Jilted by a Scoundrel

by Cheryl Holt

  It provided an excuse to escape the castle for a few hours. Every minute she spent there was excruciating. She’d tumbled into a salacious affair with John Dunn, and she was trying to understand her conduct.

  She wasn’t precisely sure how it had occurred. She knew right from wrong, knew sin from virtue, so it was a mystery as to how she’d tumbled off the straight and narrow moral path. She was a fallen woman, and she wasn’t sorry.

  While they’d been in the middle of their initial encounter, he’d promised to wed her, but she couldn’t fail to note that—with her having given in—the issue of matrimony hadn’t been raised again. She’d like to broach the subject herself, but if he said he wasn’t interested now that she’d succumbed, what would she do?

  Her sole option would be to leave, and she couldn’t envision a future without him. She was that ludicrously smitten.

  He’d sneaked in on three more occasions already, and he’d even suggested they frolic in the hot springs pool some evening. At the suggestion, she’d pretended to be aghast, but she wasn’t. She’d flatly refused, but a routine had developed in their relationship. He nagged and goaded until she relented and supplied whatever he desired.

  He wanted to cavort down in the grotto, and it was just a matter of time until he got his way.

  Her entire being had been whittled down to its physical essence. She ruminated about him constantly, but only in a carnal fashion. Nothing concerned her but John Dunn and how quickly she could be with him again.

  A long walk to town had seemed like the perfect means to expend some energy and flee the stifling confines of the castle. It was hard to think rationally when he was nearby.

  She reached the tavern where she’d observed Holden, and she went around to the side and climbed the stairs to the second floor. There was a door that opened into a hallway, and it looked as if there were several apartments in the place.

  She was fairly certain the first one was his, and she braced, then briskly knocked. Immediately, she heard footsteps.

  “You’re early, darling!” Holden said as he answered.

  Clearly, he’d been expecting someone else, and her heart sank. Was he pursuing an amour in Dunworthy? Whoever the poor girl was, Winnie didn’t suppose it would end beneficially for her.

  He frowned, confused. “Winifred? This is a surprise.”

  “May I come in?”

  “Well…ah…all right. I’ll have company in a bit, but yes, we can chat for a minute.”

  The apartment was small with just the one room. There was a bed, dresser, and a coal stove. The lone redeeming feature was an enormous window that faced the ocean.

  Before she’d arrived, she’d been nervous, but now that she’d followed through, she was actually quite calm.

  When they’d been engaged, she’d just turned seventeen. In their social circle, it had been a young age to be a bride, but she and her father had been so charmed by Holden that—when he’d proposed—they hadn’t hesitated.

  He’d been handsome and polished, fun and spirited, and her father had wanted the match very much. She’d been an obedient daughter and too naïve to realize she should have argued about it.

  Holden was still handsome, and he’d always been very dapper, worried about his stylish clothes. He’d fretted more about his appearance than she had, and his sartorial fixation had been a joke between them.

  She remembered him as being a very large man, but with her having fallen in love with John Dunn, he wasn’t that imposing.

  He was thirty and had all his blond hair. His green eyes were alight with amusement over her visit, but he was only a few inches taller than she was, a thin, slight fellow whose trousers hung just right on his slender frame.

  Why would she recollect him being so big? Perhaps his dastardly act had made him loom like a monster, and in her vivid imagination, he’d grown in size.

  They stared, neither able to begin the conversation. They were both perplexed over her showing up, and she couldn’t explain why she had. She’d simply been determined to vanquish him as a villain once and for all.

  “I have some wine,” he said, breaking the awkward silence. “Would you like a glass?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Will you sit?” He motioned to a chair that was positioned in front of the window.

  “No, thank you again.”

  “How did you discover I was here?” he asked.

  “I saw you on the street the other day. I had planned to ignore you, but I guess I can’t. It seems we have some issues to discuss.” She glanced around, delighted by his reduced circumstances. “You’ve come down in the world since I knew you.”

  “You have too. A friend of mine mentioned you’re working as a governess.”

  “What friend? Freddie Townsend?”

  He shrugged, but didn’t admit being acquainted with Mr. Townsend. He moved to the dresser where there was a liquor decanter, and he poured himself a glass. He sipped it, and they studied each other.

  “I had to sell everything after you left,” she said. “The property, the house, the furniture. Even Sir Walford’s clothes. It was awful.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “It was a difficult period, and I could have used your support. It would have been nice to lean on you.”

  He wrinkled up his nose. “I might not be the sort of man a woman can lean on.”

  She suspected that was the truest comment he’d ever uttered.

  “That last morning at the church,” she said, “when you jilted me, I was so embarrassed. Have you ever considered that?”

  His expression turned sympathetic. “Once you leveled with me about your finances, what did you expect would occur?”

  “I expected we would walk down the aisle and get married.”

  “But you tricked me, didn’t you? You and Sir Walford played a terrible trick.”

  “We tricked you?”

  “Yes. I was marrying you for your money, but there wasn’t any money.”

  “Is that all it was about for you?” she asked.

  “Of course. Isn’t that what matrimony is always about? I felt quite deceived.”

  “I felt a tad deceived too. My father’s penury was as much a shock to me as it was to you. I couldn’t run away from it though. I had to stay and face it.”

  “You talk as if I had a responsibility to clean up Sir Walford’s mess. You can’t really believe that, can you?”

  No, she didn’t believe it, and his replies weren’t giving her any satisfaction. What, precisely, had she been trying to accomplish by speaking to him?

  She had no idea.

  “After you went on your merry way,” she said, “did you ever wonder what became of me?”

  “No, I didn’t wonder. You were such a strong character. I was certain you’d muddle on, and you’d be better off without me.”

  “I thought you’d stand by me through thick and thin.”

  “Oh, Winifred, you were always such a romantic. Please be assured that you were very dear to me—at that time in my life.”

  “Yes, I was so dear to you, and you were so loyal.” She couldn’t tamp down her sarcasm. “I was seventeen and little more than a girl, and my only parent had died.”

  “I mourned deeply for him too.”

  “Don’t make me laugh,” she scoffed. “You deserted me at the first sign of trouble. I was alone in the world, and I needed you to assist me.”

  “No, you didn’t. You just admitted you had to sell everything. That would have happened whether I had remained or not.”

  His assessment caught her off guard, and ultimately, she said, “Yes, I suppose you’re correct.” She scrutinized him, curious as to why she was still in the room. “Where did you go when you snuck out of the church? Where have you been since then?”

  “I’ve been out and about,” he vaguely claimed.

  “Now you’re in Dunworthy. Why?”

  “I’m
passing through.”

  “Are you? I initially saw you a week ago, but you’re still here. I wouldn’t call that passing through. Would you?”

  “I’m about to leave. I’m merely waiting for some funds to arrive.”

  “It’s your lot in life, isn’t it? Waiting for money?”

  “Isn’t it everyone’s lot?”

  “Are you scheming on some other naïve female? Should I be worried?”

  He chuckled. “You have such a devious mind.”

  “Where you’re concerned, I can’t help it. You’re not engaged again, are you?”

  “No. Once was more than enough. I learned my lesson with you.”

  Well! He’d certainly told her, hadn’t he?

  “What lesson was it?” she wasted her breath asking.

  “I’m not the marrying kind.”

  “You had to jilt me at the altar to figure it out?”

  “I view jilt as such a harsh word. Let’s not use it to describe what transpired between us. I hate that you have such awful memories of me. Up until Sir Walford’s fiscal condition was revealed, we were happy, weren’t we? Or was I imagining it?”

  She guessed their brief relationship had been happy, but because of how it had concluded, her recollection was skewed.

  It had been a quick, whirlwind courtship, with Holden meeting her father at a gambling club. They’d become chums very fast, but why had that occurred? They’d been thirty years apart in age. What could they possibly have had in common?

  With how hideously Holden had treated her at the end, she was entitled to be dubious as to his motives in befriending her father.

  “Did you deliberately ingratiate yourself to Sir Walford?” she asked. “Did you think he was very rich? Was it your intent from the start to pick our pockets?”

  “Honestly, Winnie, I haven’t seen you in three years. I don’t have to stand here and be insulted by you. I don’t deserve your scorn. I was the injured party after all.”

  “You were injured? How?”

  “I thought I was marrying an heiress and you weren’t one.”

  “Pardon me for failing to live up to your great expectations.” She could have hit him and would probably always regret that she didn’t. “Now then, I don’t believe anyone should be glad that you’re in the area. When will you be moving on?”

  “Very soon.” She’d exhausted his patience, and he gestured to the door. “I have a visitor about to arrive. Are we finished?”

  They were finished, but at the same juncture, they’d never be finished. There were a thousand questions she might have posed, but he was such a wily character. She’d never get a straight answer.

  She was dying to comprehend why he’d left her. Why hadn’t he cared about her? Why hadn’t she been pretty enough or appealing enough to keep him by her side?

  Why hadn’t she been enough?

  It was a nagging query that could never garner a suitable response. Not from Holden Cartwright anyway. Or perhaps he’d been brutally frank: It had been about money, and she didn’t have any. It was no simpler or more complex than that.

  “Yes, we’re finished,” she said.

  “I won’t be seeing you again, will I? I can’t bear to bicker.”

  “No, you won’t see me again. I’m not sure why I stopped by this time.”

  “It’s clear you’ve suffered some adversity, but you’re beautiful as ever.”

  It was an infuriating remark that had her bristling with offense. “Shut up, Holden. Really, just shut up!”

  She stomped to the door and yanked it open, and for the briefest instant, she froze, her confusion acute. Ellen Dunn was there, her hand raised to knock.

  “Ellen?” Winnie snapped. “What are you doing here?”

  “Miss Watson?” Ellen looked flummoxed and alarmed, but she swiftly regrouped. “I could ask you the same.”

  Winnie glanced at Holden. “This is your visitor?” He didn’t reply, so she turned to Ellen. “I’m leaving, and you’re coming with me.”

  “No, I’m not,” Ellen said. “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Please. I insist.”

  Winnie grabbed her arm, prepared to physically drag her out if she had to, but Ellen jerked away.

  “You’re not my mother, Miss Watson, so you’re in no position to boss me.”

  Winnie took a deep breath to calm down. “I’m not bossing you. I’m asking you to leave with me. No, I’m begging you to leave.”

  “Goodbye, Winifred,” Holden said. “It was lovely to bump into you, but I hope it won’t be a habit.”

  In a sly, fleet move, he pushed Winnie out and pulled Ellen in, and he closed the door and spun the key in the lock. She dawdled in the hall, aghast, enraged, and very, very afraid. What was Ellen thinking? What was Holden’s ploy?

  Winnie wanted to pound on the door and create a scene. She wanted to shout for help and keep shouting until someone rushed to assist her. She wanted to announce that Ellen Dunn was in there with a cad, that unsavory mischief was occurring and it had to be halted.

  But should she do that?

  As Ellen had bluntly pointed out, Winnie had no authority with regard to Ellen. She couldn’t make her obey, but John could make her. Her mother could make her.

  Dare Winnie tattle to them? She had to, didn’t she? Whatever was transpiring, it had to be prevented, but Winnie was an outsider, and the Dunn family looked after their own. None of them would like to have Winnie interfere.

  She whipped away and stormed off, and she headed to the wharf. The tide was still out, so she walked over to the island, but as she reached it, she decided to wait for Ellen. Ellen wouldn’t stay out all night. She had to be back by dark. If she failed to return, her absence would definitely be noted.

  Winnie would hate to get the foolish girl into trouble, would hate to cause a huge controversy with her mother, but Ellen had to see sense. Winnie would talk to her, and if she wouldn’t listen, then Winnie would have to take other steps to protect her, and she could only pray Ellen wouldn’t force her hand.

  If she did, neither of them would win the fight.

  * * * *

  Ellen tugged up the hood on her cloak to shield her face, then she hurried down Holden’s stairs to the street. She was so happy she was practically skipping with joy.

  The following evening, there would be a feast at the castle to commemorate the August full moon. It was an old holiday about fishing and the sea, although no one could remember what it had originally been called or why it had been commenced. It was another inane Dunn tradition that couldn’t be shucked off.

  The entire population of the island would come to celebrate. So would the cousins who lived on the mainland. There would be food and music and games and dancing. People would drink themselves into stupors and pass out, so it would be the perfect time to slip away. She and Holden would be halfway to Scotland before anyone sobered up and realized she was gone.

  The prior afternoon, she’d checked the money in her mother’s secret box, the one she kept behind a loose brick in the fireplace in her bedchamber. It contained hundreds of pounds she’d pilfered from the estate, which meant from John, and Ellen would be delighted to use it to start over.

  She strolled ’round the harbor, and it was clear she’d tarried with Holden much too long. The tide had swept in while she was flirting and making plans. When she returned to the castle, there would be Hell to pay. Melvina would be in a snit, with the servants racing about to get ready for the feast.

  She’d demanded Ellen pitch in with the preparations, but Ellen didn’t care about any stupid party. In her mind, she was galloping down the highway with Holden, the moon lighting their way.

  With some searching, she located a cousin who ferried her over to the island. She clambered onto the dock and was trudging up the trail toward the castle when she saw Miss Watson waiting to accost her.

  She groaned with frustration.

  Her interlude with
Holden had been so precious that she’d forgotten the stern, unpleasant harpy had observed her entering his room. Why had she been there anyway? Ellen had asked Holden, and he’d claimed they’d been acquainted in London, that he’d been friendly with her father, but Ellen was struggling over whether to believe him or not.

  Miss Watson was terribly pretty, terribly sophisticated, and Ellen didn’t want her within a hundred miles of Holden.

  When she’d first arrived at Dunworthy, Ellen had been cordial, but Miss Watson had proved herself stubborn and unlikable. She butted in and bossed others. She’d enraged everyone with her domineering attitude, and she’d made enemies right and left.

  She was a guest, but she never acted like it. John humored her, but no one else thought she was funny, and they’d put her in her place very soon.

  “Ellen, I’m so glad you’re home,” Miss Watson said. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t come back.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” she churlishly replied. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m sorry I upset you earlier. It wasn’t my intent, but could we talk for a minute?”

  “I’m late, Miss Watson, and I’m sure my mother is wondering about me. I am climbing the hill to the castle. You are welcome to accompany me, but if you annoy me, I’ll stop listening.”

  “Fair enough,” Miss Watson said, and they marched off.

  After a bit, Miss Watson asked, “How long have you known Mr. Cartwright?”

  “Several weeks. I met him when I was shopping over in Dunworthy.”

  Miss Watson seemed aghast. “He’s been here for weeks?”

  “Yes—not that it’s any of your business.”

  “I’m making it my business, Ellen.”

  “By what measure would you suppose I’ll allow you to harangue at me about Holden Cartwright—or any other topic for that matter?”

  “I won’t harangue. I swear. I simply have to point out that Mr. Cartwright is much older and much more worldly than you are. It’s not wise for you to be sneaking off with him.”

  “Your concern is noted.”

  “He’s not who you think he is.”

  “You have no idea what I think, so your comment can’t possibly be true.”