A Heart for the Taking

by Shirlee Busbee

  The trip passed swiftly, and to Fancy’s surprise it seemed no time at all, instead of several hours, when they eventually left the forest behind and rode into the openness of the cleared fields on the outskirts of Walker Ridge. The sun was high in the sky by now, and Fancy had long ago taken off the blue woolen cloak with which she had started the journey. She had never been much of a horsewoman, and as the main house of Walker Ridge came into view, she admitted to herself that it was a most welcome sight.

  Lifting her down from the sidesaddle in which she had ridden, Chance smiled slightly and caught her when she half stumbled as her feet touched the ground. “Not used to so many hours in the saddle, are you, Duchess?”

  “No, but I shall soon be a most superior horsewoman, you shall see,” Fancy said loftily, her eyes gleaming with laughter.

  Chance bussed her on the nose, wondering how he could have been so lucky to have found her—and to have her love him.

  Walking up the broad steps of the house, Chance murmured, “They are going to be quite surprised to see us.”

  Fancy nodded. “I know. Which is why I think ’tis such a good notion that we tell as much of the truth as we can.”

  On that point he and Fancy had been in total agreement. They would tell everything about the previous morning’s attack by the Thackers, even the fact that Udell had admitted to being hired by someone to kill Chance. The only detail they would omit would be their suspicions about Jonathan’s part in the murderous attempt.

  Upon their entrance into the house, they had been ushered immediately into the small, comfortable parlor at the rear of the house, where Sam and Letty had been sitting. Greeting them with a wide smile and a fierce, bear-like hug that caught Chance by surprise, Sam seemed especially pleased to see them. Startled by Sam’s unexpectedly affectionate hug, after the first flurry of greetings and exclamations had died down, Chance instantly became aware of an odd feeling in the air. There was something definitely peculiar about the way Sam and Letty were acting.

  Some minutes later, once he and Fancy had both been seated and offered some refreshments, Chance was further nonplussed when he happened to glance over at Letty and caught her staring at him with an expression of such bemused delight and deep emotion that he was thoroughly mystified. What the devil was going on here?

  Sam could have explained it to him, but he was still reeling from the ecstatic knowledge that Chance Walker was truly his and Letty’s only child. And he would be forever grateful to Annie Clemmons for finally telling the truth about the tragic night Chance had been born. When she had arrived on Wednesday with Hugh and Ellen, Annie had barely stepped into the house before she had sought out a private interview with Sam. That interview had confirmed all that he had suspected. Annie’s quiet, hesitant words had filled him with such happiness, such blinding joy, that he found himself feeling pity for her rather than anger.

  His emotions toward his stepmother were not so generous. In the forty-eight hours that had passed since Sam had learned the truth, he could hardly bring himself to look at Constance, much less converse politely with her. Letty, upon being told by Sam what Annie had revealed, had been torn between dizzying rapture at Chance’s identity and utter fury at the black crime Constance had committed. Like her husband, she had avoided her stepmother-in-law, not certain she could be in the same room with Constance without attacking her. The aloofness of the elder Walkers had not been so noticeable while Hugh and Ellen had been there, but they had left early Thursday for Hugh’s home, and since then a definite chill had permeated the house.

  Constance was not a stupid woman. She had sensed the change in Letty and Sam almost immediately. Discovering that Annie had returned home without warning and was currently ensconced in one of the suites in the house, she quickly surmised what had transpired. She had beat a strategic retreat to her quarters. Constance had hoped that she was being unduly apprehensive, but when her attempts to talk privately with Annie were firmly rebuffed, she knew that her worst fears had been realized. A frantic note to Jonathan had brought the return message from his secretary that Mr. Jonathan had gone to visit friends for a few days and wasn’t expected back until Sunday or Monday.

  The atmosphere since Annie’s return had been a curious mixture of tenseness and quiet joy. Sam and Letty were delightedly hugging to themselves the knowledge that Chance was their son, eagerly contemplating the time when not only they but the whole world would know his parentage.

  Constance’s fate presented them with hardly any concern. She would likely return to England to live out her days once the scandal became public. There was no way, they both admitted, that the truth could be wrapped in clean linen—or that she could remain at Walker Ridge. It was Chance and how he would be affected by the revelations that consumed all their energies.

  Once Annie’s tale had been told, it had been almost impossible for Sam and Letty not to leave immediately for Devil’s Own, but they had restrained themselves. They believed Annie’s words implicitly, but would Chance? And how would he feel to discover that they were his parents? Would he be pleased? Dismayed? They viewed his unexpected arrival at Walker Ridge as a wonderful stroke of good fortune, and their joy at seeing him was nearly palpable.

  Even Fancy noticed the unusual degree of warmth that seemed to emanate from Sam and Letty, but she convinced herself it was because she was so in love with Chance that she just naturally assumed everyone else found him so utterly charming. She was, she decided with a dreamy little smile on her lips, absolutely besotted with the wicked and oh so dear blue-eyed wretch.

  The conversation among the four of them was desultory for several minutes before Chance was able to bring up the reason for their sudden arrival. Sam and Letty heard him out as he explained the attack by the Thackers, Letty’s face paling, Sam’s fists clenching at his sides.

  When Chance finished speaking, Sam asked abruptly, “They did not name the man who hired them?” Chance shook his dark head. “No, sir, but I believe I know who it may have been.”

  Sam nodded grimly. “Jonathan, of course.”

  Chance and Fancy both looked startled. A frown between his brows, Chance asked, “I know why Jonathan is my choice, but why is he yours, sir?”

  Sam and Letty exchanged glances. A tremulous little smile on her lips, Letty said, “We must tell him, Sam. I want him to know.” She gave a surprisingly girlish laugh. “In fact, I cannot wait for him to know.”

  Sam was seated next to Letty on a straw satin-covered settee, and he picked up her slim, wrinkled hand and kissed it lightly. “As you wish, madame,” he murmured. “When have I ever been able to deny you anything?”

  Letty tapped him smartly on the sleeve. “None of that now— tell him.”

  Chance and Fancy were on the opposite side of the small room from the older couple, Chance standing behind Fancy’s chair, one sun-browned hand lying possessively on her shoulder. They both looked mystified by the exchange, and seeing their expressions, Sam smiled faintly. “I am sure you are wondering why we are acting so strangely. If you will bear with me, I have a tale to tell you that will explain all,” he began slowly. “A tale that begins over thirty years ago. In fact,” he said carefully, his gaze boring into Chance’s blue eyes, “it begins on the night of your birth.”

  Chance and Fancy listened spellbound as Sam revealed all that he and Letty had so recently learned. Everything from Morely’s years of silence, to Sam’s perusal of the old account books, to Annie’s confession just two days ago.

  When Sam’s voice died away and silence fell, Chance looked dazed. “Are you saying,” he finally got out as he looked from one to the other, “that I am your son? Your legitimate child? A twin?”

  Smiling mistily at him, Letty nodded vigorously. “Yes. Oh, Chance, is it not wonderful? You are our son.”

  A multitude of emotions exploded in Chance’s chest. Amazement, anger, regret, wariness, hope. And last, a burgeoning joy. “Are you positive?” he said at last. “Certain that I am indeed your son?”<
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  Sam nodded slowly. “I tried as much to disprove your identity as I did to prove it. And do not forget, we have two people, Morely and Annie, whose stories, when combined, mesh completely.” A twinkle lit his eyes. “And of course, there are the toes!” His voice hardening, he added, “There is no doubt that Constance tried that night to get rid of Letty’s living twin—you. And only”—Sam smiled wryly—“ because of chance you are alive today. If Annie had followed Constance’s orders, or if Morely had not come along—this story would have a very different ending.”

  Her face full of yearning and sudden uncertainty, Letty gazed at Chance. “Does it displease you,” she asked almost timidly, “to discover that we are your parents?”

  Chance stared at her. “Displease me?” he repeated in a strangled tone. “I am overwhelmed. I do not know whether to find Morely and knock his teeth down his throat or pick you up in my arms and dance around the room with joy.”

  Letty’s eyes glowed. “I know which one I would prefer . . . son.”

  In one stride Chance was across the room, and dropping lithely to one knee, he bent his head and kissed his mother’s hands. In a choked voice, he managed, “I always wondered who my mother might be and why she never wanted me. Now I can only thank God that we are together at last.”

  Letty nodded slowly and lifted a trembling hand to caress his dark, tumbled hair. “At last,” she said softly, tears coursing down her cheeks. “At long last.”

  It was a deeply emotional moment, and Fancy felt a lump grow in her throat. When Chance stood and his father embraced him, she had to blink furiously to keep her happy tears at bay. Holding Chance tightly to him, Sam murmured over and over again, “My son. My son. My son.”

  Several minutes passed before anyone in the room was capable of coherent conversation. Then, as if a dam had broken, there was a torrent of words as the four of them sought to assimilate and understand the wonderful event that had just transpired. There were questions aplenty, but there were answers, too, answers that explained so many things.

  Shaking his dark head, Chance said for perhaps the hundredth time, “That Morely! Keeping such a secret to himself all these years. I may still knock his teeth down his throat.”

  “Well, I for one,” Sam said easily, “am willing to forgive him much for finally having spoken. It took courage to admit what he had done after all this time.” He shot Chance a look. “He could have kept his tongue between his teeth, you know.”

  Chance grimaced. “I know. It is just ...” He shook his head. “I just find it hard to believe that I am your son and that Morely knew, or at least suspected it, right from the beginning and yet said nothing.”

  Thinking of her own babe growing in her womb, Fancy added tartly, “I think your wrath should be directed at Constance. She is the one who set the situation in motion, not Morely. To my eyes, he is a hero.” She looked speakingly at Chance. “He saved your life. And he did his best to ensure that you were with your parents, even if none of you realized it.”

  “I stand corrected, Duchess,” Chance replied lightly. “Morely is a saint.”

  “Not a saint, perhaps,” Letty said fairly, “but certainly not a villain.”

  “No, not a villain,” Chance muttered. “That title we can save for Jonathan and his mother.” From beneath his brows he glanced across at his father. “Does Jonathan know the truth?”

  Sam nodded slowly. “From what Annie said, indeed he does.” He sighed heavily. “I have been worried about you since Annie admitted that Jonathan knew the truth. But until you told me about the attack by the Thackers, I never really believed that he would stoop to naked murder. Otherwise, I would have warned you of the danger.”

  “But what do we do now?” Fancy demanded. “We have no proof that he hired the Thackers.”

  “We do not need proof,” said Sam. “Once Chance’s identity is made public, Jonathan’s reasons for wishing him dead are gone.”

  Chance snorted. “Jonathan has hated me for years, and that was before he learned who I really am.”

  Letty’s lovely blue-gray eyes full of fear, she asked agitatedly, “What are we going to do? We cannot let him harm Chance.”

  A smile flitted across Chance’s dark face. “Mother,” he said slowly, savoring the word, “I think you should worry more of what I might do to Jonathan than what he might do to me.”

  Letty flushed with pleasure at hearing the word “Mother” for the first time from her son’s lips, but she insisted worriedly, “Jonathan is not to be trifled with. If he did hire the Thackers—and there is no doubt in our minds that he did— who knows what sort of wicked villainy he might undertake?”

  “The only real protection for Chance is for the truth to be made public as soon as possible,” Sam said quietly. “Jonathan is not stupid. Once the world knows that Chance is our son, he would be aware that if anything untoward were to happen to Chance, he would be the first and primary suspect.”

  “Short of putting a sign around my neck and parading me through the colony, I do not see how that can be swiftly accomplished, sir,” Chance replied dryly.

  Sam smiled whimsically at him. “Could you not call me Father?”

  Chance grinned. “Indeed I can ... Father. And it gives me great pleasure to do so.”

  “Our son is right, you know,” Letty said softly. “We know the truth, but how are we to let the world know?”

  “I have already taken some steps to do just that,” Sam admitted. “I had Annie write down precisely what happened the night Chance was born. Before Hugh left, I had him and my secretary witness her signature on the document. Neither of them knows what was contained therein, but that document, along with a letter from me, revealing all that I have learned, is currently on its way to Williamsburg and our family attorney.” He looked a little guilty. “I did not swear him to silence.”

  “Sam, you didn’t,” Letty exclaimed. “When we had not even told Chance?”

  “I know, I know. It was hasty of me, but I wanted the truth to come out as soon as possible, and I assumed that before any word could trickle back here, we would have seen Chance and explained.” He glanced over at Chance. “Do you mind?”

  Chance shook his head. “Indeed not. It is precisely what I would have done.”

  Fancy smiled across at Letty. “They are very alike, are they not?”

  “I have always thought so,” Letty said, her eyes traveling caressingly from one man to the other.

  Dinner that evening was a merry occasion, a joyous celebration, and while they all knew that there was going to be one almighty scandal and unpleasant days ahead when the truth came out, for the moment they simply treasured this intimate time together. After they had eaten, the ladies, both of them exhausted by the events of the day, sought out their own rooms, while Sam eagerly led Chance off to his office to discuss how they were going to handle the affair and the more practical business of Chance taking his place as the rightful heir to Walker Ridge and the vast, far-flung Walker fortune. It was easily decided between them that Jonathan’s portion, which had come to him from his father, would be immediately and completely split off from Sam’s estates. As Sam’s son, Chance would one day be the master of Walker Ridge and in control of the majority of the Walker wealth.

  It was a rather dazed and bemused Chance who eventually joined Fancy in their rooms. She was waiting for him in bed, and he shed his clothes and joined her. After settling her comfortably in the crook of his arm, he muttered, “Well, Duchess, it would seem that you made a much better marriage than you ever knew.”

  Demurely Fancy said, “Perhaps now that you have discovered that you are the heir to the Walker fortune, it is you who regrets our marriage. After all, what is a mere baroness to a Walker of Walker Ridge? Just think: if you had waited, you might have been able to marry a true Duchess.”

  Shifting her so that he was looking down into her smiling face, he said huskily, “You are the only Duchess I shall ever want. You are my life, and fortune or no, I wo
uld still want you for my wife. Only you, my own sweet, tart-tongued little Duchess.” He kissed her, and Fancy promptly forgot about everything but the delight of her husband’s ardent embrace.

  * * *

  The interview the next morning with Constance in Sam’s office was most unpleasant. She tried to deny everything, casting vile aspersions on both Morely and Annie. But in the end, staring into Sam’s and Chance’s implacable features, she realized that she was beaten, that she had lost. The truth was already on its way to Williamsburg, and there was nothing she could do about it but accept defeat and retire from the field.

  But she refused to be completely cowed. Her lips tight and grim, she demanded, “And what do you intend to do with me? Lock me in my room? Pretend I do not exist? You cannot bring charges against me—you have your precious son. All I did was deny you his whining youth.”

  “I believe,” Sam said levelly, hiding his distaste, “that you should immediately consider taking a trip to England. I am sure that you can find some pleasant village in which to settle. I shall, of course, make certain that you receive all the monies that you are entitled to under my father’s will.”

  Her face went white. “You are banishing me? Sending me away from Walker Ridge?”

  Gently Sam said, “Would you prefer to stay and face the scandal? Have your former friends stare at you in horror when they learn what you did?”

  She closed her eyes in anguish. No. Of course not. That was unthinkable. Sam’s suggestion was the only solution. In a colorless voice she said, “Very well. I shall go to England. Immediately.” Glaring at Sam, she asked, “What about Jonathan?”

  “You need not worry about your son. He shall have all that he is entitled to under our father’s will.” Sam smiled coolly. “Everything else shall go to my own son, Chance.”

  Her hands clenching in impotent fury, Constance shot a venomous look at Chance, who stood silently beside his father. Her lip curled. “Do you really think that this backwoods jackanapes will be able to usurp my son’s position here in the Colonies?”