The Defiant Duchess

by Kari August

  “What are doing, Mags?” Dickie frowned.

  “Teaching myself how to cook.” She turned around. “I’m making chocolate fudge.”

  “For what purpose? We have to leave. God has been waiting long enough for you.”

  She ignored him and went to the kitchen desk. “Ned, here are three estimates for work on the fence I obtained.” She handed him some papers. “I have also arranged for the prairie foundation to come here in a few weeks to give us some advice on our pastures. But the tax assessor only wants to speak to one of the new owners of the property so you will have to call him. Here is his number.” She gave him another slip of paper. “Though I suspect he mainly has a problem because I am a woman. I ran into that kind of thing in my day.”

  Ned smiled. “Wow, Mags. This is really impressive.”

  “Thank you.” She grinned back. “I’ve always liked to administer efficiently,” she elaborated.

  But Dickie scowled. “Don’t encourage her, Ned. I insist that we leave immediately, Mags.”

  She shook her head. “I have important work to finish here first.”

  Dickie blew out a breath. “Like what?”

  “As I told you, I want to build my reputation.”

  Dickie raised his hands. “By making fudge?”

  “No, Lindsey is now planning a Margaret of Burgundy clothing collection, and I am officially a design coordinator—she gave me the title herself.”

  Dickie scoffed, “That’s ridiculous. Does she realize that you spent as little time as possible embroidering and sewing? Even though—I might say—most women did seem to, instead of involving themselves in governing a country which were obviously men’s affairs—”

  Mags glared. “That has nothing to do with it, as you must surely recognize.” She raised her head imperially then. “Peasants will sew our clothing while we direct.”

  Ned tried to interpose a moment. “Uh, Mags? You might not want to call all the earnest workers peasants—”

  “You are not helping, Ned!” Dickie looked daggers at him again.

  Ned resolved once again that he should stay out of it and got up to sample some of the fudge. He scooped a spoon into the soft mixture at the stove. “Mmm. This is really great. How’d you learn how to make it?”

  Mags smiled proudly. “I did the Internet. Everything is on it.”

  But Dickie was after her again. “Lindsey can manage the clothing line herself the same way I let Lindsey and Ned do my Richard III society while I am in heaven.” He looked at Ned. “Incidentally, how is that coming along?”

  Ned swallowed. “Uh, fine. The old farts still think you did away with your nephews to obtain your crown, but there is a whole group of scholarly people who realize you did not.”

  “Is the world still performing the play ‘Richard III’ written by that incompetent? What was his name? Oh, yes. Shakespeare. He’s just lucky I haven’t run into him yet.”

  “Now, Dickie. We’ve been over this. He’s still considered one of the best writers—”

  “That reminds me. I have some further news.” Mags was smiling self-importantly still.

  “What now?” Dickie asked sarcastically.

  “I am writing my memoirs. I am officially also an author.”

  “Ah, ha!” Dickie stood. “Yet another thing that can be done by someone else while you scurry back to heaven.”

  “Oh, no.” Mags frowned. “There are too many nuances to my complicated life story to leave to another. You’re not the only one, Dickie, who has the Tudors to thank for a corrupted historical legacy.”

  Dickie shook his head, sagely and slowly. “Look, Mags. I hate to break it to you yet again, but nobody wants to read about a woman. Men are the only ones who make interesting history.”

  As a history buff, Ned knew that there was some unfortunate truth to what Dickie had just said. Either people did not want to read about historical women or else writers did not want to write about them because the books about historical male figures far surpassed the women. And that had been the situation for centuries so that the information one could obtain about women was less available also.

  Mags was undeterred. “Well, I plan to change all that.”

  “Well, I have a reason above all else why you have to leave NOW,” Dickie intoned loudly.

  Mags crossed her arms. “What now?”

  “God is undoubtedly getting angry with you. Not only are you coming up with faux reasons why you should stay, but you are acting as if you do not even desire to reappear. And God made it very plain that he expected you to want to return—”

  “I don’t want to return,” Mags finally admitted, looking a bit uncomfortable yet also defiant.

  Dickie sat down again, this time astounded and gaping.

  “At least not yet.,” she qualified. “I have my reasons. . . .”

  Dickie stood again. “And I’m not heeding them. In fact, as the reigning male for our family on this planet, I am commanding you—”

  “Uh, Dickie?” Ned tried again. “Remember Mags has been spending a lot of time with Linds lately. And I can just imagine what Linds would think about you—”

  Dickie turned toward him. “NOT HELPING!”

  Ned dropped the spoon and gave up. He walked out onto the back patio, and closed the glass doors, hoping not to make out any more of their conversation.

  But the problem was that by now the siblings were both so heated that he couldn’t help but catch some of what they were saying. Things like “You have to obey!” to “I’ve learned from my modern friends . . .” “Those female troublemakers . . .” “Who could teach you a thing . . .” “We’re leaving . . .” Then, oh, no. Was Mags crying?

  Ned remained perfectly still, trying to discern what was going on.

  A door suddenly slammed.

  Then . . . Oh, no. OH, NO!

  A car was starting up in the driveway. Good God, neither of them knew how to drive.

  Ned tore through the house, passing Dickie, who was agog in the kitchen.

  He ripped open the front door to see Mags in his rental car, hitting the brakes after a rapid reverse, then squealing in a turn down the drive.

  He hurried over to Dickie. “We have to stop her!”

  Dickie raised his hands. “How?”

  “Let’s look in the garage. We were supposed to buy some of their equipment.”

  Dickie and Ned ran outside.

  A few moments later they were on some kind of all-terrain vehicle. Ned steered down the drive, then suddenly made out the distinct clamor of metal crunching.

  Oh, Lord. Mags had crashed.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “So how did the caaar do?” Will inquired.

  “The caaar did fine, though I did rent a truck for the Tetons.” Charlie could always slip back into Bostontalk with ease—where vowels sounded like bleating sheep and a caaar sounded like a kitty caaat except with an ‘r’ on the end.

  Charlie was in his office with his brothers, who had taken over in his absence. Waldemar was sleeping on a doggy bed in the corner—Charlie had brought him to work where he had been lavished with attention not only from the car buying customers but also from the help. “I see you held down the place well while I was gone.”

  “Naaaturally, brother,” Aron replied. “We divided your work between us.”

  Will looked over at Waldemar. “I’ll be happy to take your pooch for a walk at lunch. You got a real chick magnet.”

  “I agree,” Aron concurred. “I get Waldemar tomorrow, Will.”

  Will then looked Charlie up and down slowly. “I see you had a good time on your trip.”

  “I learned that living life by any extreme—whether overworking and taking all the responsibility or slouching too much—is not what makes me satisfied.”

  Aron snorted. “Did you hear that, Will?”

  “Yeah. Chaaarlie thinks he’s being a philosopher when we know what really made him giddy.”

  Aron held back a chuckle. “He obviously
got some.”

  “Without a doubt. He can’t stop that silly ass grinning.”

  Charlie just shook his head.

  “So, who was she?” Will inquired.

  Charlie attempted playing innocent. “Who was who?” He wanted to respect Mags and what they had done together.

  “Are you saying you did not meet a woman on your adventure?” Aron looked disbelieving.

  “I did make the acquaintance of someone new.”

  “And?” Will persisted.

  “Remember when we first met Cody and he brought along that English relation of his? Dickie York?”

  “Oh, yeaaah.” His brother nodded.

  “Well, I met his sister, Mags York.”

  His brothers looked at each other astounded.

  “Oh, you’re in for it now,” Aron warned. “He’s not going to like you bonking his sister.”

  “Yeaaah. Remember him talking about chivalry and honor and all that, Aron?”

  “Sure do, Will.”

  Aron turned back to Charlie. “I think you’re going to have to marry her, brother.”

  Will guffawed.

  Charlie did not respond. The notion had already occurred to him that he would like Mags in his life forever. He had thought about nothing except her since she departed at the airport. He would have dropped a line, but she had said that she would contact him next—he guessed after she returned from her trip, however, he was getting tired of waiting.

  “Why don’t I start with just a call first, huh?” Charlie finally responded.

  “So, what does she look like?” Aron wanted to know.

  Charlie thought a moment. “She’s pretty. Did you ever see that movie Father Goose at Grandma’s house? She looks like a fairer version of the lead actress.”

  “Father Goose? You mean she’s Goody TwoShoes?” Will chuckled.

  “In more ways than one,” Charlie admitted.

  Aron looked him over. “Since I see you have scarcely shaved, she must like the Filthy Beast.”

  Will broke out in another laugh. “Goody TwoShoes is marrying the Filthy Beast?”

  Charlie started hustling them towards the door. “Okay, time to leave.”

  “Yeah. So, you can make your important call.” Will nodded drolly.

  Bridget walked in then. She had been visiting their parents at Cape Cod but now butted in. “Call whom?”

  Aron replied, “Mags York—the illustrious sister of—”

  “Dickie York!” Bridget started doing one of her happy—though definitely strange—dances for which she was famous, scaring Waldemar who crouched more in the corner. “I knew it. I just knew it!” Her frizzy mop, so like all the siblings except Aron, now bounced around unevenly.

  “Mags happens to like chocolate and dancing, also.” Charlie informed her as he picked up his dog.

  Aron shook his head. “I feel sorry for you, brother.”

  Bridget stopped prancing around for a moment. “Really, Charlie? Oh, that’s wonderful. I know we will get along great. But, why are you calling her? Go surprise her with a visit. Can I hold your puppy?”

  He gave her Waldemar. “She’s on some sort of trip, and I just got back, Bridg.”

  “No, she’s returned. Charlena sent me a message. Charlena says she is managing the Wyoming property and is there now.”

  “Working too extremely much does not satisfy me,” Will now imitated him in a low tone. “Go, Chaaarlie. Aron and I will be fine.”

  Bridg nodded eagerly.

  Charlie found he could not resist, but he did fleetingly wonder why she had not called him yet.

  Wasn’t she supposed to contact him as soon as she returned from her trip?

  That evening Charlie decided to squelch the worrying thought. She hadn’t called because she was probably just busy.

  As he attempted booking a flight out to Wyoming, he quickly realized, though, that he required several more days so he could properly take Waldemar on board—which was important, considering how Waldemar would contribute to her surprise, and how disappointed Mags would be if he did not bring his puppy along.

  However, as he worked on that, he found his nagging unease about her grow, especially since she still wasn’t calling, and he found he could not reach her.

  He then began scrutinizing everything that had been done and said between Mags and himself. Had she been trying to tell him something that he hadn’t wanted to accept? Had she really wanted to break from him but had not wanted to see him burned?

  Or, God. Did she have someone else in her life? He had inquired why she had never remarried, but not about another person. How stupid could he have been that he had assumed she was completely single now.

  Perhaps she had just wanted a fling, and he had tried to turn it into something more.

  Charlie spent another whole day, trying to reason himself out of these disappointing thoughts. Then he became weary of the wait to fly out. He wanted to know what was going on now. He decided to drive to Wyoming again. It wasn’t that big of a deal. He knew the route—where the easy stops would be—and this time he would take his speedy new car.

  But as he began the road trip, he had even more time to think his troubling thoughts. Finally, he quit looking at his messages—which never were from her anyways. His brothers had proved they could manage things fine. But more than that, if there was a problem between him and Mags? He wanted to confront her in person and possibly try to change her mind. He certainly did not want to find out that things were over by a message.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Mags survived her crash which surprised Dickie somewhat. He had wondered whether God had caused the whole smash as a way to get her to return to heaven.

  She had apparently taken a turn too rapidly and had careened into a rocky gulch, demolishing the car, and causing it to be eventually hauled out of the gully. Her head had been banged around despite some huge pillow appearing before her, but other than that, Mags had looked better than the vehicle.

  Mags had been out of it for a few days or so but was now talking and walking as usual.

  So, to speak.

  She did not recall her distant past. Oh, anything since her arrival on Earth she could remember—so she knew all her relatives, including that Dickie was her brother, and she could recite her recent activities—but she did not know she had been raised in medieval England and had become the Duchess of Burgundy.

  Hmmm. Dickie was suspicious she was faking this memory loss, but he had no way to prove it. She acted as if he was the nutty one with his inquiries. He was wondering if she might remember bits and pieces later.

  Mags was at the ranch house now with Dickie and Ned. Lindsey had not hurried here because she had been on route with the kids, and Mags had been better by the time she arrived home. And Dickie had only wanted to inform everyone else what had happened after Mags had substantially improved back to her usual, not wanting to worry the bunch unnecessarily. Lindsey and the rest could visit Mags soon, though, he figured.

  Mags still planned on managing the ranch. Oh, and she intended to yet advise on the clothing line and also wanted to write her novel about Margaret of Burgundy—all extremely suspicious. Mags was not sure how she had obtained all her facts about medieval life—she thought the Internet most likely.

  She was currently resting in her room. Dickie wanted to have another talk with her. They definitely had issues to resolve before Dickie returned “to England”—he obviously could not discuss his actual return to heaven with her now.

  The first day after Mags had crashed, while she was still out of it, she had mumbled some things about herself that they should discuss further. Ned as yet did not know about these revelations of hers.

  Dickie started walking towards her room when there was a knock on the door. “I’ll get it, Ned.”

  Ned nodded vaguely from the kitchen desk where he was trying to do his work—he was deep in thought on something or another.

  Dickie opened the door. Charlie stood there, smili
ng uncertainly, with a puppy straining at the leash.

  “Hi, Dickie. Is Mags home?”

  Dickie hesitated a moment before replying, “Oh, she’s home and has been asking about you.” He added, scowling, “And I’d like to say something to you also.”

  Dickie reached over, grabbed Charlie firmly by the collar and yanked him into the house.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Charlie let go of the dog leash, hoping not to stumble over it, as Dickie practically dragged him over to the living room. He forced him into a chair. “Sit down!”

  His pooch, amazingly, seemed unconcerned as he ran around the house, probably looking for Mags.

  Charlie did not know what was going on. He certainly had not known that Dickie was here. But now he realized, as he stared at her menacing-appearing brother, something was obviously wrong. Perhaps he should have looked at his latest messages.

  Charlie briefly glanced over at the kitchen and caught Ned rising to a stand.

  “Dickie, what are you doing?” Ned appeared as puzzled as himself.

  Dickie had begun pacing in front of the large windows that looked out on the river in back He stopped abruptly and gazed at Charlie a moment. “I expect all men in my family—no matter how distant the relations—to follow a chivalrous code of knightly honor. Explain yourself,” he demanded.

  What?! Good God that was a lot to take in. Charlie couldn’t help but be distracted at first that he thought they were related. Then he quickly thought . . . finefinefine. Cody was his brother-in-law, and Cody was a cousin of Dickie . . . of sorts . . . so Dickie and he were actually related in some convoluted way. But surely, not enough to make him and Mags like hillbilly kissing cousins.

  So, what had Dickie learned about the goings-ons between him and Mags? Charlie could not imagine how someone like Mags would have discussed her intimate affairs with her brother. But what else could there be?

  Charlie decided to be open about the situation. “I fell in love with your sister.”

  Charlie glimpsed away briefly when he heard Waldemar whining at a door in an adjoining corridor of the house. He looked back at Dickie who was still glaring.