A Heart for the Taking

by Shirlee Busbee

  Morely looked alarmed. “Now, Chance, you would not be thinking of . . .”

  A lethal gleam in his cobalt blue eyes, Chance glanced at the older man. “Of what? Of giving Jonathan a taste of his own medicine? You cannot deny that it would be fitting.”

  Morely blanched. “Chance, you cannot. I know what happened with Jenny was tragic, and God knows that I do not condone Jonathan’s part in it, but you must put these thoughts of vengeance from your mind.” A look of sadness crossed his face. “You cannot continue to torture yourself over what you cannot change or punish yourself for decisions that were made long ago. Let the past go—if you do not, it will destroy you, my boy.”

  As it nearly did me, Morely thought heavily. It cut through him painfully, the bitter knowledge that through cowardice and vacillation he had never told anyone how he had come to arrive at Andrew’s home with a baby in his arms. The knowledge, too, that Sam and Letty were growing older, and that he himself was no longer a young man, filled him with a gnawing urgency. That and the fact that last winter he had suffered a debilitating inflammation of the lung that had left him weak and bedridden for several long, terrifying weeks and had brought home the fact of his own mortality. If he did not speak, and soon, Chance’s history might die with him.

  Ignoring Morely’s heartfelt advice, Chance said flatly, “If I can destroy Jonathan Walker in the process, my own damnation will be worth it.”

  “Father is right,” Hugh murmured. “I know you still mourn her, but Jenny has been dead seven years now. And while it would give me great pleasure to see Jonathan Walker get his comeuppance, I would not want to see it at cost to yourself.”

  Chance snorted. “So we are all to just pretend that he didn’t seduce my wife, my bride of not even two years? Or get her with child and then coldly abandon her to face me alone upon my return from England? We are to forget that sweet, terrified Jenny didn’t hang herself just hours before I arrived home? We are to forget that after being away for nearly eight months, eight very long months, I might add, I came home to find my beloved wife dishonored and dead?” Chance’s eyes went almost black with suppressed rage. “Jonathan Walker killed her as surely as if he had hanged her himself.”

  “There was never any proof,” Morely muttered. “Just because he called frequently at your home while you were gone—several neighbors and friends did the same, you must remember—or because a few gossipy old cats claimed to have seen them riding together about the countryside does not mean that he was her lover.”

  Chance flashed him a look. “Do you doubt the identity of her seducer? Do you think even for one moment that it was anyone else?” Staring blindly at his tankard, he said heavily, “Everyone knows that before Jenny fell in love with me, her father and Sam were considering a match between her and Jonathan. Just as everyone knows that Jonathan was furious when Jenny and I married and that he has always hated me.”

  Hugh shrugged. “That may be, but if you feel so strongly about it—after Jenny was buried, why did you not simply call him out and kill him and be done with it?”

  A smile that sent a shiver down Hugh’s spine curved Chance’s mouth. “Kill him?” he drawled softly. “Oh no, I have no desire to kill Jonathan Walker—I only want to take something very precious from him . . . something he prizes highly. I do not want him dead, Hugh, I want him to live a long life, a very long life, aching and hurting, full of bitter regret and pining every day for that which he has lost.” Chance’s gaze narrowed. “And who knows. Perhaps this baroness of his will give me the weapon I have long searched for. . . .”

  Chapter Three

  Fancy was glad to leave Richmond behind. When the Walker party finally departed on Thursday, after four days of being paraded through the town like a trophy by Constance, she was more than eager to leave. And if she were introduced by Constance just once more as “my friend the baroness, Lady Merrivale,” she was going to do her hostess a violence. While she was the baroness, technically the dowager baroness, there was something so smug, so unhealthy, about the way Jonathan’s mother lingered over her title that Fancy was repelled.

  It wasn’t just the harping on her title that bothered her, either: both Jonathan and his mother seemed to be totally preoccupied with her, not Ellen. Ellen, she had noticed with growing dismay, was always introduced almost as an afterthought. She was also deeply troubled that the possibility of a marriage between the two families seemed to be common knowledge and, worse, that she was the prospective bride!

  The expression of bewildered hurt in Ellen’s eyes tore at Fancy’s heart. Determined to discover just what sort of game Jonathan was playing, on the eve of their departure for Walker Ridge, she had sought him out. Finding him alone in one of the private sitting rooms, a militant sparkle in her fine eyes, she had shut the door firmly behind her and said bluntly, “I find myself in an awkward position. . . . I fear that I must know precisely what your intentions are toward my sister.”

  “My intentions toward Ellen?” he asked slowly. A faint smile curved his mouth as he put down his newspaper. He crossed the room and reached for Fancy’s hand. Dropping a brief kiss on the back of it, he said softly, “My intentions toward your sister are precisely the same as they were in England. Why do you ask? Is something amiss?”

  Fancy searched his face. He seemed perfectly sincere. She would have sworn that those blue eyes were guileless and that his face wore only an expression of polite interest. So why did she doubt him? Biting her lip, she slipped her hand from his, unconsciously scrubbing at the spot where his lips had touched her skin. What did she do now? she wondered vexedly. She could hardly take him to task because he did not appear to be paying as much attention to Ellen as she thought appropriate. She felt deucedly awkward putting into words her feeling that he and his mother were deliberately misleading everyone about which of the two Merrivale sisters might become his bride. And she couldn’t very well complain about the way his mother tossed her title about to all and sundry, either. It would seem petty and, well, rude.

  Sighing, Fancy muttered, “I just wanted to be certain.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “If you have changed your mind, I would appreciate it if you told me now before we leave Richmond. It will be very awkward for all of us if you were to discover at Walker Ridge that you had made a mistake in your affections.”

  “I can assure you that my feelings have not changed. And if they do,” he murmured, “you shall be the first to know of it.” A quizzical expression on his face, he asked, “I do not know what you are worried about, my dear. After all, was that not the entire purpose of your visit to my home, for Ellen and me to have a chance to know our hearts? Was that not precisely the reason that there has been no formal announcement . . . nor any actual betrothal? If I remember correctly, it was understood that either of us could change our minds.”

  Fancy frowned. Of course he was right. That was exactly why she and Ellen were in the Colonies—and he had just stated that his feelings for Ellen had not changed. She should have been totally reassured, but she wasn’t. Feeling no more at ease than she had before she had spoken to Jonathan, Fancy bade him good evening and departed.

  Jonathan stared consideringly after Fancy, deciding grimly that he was going to have to tread more carefully—the baroness was far more astute than he had initially thought. If she suspicioned that she was his ultimate quarry, she would immediately whisk herself and Ellen away on the first ship sailing to England, leaving him without any bride.

  Marriage had never been of particular interest to Jonathan, but he had always known that someday he would have need of a wife, if only to breed him sons. His problem these days was that it had become increasingly apparent to him that the generous allowance he had inherited under his father’s will was not sufficient for his needs. He had a passion for gaming, and over the years, from time to time, he’d had some particularly bad luck such as the night he had lost those thousands of acres to Chance. His losses, however, did not deter him; if anything, they increased hi
s compulsion for wagering large, very large, sums on the turn of a card, the speed of a horse, or a roll of the dice.

  Sam had settled his enormous gambling debts several times, but his older brother had made it clear the previous spring that he had done it for the last time—and Jonathan was going to have to learn to live within his means. Which was when Jonathan had begun to consider other ways to increase his command of ready money. Controlling his gaming habits never occurred to him. Some highly dubious schemes and marriage did.

  He had no real need of an heiress, but he did need to marry. His father’s will had left the bulk of the estate in Sam’s capable hands, including management of his portion of the Walker fortune, but there was a provision for a substantial settlement when he married. Despite a degree of reluctance, Jonathan had concluded that marriage was a simple and logical solution to his problem. After casting a critical eye over the available damsels in the colony, Jonathan had decided that a trip to England was in order. Not only would England give him a wider scope in which to search for a bride worthy of him, but it would also allow him to further along a scheme he had hit upon to increase his revenue.

  Thinking of the muskets and shot safely hidden under the layers of legitimate goods, iron axes, knives, and trinkets for trading with the Indians that had come on the ship from England with him, Jonathan smiled. Those muskets would bring him a huge profit, especially since there was already trouble in the Ohio Valley. The savages would be willing to trade exorbitant amounts of pelts for those muskets.

  His smile widened. Of course, no one would ever connect him with such a nefarious, deplorable practice as arming the savages. He was a Walker. But not being a fool, he had also taken the precaution of having nothing directly to do with it. His man, Simmons, had arranged it all; he had merely provided the money. And if, by chance, he was connected to the sale of arms to the Indians, well then, he could depend upon his staid older brother to move heaven and hearth to protect the Walker name from scandal.

  A discreet tap on the door interrupted his musings, and at his command, Simmons walked into the room. Jonathan quirked a brow at him.

  His dark face giving nothing away, Simmons bowed and murmured, “The arrangements have been made. The Thackers will rendezvous with me near Green Springs.”

  “They know that you will be following closely behind my party?”

  Simmons nodded. “Yes. They think that I am doing this on my own, and they understand that under no circumstance are they to show themselves to your party, that our meeting must be completely secret.”

  Jonathan rubbed his chin. “Are you certain that they can be trusted? Their reputation is not, ah, commendable.”

  Simmons smiled coolly. “They are distantly related to me, and while they are knaves and scoundrels, they have a strong belief in the blood tie. They will not cheat me.”

  “And you will not cheat me, will you?” Jonathan asked silkily.

  “Since you can have me hanged if you decide to tell what you know about me, I rather doubt that shall happen.”

  Jonathan chuckled. “My dear fellow, I confess that you are a perfect tool, and as long as you obey me, I see no reason to speak of the disappearance of your previous employer.”

  His black eyes inscrutable, Simmons asked quietly, “Does it not worry you that someday I may rebel and make you disappear as well?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “No. You see, I know what you are capable of. Poor Ned Jenkins did not, and it was just your bad luck that I stumbled across you attempting to hide his body that night.” Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. “And of course we both know of the letter I’ve given to my solicitor in Williamsburg which is to be opened immediately should something untoward happen to me.” Rising to his feet, Jonathan clapped his valet on the shoulder. “But let us not talk of unpleasantness. Let us think of all the filthy lucre which will be ours when the Thackers return next spring from trading with the Indians.”

  * * *

  Fancy woke cross and out of sorts the next morning, but by the time they pulled away from the tavern just at daybreak, she had managed to push aside her misgivings and looked forward to the next phase of their journey.

  It was quite a large party that made up the Walker contingent. In addition to the Walkers and Merrivales, there were a dozen slaves and three indentured servants who accompanied them, as well as several wagons—household goods and supplies that had been purchased in town. Simmons, busy with some errands for Jonathan, was going to follow them later, and it was planned for him to overtake them before they had traveled very many days.

  The three women rode in an excellently sprung carriage, while the two gentlemen rode astride, Jonathan on a restive bay gelding, Sam atop a quiet chestnut mare. Uneasily Fancy noted that both gentlemen and the indentured servants were armed with long black rifles, and Jonathan and Sam each also wore a brace of pistols across their chests. The tales of treachery and danger in the wilderness that Jonathan had told her, of people who disappeared, of murdered husbands and raped wives and stolen goods and horses, suddenly took on a more personal meaning for Fancy.

  Depending on the weather, the condition of the roads, what roads there were, and the state of the various rivers and streams they had to cross, the journey to Walker Ridge would take several days. Fancy was looking forward to her first taste of frontier living, as it were. She knew, from all the supplies and servants, that it wasn’t going to be true frontier living, but it would be like nothing she and Ellen had ever experienced in their lives.

  They soon left Richmond behind, and as the miles gradually passed, signs of settlement became fewer and fewer. By the time they stopped that first evening by a cheerful stream, Fancy had seen no sign of habitation for more than five or six hours.

  Glad to escape the confines of the carriage, she and Ellen wandered about the camp, watching interestedly as tents were set up and fires were lit. The swarming, buzzing insects eventually drove them to take shelter in one of the newly erected tents. Sam had warned them not to wander far from camp and to watch where they stepped—copperheads and rattlesnakes were not uncommon. From the safety of their tent, the sisters stared at the green gloom of the forest that seem to close in on them as darkness fell and decided that they would have no trouble at all obeying Sam’s words.

  By the time they had been on the road for five days, Fancy’s enchantment with camping out under the stars had faded somewhat, but she and Ellen were of good spirits. The journey and its attendant discomforts, as well as its simple pleasures, were a thrilling adventure for a pair of gently reared Englishwomen, and they were reveling in every moment of it.

  Fancy had been enjoyably surprised by Constance as they had continued on their journey. Away from town, she had dropped her affected airs and become much more likable. During the long hours in the carriage, she gaily regaled them with tales of life at Walker Ridge. When those were exhausted, well then, it was time for Ellen and Fancy to talk of London. Constance was hungry for news of the latest fashions, the theater, and any bit of delicious scandal the Merrivales might have been privy to. She took such simple delight in the few scraps Fancy could give her that Fancy had to smile. Perhaps Jonathan’s mother wasn’t quite the social-climbing harridan she had first appeared.

  To Fancy’s quiet pleasure, she noticed that both Jonathan and his mother doted on Ellen. In the evenings, Jonathan took Ellen for walks along the creek banks. When they returned, Fancy noticed that frequently there was a starry-eyed expression on her sister’s pretty face. The knot of uncertainty that had been in her chest lessened gradually, and Fancy decided that she really must have been just overwrought from the long sea journey to have thought that there was anything amiss in Jonathan’s actions toward her sister. Just an odd humor, she conceded wryly as she prepared for bed that evening, only half listening to Ellen’s happy prattle about Jonathan. But just before she drifted off to sleep, the unpleasant thought occurred to Fancy that the change of manner by Jonathan and Constance might only be because there was
no one else around for them to impress. . . . She made a face. What a wicked creature she was!

  The next day dawned bright and clear. The heat, even when they broke camp at seven o’clock in the morning, was already oppressive, the air muggy and cloying. After helping Fancy into the carriage, Sam cast his eyes skyward and said, “Not a sign of a cloud, but I would not be surprised to find ourselves in a thunderstorm before evening.”

  Constance gave a heavy sigh. “Oh, dear. If it rains very much, the trail will turn into a quagmire. I only hope that you are mistaken, Sam, or that the storm holds off until we have made camp for the evening—even if we have to stop early.”

  Sam’s prediction proved true. By four o’clock that afternoon the rain had been falling steadily for forty-five minutes, the sky lit by brilliant flashes of lightning, thunder booming frighteningly close, and the narrow trail they were following was turning into a morass of mud.

  Water dripping from his hat, Jonathan finally pulled his horse alongside the carriage and, leaning down to the window, said, “Green Springs and good grazing for the animals is just a mile or two ahead. Rather than struggle on, we shall camp there tonight and give the storm a chance to move on.” He smiled. “And the trail a chance to dry out.”

  The simple yellow dimity gown she had chosen to wear that day clinging uncomfortably to her skin, Fancy was very glad when the springs were reached and her tent was erected and she could leave the confines of the carriage. The storm had passed, and a short while later the slaves were busily preparing the evening meal. Constance was in her tent overseeing the setting up of her bed for the night, while Jonathan and Sam were inspecting their various goods to see that they had suffered no damage from the rain. Fancy and Ellen carefully made their way into the privacy of the forests. The necessity of relieving herself behind the nearest bush was one part of traveling in the Colonies that Fancy would be very happy to put behind her, thank you very much!