An Impossible Choice (All Things Possible Book 1)

by Kate Rolin

  “Your uncle came to me for such a loan—said he was applying for a patent to build a contraption to snuff candles if left unattended. He had impressive drawings—he simply lacked capital. He provided references, a compelling story, even had a man in Leicester who could back it all up when I sent Pendenny to investigate—I don’t dole out loans to just anyone.

  “When his story appeared to check out, I met with him to present the loan and he provided an address where he could be reached. The first payment was set to begin in six months’ time.

  “When seven months went by, still no payment, notices sent to him began to come back as undeliverable. When Pendenny went to confront him, he was nowhere to be found. Neither was his accomplice nor the contraption he was to be making.

  “He’d vanished into thin air, without a trace. I made inquiries, placed notices in countless papers, gone to the police—nothing. Over the years, a report would turn up of an appearance here, another man cheated there—I’d travel to the location myself, but I was always too late. Finally, I had a portrait drawn by an artist at Bow Street in London and it circulated in papers across England. Someone recognized him and it eventually led me here.”

  “Don’t listen to him Ar—”

  Damon jerked the man back against the chair.

  “That’s…that’s impossible. All of it.” She sat looking from her lap to her uncle and back, avoiding Damon. “He-he’s a simple trader. He takes the woolen fleece to markets every spring and travels with the drovers later in the year. That’s all.”

  He wanted to yell—to demand she look at him, see the truth in his eyes—but he waited. He could be patient.

  Quietly, he revealed more. “You said yourself your uncle is gone many weeks at a time. It seems he sells his product quickly and spends the rest of his time away traveling to various towns and cities, gambling, whoring, and cheating others like myself.” He ignored Argel’s gasp and pressed on, “He’s good. Oh, he’s very good. Ensures he saves enough to return to the shepherds, making them believe he’s done a fine job, still accepting further payment from them. I’ve even yet to discover who his inside man is aiding him.”

  “Aiding him? Surely, you don’t mean—” Argel paused as if too shocked to speak.

  “Your uncle is quite notorious in England, known by others as Black Jack Phillips—and if I return with him, you can be assured others will see he hangs.”

  Black Jack gulped. “Argel, love, don’t…you can’t believe this stranger. I’m your uncle!”

  Damon tightened his grip on the man and watched Argel closely, realizing she would have a great struggle in processing everything he’d just revealed.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she looked to her uncle. “Is that why I’ve not been allowed to go with you? Why I never could leave? There’s not even any inheritance is there?”

  Damon looked down at Argel’s uncle, whose shirt collar he still clutched, to see the man’s face turn red. “No, no—” he coughed, “No, I mean, yes—there is. An inheritance. It’s all in the trust for you in Swindon. I did not lie to you about that. You must believe me!”

  “And my life? Was it really in jeopardy? Or did you simply spin the tale of a price on my head to keep me from knowing what you really were?”

  “Argel, surely you don’t believe him? This wicked stranger!”

  Damon snarled at him, but waited for Argel to answer. It took a moment, but as she looked down into her lap, she quietly spoke, “He said you came to him proposing to build something that would snuff a candle on its own. I told you of that idea when I was a child. You and no one else. There’s no way he could have known of that very idea unless it came from you.”

  “No, Argel!” Black Jack cried.

  “You fooled me,” she said quietly. “Me and all of Beddgelert, and heaven knows who else throughout Wales and England.” She let out a huff of air and then raised her head, looking her uncle in the eye. “Answer me, Uncle—the truth. Is there someone out there who wishes me dead? To get to this inheritance of mine?”

  Damon felt a surge of pride watching Argel face her uncle, unwavering after what must have been a startling, life-altering revelation.

  “Yes,” came the mumbled reply. Damon jerked the man’s shoulder. “Yes,” he answered, stronger this time. “In that I have been truthful niece. I don’t know who—but after the fire, before we came here, I received several anonymous, threatening letters. Threatening your precious life. That’s why we fled here. The other—I simply lost my way over the years. I allowed my greed to get the better of me.”

  Pendenny’s suspicion came to mind then, and Damon broke in, “Is Argel the daughter of Viscount Rainsford?”

  The man before him jerked his face in surprise before hanging his head, defeated. Finally, he nodded.

  “My…my father was a viscount?” Argel mused. “I don’t understand what this all means?”

  It was Damon’s turn. “What it means, dear Argel, is that back in England, Swindon to be exact, you are quite famous. The daughter of a wealthy couple, disappearing without a trace after their deaths—it was a story circulating the papers for some time.”

  Argel gasped, “Uncle! You…you kidnapped me?”

  “No!” He tried to stand, but Damon kept his hand firmly on the man’s shoulder. “No Argel, it’s like I told you: I brought you to my home after the fire, but upon receiving the threats, decided it best for your safety to disappear. I…I have your trust information hidden away here. Let me get it and I can prove it to you. I always intended to take you there when you came of age, I swear it!”

  Damon looked to Argel, who nodded and then he released his prisoner. Black Jack jerked his arm away from Damon, shooting him a glare, before slinking off to a door just behind him.

  Damon resisted the urge to follow the man, remaining instead with Argel, but he could hear him working in the next room, furniture and paper being shuffled. He wanted to go to Argel, to hold her, comfort her, but he forced himself to remain where he stood.

  Eventually, Black Jack ambled back in, carrying a dusty piece of paper. “Here it is, the official document from the bank.”

  Damon reached for it, but the older man shot him a scouring look and thrusted the paper in Argel’s direction instead.

  Damon watched her eyes as they scanned the page. “It’s all here alright. Bank of Swindon, the trust information, and—oh!” Argel gasped, reaching a shaky hand to her throat. “Oh my goodness! There’s…there’s no possible way!”

  “What is it Argel?” Damon’s words rushed with concern.

  “It-it says here that I have…twenty thousand pounds. All mine. That can’t be right!”

  Damon swallowed. That was far more than even he had predicted.

  “It’s true, Argel,” Black Jack pleaded. “I never actually told you the amount. I had planned to wait for your own safety, but there it is. So, you see I’m telling you the truth.”

  Argel simply sat, staring wide-eyed at the document.

  “I’m afraid my sins have finally caught up with me,” Black Jack spoke again, drawing both Damon’s attention and irritation. “If you can find it in your heart to forgive a wayward man such as myself, may the good Lord smile down upon you.”

  “Oh, no. You’re not getting off that easily!” Damon took a threatening step towards him. “I didn’t traipse to the ends of civilization to find you, simply to forgive you twelve thousand pounds!”

  Again, Argel gasped, but he continued, “I know how much you cheated Mason and Roddick, not to mention myself and who knows who all else. No, I’ve come to see you pay, and pay you will.” He paused. “But you won’t hang, I’ll make sure of that.”

  The man fumbled. “But—I’ll be locked in debtor’s prison! Argel here will be all alone. Surely, you wouldn’t punish her as well!”

  “No, because I believe I have a solution that will be agreeable to us both,” Damon said calmly.

  “You do, e
h?” Black Jack eyed him warily.

  “Yes. I am still a very wealthy man, despite your dealings. I would be willing to forgive your debt to me in full, and repay what you stole from others…for a price.”

  “Yes?” Curiosity and greed now gleamed in the older man’s eyes.

  Damon took a deep breath. It was time to reveal the plan that had been forming in his mind during this…visit. “I want Argel.”

  The room was silent and Damon continued, “If your niece agrees to marry me, all debt will be taken care of. You must agree, however, never to set foot in another gaming hall or even in all of London ever again. I have men whom I will send to keep a watch over you. Any report of mischief and the debtor’s prison will come knocking on your door.”

  The relief on the man’s face was shamefully obvious. “Yes! Yes, of course! Marry the girl! Take her with you right away!”

  “Uncle!” Argel shot to her feet, nearly knocking her chair over. “You would sell me so carelessly?!”

  “Argel, see reason, love,” he stuck his hands out, palms up in defeat, “I’m in too deep!”

  Damon cleared his throat. “I said she must agree to marry me. No coercion—of her own, free will.” He turned to Argel then, and approached her slowly, “Last night, I gave you a choice. I said I would not ask again, but circumstances have changed and this…this is truly your last chance, Argel. The choice is yours and yours alone. Look at me, Argel,” he gently lifted her chin, “I will give you the day to consider my offer. When I return tonight, I will expect an answer. Whatever you choose, that will be my final offer. You won’t have another chance—whether you choose to marry me or to send your uncle to debtor’s prison. It is your choice to make.”

  The grief and pain in her eyes caused him to flinch inwardly, but he held strong. He was a man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. And at the moment—he wanted justice, yes—but he wanted Argel more.

  Chapter Five

  A choice.

  Argel had a choice to make—but it wasn’t much of one, not really. She couldn’t send her uncle to debtor’s prison, he’d die in there. Despite all the wicked things she had just learned about him, he was all the family she had left, the man who had raised her—and she loved him as such.

  That meant resigning to marriage with a man who was nothing more than a deceptive stranger. She didn’t know him—not really. That was blatantly apparent to her now.

  Foolish Argel! He’d lured her in with pretty words, good looks, and a warm touch. She’d fallen for his wicked charm and now she was his next victim.

  She sighed where she sat in her usual pew at St. Mary’s church. Not surprisingly, it was empty save herself and the dimly lit candles near the front. Her neck ached from being bent in thought and prayer for the past few…hours? She had lost all track of time and it was now getting dark outside, her job at the inn forgot.

  Titling her head up, Argel focused on the wooden beams in the ceiling, hoping to ease the kinks in her neck. “Lord,” she whispered, “give me strength. I have no other choice.”

  As if Heaven confirmed her statement, the door to the church creaked open behind her then. A gentle breeze floated in, moving the curls about her neck, but it was the slow, heavy footsteps approaching that gave her gooseflesh. They paused somewhere behind her.

  “Miss Hughes said I would find you here.”

  That deep voice. Was it only just last night that that voice had held such promise, thrilling her? Argel brought her head back down, but did not answer.

  The footsteps began again, drawing closer until she sensed he stood at the end of her pew.

  “Argel, I’ve come for my answer. Tell me, what is your choice?”

  She stared down at her hands as they clinched into fists on her lap. “Choice,” she whispered. “You’ve given me no choice at all.”

  “But I have.” His voice was quiet, yet firm. “Your fate, and that of your uncle’s, they both lay within your hands.”

  Argel looked up at him then, deciding to face him. “You know I can’t let him go to prison.” She stood as emotion surged within. He was so tall, she wouldn’t even reach his shoulders, but she wanted to face him on her feet. “It’s an impossible choice!”

  “But a choice, nonetheless,” came his even reply.

  Argel bit her lip, attempting to keep her tears at bay. Regardless that they were tears of anger, she would not show weakness to him—not now.

  “Does this mean that you have chosen? You will marry me, sparing you uncle?”

  She hated the knowing in his voice. Oh, how she hated it! He knew what she would do—sacrifice herself to spare her uncle. He’d known before he’d even offered it to her.

  “Yes,” she whispered in defeat. What more could she say?

  She moved to slide past him, wanting to get out of there, now, more than anything else at that moment. She needed to get far away from him.

  He caught her arm, clasping it firmly. “Argel, I—” his voice was hoarse. “There’s more you must know. When the time is right.” He swallowed. “Trust me.”

  Anger and hurt rose within, and she jerked her arm free. “Trust you? There’s nothing more you can say to me Mr. Westlake. Nothing other than to tell me when I must leave with you.”

  “Tomorrow. First light,” came the deep reply.

  So soon.

  She had expected a week, maybe two. Instead, she had mere hours left. Lifting her chin, she answered, “I’ll be ready,” and turned to leave.

  His throat cleared behind her as she walked away, “And—it’s Westmoreland.”

  The hesitation in his voice gave her pause and against her better judgement she turned to look at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  His dark eyes watched her hesitantly. “My name. It’s actually Damon Westmoreland—not Westlake. I couldn’t risk your uncle getting wind of my arrival.”

  So he’d outright lied to her.

  Argel found it didn’t surprise her—nor did she care. “Trust you,” she muttered and something like pain crossed his face. Straightening her spine, her words were like ice, “I’ve much packing to do, Mr. Westmoreland.” And with that, she turned and left.

  Dawn arrived all too soon as Argel sat at the worn table in her small cottage, Wynny on one side holding her hand, her uncle on the other avoiding her eye. Argel had not slept a bit, opting instead to pay a few visits to say her goodbyes after walking out of St. Mary’s last evening. The remainder of the night was spent packing her few belonging alongside her faithful friend, who had refused to leave her side for even a moment.

  “I just can’t believe he could truly be so…so awful. Titus says—”

  “Titus?” Argel looked up from the bag she was packing, incredulous.

  “Erm, I mean Mr. Pendenny.” Wynny’s face was now a bright scarlet. “He says Mr. Westmoreland is a most honest and faithful man.”

  Scoffing, Argel resumed her task. “In business, perhaps, but he’s put me in such an impossible position.”

  “It sounds as if he’s acting honorably, though,” Wynny said as she picked at a thread in her dress. Argel had not told her friend of all her uncle’s folly, only that he’d been unable to repay a loan and Mr. Westmoreland was offering to forgive all—dependent upon marriage to her.

  Argel huffed, “I’m surprised at you Wynny Hughes! You first believed him to be the epitome of evil, and now you defend him! Even as you are losing me!”

  “I’ll never lose you,” her friend clasped her hand. “Surely, he would permit you to visit—and I shall visit you often. I so long to leave this village! We shall write everyday, and you must tell me all about marriage and love and—”

  “Love?!” Argel threw up her hands. “I’m not in love with him Wynny! Quite the opposite, in fact. And I’m beginning to think your visits will mostly be with Mr. Pendenny in mind.”

  “Well…Mr. Westmoreland is quite handsome. And I fancied you had taken a shine to him, at first anyway.
Perhaps with time… And you did say that he,” Wynny paused, looking this way and that to make sure they were alone, then lowered her voice to a whisper, “wanted you.”

  “After what he’s done?” Argel snorted, “I doubt it. And I most certainly do not want him!”

  “You mean paying your uncle’s debts in full and taking you to see the world outside of Beddgelert? What you’ve always wanted?”

  Well. When one put it that way… “Since when have you become the optimist between us?” Argel grinned begrudgingly, nudging Wynny’s arm.

  “Well, one of us has to be.”

  The sound of horses approaching brought Argel back to the present, and her head shot up to see the first of dawn’s rays in the window. Wynny gave her hand a tight, reassuring squeeze, and her uncle finally had the decency to look at her, both remorse and guilt in his bleary eyes.

  At a swift knock, he scrambled quickly to open the door. “Mr. Pendenny, is it? So he can’t be troubled to even fetch his own bride, can he?”

  “Mr. Westmoreland needed to remain at the hotel to secure the coach and see to a few other matters. I’ve come to escort Miss Phillips.” He primly nodded to Argel and she caught the quick glance he made towards Wynny.

  Argel stood and gathered her things—only two small bags—as her uncle spoke again, “Now, listen here, young man. You see to it that blasted fellow treats her kindly. She’s all—”

  Quick as lightning, Mr. Pendenny turned on her uncle, towering over him, “No, you see here! Mr. Westmoreland’s treatment of your niece is the last thing you have to worry about. You just make sure you keep in line—if you want to make sure no one else in Beddgelert here knows all about you.” His eyes flashed with anger behind his spectacles. Argel had never heard him speak so much before, much less show such emotion. “Remember, we will be watching you.”