your mind is fixated on one thing," Heather said.

"Sex!" the others shouted.

We decided to move our little Hen Night party to the shore. Ann skipped out and arranged with the manager for a bonfire to be built for us upon the resort's sands. It did not take long to accomplish ... and within so short a time, our stripper's music was pulsing under a dark sky lit with glittering jewels above us ... and we danced around leaping flames.

And this was how I spent the evening of my wedding to Jack Aubrey. In the company of the most extraordinary of women. I had been nervous about taking this step to marry Jack ... but these days with his family has shown me that marriage will not be a fairy tale ... but it will be the best part of life.