Caught Between Love and Duty
A Western Historical Romance
Clarice Mayfield
Contents
A Thank You Gift
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
The Cowboy’s Quest for Love
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Also by Clarice Mayfield
About the Author
A Thank You Gift
Thank you so very much for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love.
As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called The Cowboy’s Quest for Love. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping this link here.
Again, thank you ever so much for your continuous love and support!
Clarice Mayfield
About the Book
Love has a mystical power to heal every scar on the soul...
Forced by her father to marry an older man she despises, Georgia Warton decides to escape her mundane life in Boston. Responding to a bride’s ad, she runs away to Texas to meet her new betrothed.
Sheriff James McCloud opens up his home and heart to his mail-order bride, desperate to find happiness once again. But her arrival triggers events he never expected, and along with a notorious gang that starts terrorizing the city, an unexpected visitor comes looking for her.
When one day Jame’s brother suddenly goes missing, Georgia is quick to follow. Shockingly, the message finally becomes clear: someone has a personal vendetta against him and it’s up to him to save them both.
1
Georgia Warton’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious, Daddy! That man is more than twice my age. What were you thinking?”
Charles, sixty years old, stood before his daughter, looking embarrassed but determined to press on with what needed to be said. “Listen, Pumpkin, he’s not that bad, really...”
Not that bad?! Georgia thought anxiously. Easy for you to say, Father. You’re not the one he wants to get his clammy old hands on. A shudder of disgust trembled through her stomach and she turned away toward the parlor window. A cold, gray December rain dripped on the glass.
“I mean, Abe’s a good man. And he’s been very good to us,” Charles pleaded. “He will be very good to you too. You’ll lack for nothing, my dear.”
“Come on, Daddy. What’s the catch? What have you two been up to? I know you and Mama would never even dream of playing matchmaker unless something happened. So come on now, out with it!” Georgia stared intently at her father for a moment, then turned her gaze towards Emilia, her mother, sitting on the sofa next to Charles. “Mama, are you in on this too?”
Emilia Warton sighed deeply, staring down at tightly clasped hands perspiring in her lap. “Well, dear, your father and I have talked it over, and really, there is no choice in the matter,” she said flatly. Emilia threw Charles a helpless glance, pleading for him to jump back into the conversation.
“Yes,” Charles boomed in a forced baritone, “there is no choice, I’m afraid, Pumpkin. Without your taking Abraham’s hand in marriage we will lose the business. Period. We can’t begin to cover the costs of the freighter going down last month. Abe stepped in and offered to bail us out – on one condition.”
Georgia’s jaw dropped again as a cold realization sunk in: her parents had given her away in marriage to save the family fortune. Her head reeled in disbelief. “You can’t be serious, Daddy. This is 1889, not 1700. People in Boston don’t do that anymore.”
Charles and Emilia looked at their daughter sadly. They didn’t appear to like the arrangement any more than she did. The sight of her parents in such a state broke Georgia’s heart. If they lost the shipping business, the family would be ruined financially. Her father would have to go work for another firm and take a drastic cut in income – if he could find a position at his age. There were no wealthy Warton relatives to bail them out; a fact that Abraham Bishop knew all too well and was willing to exploit to his carnal advantage.
“Okay,” Georgia said suddenly, breaking the tense silence and startling her parents. “If that’s the only way to save the business, I’ll do it. I can’t bear to see the two of you looking so awfully dour.” Georgia got up from the couch and took her mother’s hands in her own. “The Wartons will not be begging bread in the streets of Boston if I can help it, Mother.”
“Are...are you sure about this, Pumpkin?” her father asked hesitantly. “It would mean so much to your mother and I.”
“Yes! Yes, of course,” Georgia’s voice trembled, her eyes misting at the sight of her mother beginning to cry. “I will do my duty as your daughter.” She turned and walked quickly from the room, a little unsteady on her feet but determined to set her parent’s mind at ease. Closing the door behind her, Georgia heard Emilia burst into heaving sobs and Charles try to comfort her.
* * *
Seventeen-year-old William Warton stood at the foot of his sister’s bed with his hands on his hips. They were clenched into tight fists. His eyes were green like hers and they flashed with determination as he shook his head from side to side. “You can’t marry that man,” he said firmly. “You just can’t.”
Georgia, her tear-streaked face buried in a feather pillow, looked up at him and marveled at the boy’s concern. Dear William. He had always cared so much for her, his only sister. She looked at him and loved him. “You don’t understand, little brother. If I don’t marry that goat, we’ll lose the business and the Wartons will be penniless. Do you want that to happen?”
William didn’t hesitate a moment. “I don’t care! You’d be heartbroken if you took up with him, sis. I know it. I’d rather go to the poorhouse and break rocks for my breakfast than see you marry Abe Bishop.”
Despite her distress at the situation, Georgia smiled at the boy’s naivety and chivalry. “That’s all fine and well for a young buck like you to say, William Warton, but what about Mommy and Daddy? They wouldn’t last a week in Boston Almshouse. They’d die of the shame! Well, not Daddy maybe; but Mummy would keel over before she crossed the threshold. You know that. I can’t let it happen to them, Willy. Whatever it takes.” Georgia’s eyes began to fill with tears again.
William sat down on the bed next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “There’s got to be another way, sis. Cheer up. I won’t let your life be ruined in this...this devil’s bargain. You’re only twenty-five years old. Too young to throw it away on an old man. If we put our heads together, we’ll find a way out.”
There was a sharp knock on the bedroom door. “Georgia?” The voice of her father boomed. “You have a caller in the parlor.”
* * *
In the well-appointed parlor of the Warton home, Abraham Bishop sat comfortably on one of the couches in the center of the roo
m. One hand rested easily on the gold handle of his cane which he held in a vertical position, propped on the floor, swaying it from side to side playfully. The other hand nestled inside the vest of his formal suit jacket. Abe was sixty-three, short, and rotund. A small but distinctly self-satisfied smile played on his face as he waited to meet his fiancée for the first time since their betrothal.
On the couch across from him, Charles Warton tried to relax but his right foot kept tapping out a nervous rhythm on the floorboard. His natural, gregarious flow of conversation had trickled to a stop.
“What’s the matter, Warton? You seem distracted,” Bishop mused in an ironic tone. “Everything all right?”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Charles replied quickly. He glanced through the doorway at the staircase leading upstairs to Georgia’s bedroom. The staircase she’d soon be descending to greet her future husband. He pushed the thought away. “And how is our business proceeding, Bishop?”
“Splendidly,” Abe replied. “As we agreed: half your creditors paid straight away, the rest in full on the first business day after the wedding. No need to worry.”
“No. Of course not,” said Charles, looking utterly unconvinced. A forced smile appeared on his face and quickly disappeared.
A sound at the top of the staircase caused both men to look up expectantly. Charles leaned forward. He saw William walk stiffly down the stairs toward them, a pained expression on the young man’s face. As he drew closer, Charles began to call out: “William, please come and say hello to your future brother-in...” His voice trailed off when William turned sharply at the bottom of the stairs and disappeared from sight.
“Well, well,” Bishop chortled, “seems like your son is having a hard time of it today as well.” Charles flushed with anger and began to reply, but he thought better of it as Georgia appeared on the staircase.
She descended slowly toward them, wearing a crinoline dress appropriate for the receiving of gentlemen callers. The expression on her face, however, was entirely inappropriate for the receiving of gentlemen callers. As much as she wanted to please her father – to show that his only daughter would not let the family down – Georgia could not hide the dismay welling up inside her. The more she tried to be composed and calm, the more waves of disgust washed over her heart.
What am I doing? This is crazy. Oh God, help me.
As she entered the parlor, Georgia averted her eyes from Abe Bishop. She couldn’t bear to look at him. She concentrated on her father – trying to draw strength from the sight of him, trying to remember why she was doing this. But it wasn’t working. Charles’s face looked as devastated as she felt inside. His green eyes were filled with pain and compassion. The sight of him made her feel even worse.
Abe Bishop’s raspy voice grabbed her attention like a splash of cold water. “Good afternoon, Georgia,” he slowly intoned. The sound of his voice was thin and hollow, with the hint of a salacious leer.
Just like your wicked soul, Abe Bishop, she thought in disgust.
“Come now, Georgia,” Charles said with forced cheerfulness. “Please have a seat, my dear.”
Georgia sat down obediently beside her father and glued her gaze on one of the floorboards. An awkward silence fell upon the room.
“Really, Georgia! It’s not as bad as all that, is it?” Bishop chirped. “You may even grow to like me in time.”
Charles looked at his silent daughter and then over at Bishop, shrugging in bewilderment at the older man. Neither of them had any idea where this conversation was going.
Georgia continued to stare at the floor for a long moment and then spoke in a quiet, even voice: “You mean I might grow to like you just like a woman in prison might grow to like the bars on the window of her cell, Mr. Bishop?”
The men shifted uncomfortably on their sofas. Georgia continued, her voice louder now: “You mean a caged bird can learn to sing, Mr. Bishop? Is that what you’re saying to me?” She looked up at Abe and met his eyes. They were cold, annoyed, and something cruel crouched in their depths. She held their gaze defiantly.
“I know nothing of poetry, Georgia...” Bishop began.
“Please...call me Ms. Warton.”
“As you wish.” Bishop’s face reddened with anger. “But in June we shall be married here in Boston, and I advise you to acquaint yourself with the idea, Ms. Warton,” he said icily. “Your father and I have an agreement, and if you decide not to appear, your whole family will shortly appear in Boston Almshouse! Good day to you both.”
Abe stood up quickly and lurched toward the parlor door, his cane thumping the floor loudly with each step. Charles followed after him. “Let me get your hat for you, Abraham!” Bishop plowed ahead without saying a word and angrily snatched up his derby hat on his way to the door.
“Please don’t be dismayed, my friend,” Charles pleaded. “Georgia didn’t mean what she said. She’s a very excitable young woman. Reads a lot of poetry, you know.”
“That daughter of yours needs to learn some manners, Warton,” Bishop growled over his shoulder before slamming the front door behind him without another word. Charles watched the old man climb slowly into a waiting carriage and bark orders to his driver. The driver whipped the reins and the horses started quickly away.
Charles turned back toward the parlor. Georgia was sitting on the couch with a sheepish look on her face. “I hope that wasn’t a deal breaker for you, Daddy,” she said apologetically.
Charles grunted in response. After a moment, he let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. “No. I’m sure he won’t give up that easily. But please try not to insult the man so gratuitously next time, Pumpkin.”
“You’re not mad at me then?” Georgia asked.
“How could anyone stay angry at a daughter like you, Ms. Warton?” Charles replied, a smile appearing on his face.
She rose up and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh Papa, what a world we live in! I wish I didn’t have to marry that man.”
Charles Warton looked up at the ceiling with a sigh. “I wish there was another way too, Pumpkin. I really do.”
* * *
As the time drew nearer for Georgia and Abe’s wedding, her anxiety grew with every passing day. Although her steely resolve remained intact to do the right thing for the family, Georgia began to doubt if she could actually go through with it. The thought of walking down the aisle as Abraham Bishop stood at the altar filled her with a sense of dread that she could not shake.
Abe appeared at the house again, a month after the first disastrous attempt to call on her. But the second time went no better than the first. Despite her best effort to be civil, it ended with Georgia comparing the betrothal to an old man robbing a baby carriage. Bishop was offended and angry: “Yes, I’m an old man,” he growled at her, “but I’m even more stubborn and intransigent than you are, child! You’re not going to get rid of me that easily, Ms. Warton.” He raised his cane in the air with one hand, shaking it at her to punctuate every word: “You will be my bride in June, and you’ll see what these insults will get you then!”
This time her father was deeply upset by the incident. Instead of returning to the parlor to speak with Georgia, Charles went upstairs where Emilia was waiting for him. The timid woman had again been too afraid to attend Bishop’s call. She could only wait alone, hoping for the best. Now she comforted her husband as best she could. “Don’t fret, Charles. Georgia will come around.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he moaned. “Those two have fought like cats and dogs from the first sighting of each other. What are we going to do, Emilia? She hates the man.”
2
Late one February night in the New Year, Georgia was curled up alone on the sofa reading a book of poetry. A single oil lamp illuminated the Warton parlor. She was trying to distract her mind from the constant worry that had plagued her since the engagement and hoped that reading a few verses would help her relax and get to sleep. It wasn’t working.
Bishop had made no more at
tempts to call on her, but neither had he given any sign of withdrawing from the marriage plans. She felt trapped, and her soul was in constant turmoil at the prospect of what their wedding date in June would bring.
The sound of a carriage pulling up in front of the house caught Georgia’s attention. It must be Elias, she thought. Out making merry again. Her big brother, twenty-seven years old, stumbled into the foyer. “Hello, house!” he called out, poking his head around the corner and spying her on the sofa.
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