Reuniting
Spring had returned to London. Children played in the small park near the theatre. Coaches and carts rumbled over the cobblestones. The noise and the repetition of life was welcomed by Jocelyn, odd as that would sound to others.
It was simply spectacular to know there were no more shadows. No one followed her on her errands. She could smile at strangers and shopkeepers alike, without wondering if they might see her actions as something other than courteous.
Mr. Brandon’s men, and the gentleman had more than a half dozen following his orders, had fished George’s body out of the rising river and taken Elizabeth into custody, but Jocelyn had known nothing of it, for he had rushed her off to the dower house, not permitting her to return to Shard House, for it was where a murder had occurred.
Evidently, Mr. Brandon had been following George and Elizabeth for nearly two years, both on the Continent and in England.
Brandon had initially been part of the Bow Street Runners, but now was part of the Home Office’s efforts against crime.
He had been quite surprised to find Jocelyn in an open gig, along with “Claude DuBois.” Though Mr. Brandon had already let the dower house prior to this brief sighting, viewing her with the very people he had been ordered to find and arrest had him concerned that the young woman he once knew as a child was also part of George Hampton’s and Elizabeth Fortesque’s attack on Mrs. Leonora Blanshard.
At the time, Mr. Brandon had no idea that Mrs. Marlow and Mrs. Blanshard had been childhood friends nor why the Marlows had sent their ward to Yorkshire.
They also held another connection, one she did not know until after he had returned Jocelyn to the Marlows.
Desmond had spoken to Mr. Brandon about the man following her in London, and the gentleman had explained that he had seen Jocelyn sing while attending the theatre with friends one evening, and Mr. Brandon had asked questions about her, only to learn she was the Marlows’ child.
Ironically, fate had stepped in. Desmond Marlow had explained how he had found Jocelyn on the street, and, as he and Margaret had not been able to have a child of their own, they had taken Jocelyn in.
Her history had matched with someone Anthony Brandon had known as a child.
Someone who was his playmate and for whom, when he was of age and in a position to do so, he had searched, but to no avail.
Mr. Byers had died before Anthony was old enough to ask after the man’s daughter, and no one in Kent had dared to question Byers when he was still alive, for the land steward’s grief was written heavy on his countenance.
Therefore, Desmond, believing Mr. Brandon’s tale and trusting in what could only be the truth, had given the man permission to write to Jocelyn.
Since the situation in Yorkshire, he and she had exchanged a large number of letters.
Jocelyn had learned that her father had, at one time, been a land steward on the estate in Kent owned by Mr. Brandon, the elder.
When her mother died in childbirth, Jocelyn’s father had attempted to raise Jocelyn on his own, but he never recovered from his loss.
His wife, Jocelyn’s mother, had always loved the theatre, and Mr. Byers wanted the same for his daughter.
Both her parents were buried in the churchyard bordering the Brandon family estate.
Ironically, Anthony Brandon and Jocelyn Byers had played together as children.
Jocelyn sighed heavily, finally satisfied with her life.
She had a history. The holes had been filled in, and, though things were not perfect, she had a friend, someone outside the theatre.
She smiled often now. She had been wanted by her own parents and held the love of the Marlows. She knew she should be satisfied, but…
A door opened from a nearby shop and Anthony Brandon stepped out onto the wooden walkway.
“Mr. Bran… Brandon,” she stammered before belatedly curtsying.
Slowly, he arched one dark brow, and a grin spread across his lips. “Just the person I had hoped to encounter.”
“If you wished to encounter me, why are you nearly a mile from the theatre?” she asked suspiciously.
“Perhaps it was you who did not wish to see me on this day or…” he paused, “maybe you were following me,” he accused with a grin.
“You know I was not!”
“Why are you blushing?” he asked with another wickedly pleasant smile. “In my investigations, that’s a sign of guilt.”
Frustrated, Jocelyn started away, but he caught her arm. “Wait, Miss Byers. Let us walk in the park instead.” Before she could agree, he tucked her hand about his arm and led her along the street. “I have missed you, Miss Byers. Now, it is time for you to say something similar to me.”
“Why should I?” she asked defiantly.
He chuckled once more. Obviously, he knew she raced to the door every time the post arrived at the music hall. For weeks, she had hoped for just such a meeting.
He spoke, at last. “I held a conversation with the Marlows earlier today. They believe you no longer wish to perform at the theatre. That you might be satisfied to teach music to children, especially your own children.”
“How are my children any concern of yours?” she retorted.
“I have spoken to my father and told him I am of the persuasion of spending more time learning something of the estate I am to inherit. To no longer chase England’s criminals across the countryside.
I thought you might be satisfied to teach music to those in the village outside my father’s estate or better yet, to your children. Rather, I mean, our children.”
Jocelyn stumbled to a halt to look up at him. “Mr. Brandon, are you… are you… asking me… to be your wife?”
He grinned widely, making him more boyish looking.
“The Marlows have given me their permission to speak my wishes. My parents are excited with my choice, for they were always quite fond of your parents. I simply require your agreement to court you properly, Miss Byers. Though you likely do not recall it, I proposed to you when you were not quite five, and I was eight. You agreed then.”
Jocelyn’s breath caught in her throat and her words were nowhere to be found. Therefore, she rose up on her toes and offered him a silent agreement. Immediately, his mouth met hers. London streamed around them, but they ignored the complaints and the jeers.
“Am I to take that as your consent, Miss Byers?” he whispered when they came up for air.
“I would like to see Kent again, Mr. Brandon, but through your eyes. I would enjoy renewing my ties to you and your family. I would be proud to be your wife.”
The End