A Heart for the Taking

by Shirlee Busbee

  Beside her, Ellen stirred and said gaily, “Oh, here come Jonathan and Simmons now!”

  Fancy glanced over her shoulder and stared intently at the tall, strikingly handsome gentleman approaching them, a warm smile curving his lips. He was followed by his manservant, Simmons, a small, olive-skinned man who the few times she had been in his presence had made Fancy uneasy.

  In deference to shipboard conditions, Jonathan was not wearing a powdered wig, but his dark hair had been pulled back into a queue, and in his deep blue double-breasted jacket and buff breeches he looked very stylish. There were clocks on his silk stockings and silver buckles on his shoes; the ruffles on his fine linen shirt were profuse, and he carried an amber cane in his left hand. Reaching the two women, with Simmons standing respectfully in the background, Jonathan bowed very low and said, “Ladies, a good morrow to you! And I must say that when I escort you from the ship, I shall be the envy of every man in our great Colony of Virginia today.”

  Ellen blushed, and a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Fancy’s mouth. Dryly she said, “And you, sir, are far too fulsome with your compliments.”

  Jonathan’s features assumed a wounded expression, but his blue eyes were twinkling. “My lady! How can you say so, when I but speak the truth?”

  It certainly was true that the two women looked delightful in their simple traveling costumes. Ellen, her unpowdered fair hair arranged neatly in a tidy pompadour with two long curls hanging down her neck, was wearing a pale blue dimity gown over a yellow quilted petticoat. A dark gray cloak was carried over one arm, and an embroidered etui, which contained her favorite bottle of scent, hung from her waist.

  Beneath the wide brim of her beaver hat, Fancy’s dark hair had been simply tied at the nape of her neck with a wide russet ribbon; a row of delicate blond lace framed the round neck of her striped tobacco brown gown, which was worn over a fawn-colored petticoat. With the knowledge that they would be meeting Jonathan’s mother and older brother for the first time and that she was a widow, Fancy thought that she had dressed soberly and sedately this morning. She was happily unaware of how the saucy angle of her hat coupled with her cat-shaped eyes gave her a flirtatious air, or of how the color of her gown brought out the warm golden glow of her skin and the expertly fitted bodice drew attention to her narrow waist and firm little bosom.

  Jonathan certainly wasn’t blind to Fancy’s charms, and he blessed again the caution that had kept him from fully committing himself to Ellen. The idea of a long visit in the Colonies while the Merrivale ladies met his family and friends had been an excellent idea. The ladies intended to stay for several months, and who knew what would happen during that time? Fancy might come to realize that widowhood was not quite as appealing as she had first thought, and as for Ellen . . .

  It was a dangerous line Jonathan trod, delicately wooing one sister while keeping an avaricious eye on the other. Not even to his family had he clarified which of the two ladies he intended to marry. His letter home had indicated that a wedding was possibly in the wind, but he had not named the lady of his choice. And since his letter had been rather full of details about the baroness, his family might be forgiven for assuming that it was Fancy who was his probable bride. But clever man that he was, he had also managed to cloud the waters by singing Ellen’s praises to the skies. His family, he thought with a smug smile, was no doubt thoroughly confused. And until his actual betrothal, to either Ellen or Fancy, was announced, he intended to keep it that way.

  That Ellen thought herself in love with him could prove a problem if his plans for Fancy came to fruition, but it didn’t worry him overmuch. There were several nice eligible bachelors he could think of who could provide a distraction for her, especially if at the appropriate time, he oh so delicately hinted to Ellen that perhaps they had made a mistake in their feelings for one another.

  His handsome face showing none of his thoughts, with a lovely Merrivale on either side of him, he gazed down at the bustle on the busy wharf below them and asked jovially, “Well, what do you think of the New World, my ladies?”

  “ ’Tis most exciting,” exclaimed Ellen. “I saw an Indian a moment ago.”

  The wharf was busy; carts and wagons of all sizes were loading and unloading; horses neighed and dogs barked, and a babble of conversation and shouts floated on the warm morning air. Several scarlet-coated British soldiers strolled by, as did a plainly garbed Quaker couple, the gentleman wearing a surtout about his shoulders, his wife’s gown dark and worn with a white bib. A pair of fishermen in knitted red caps and heavy leather sea boots walked jauntily behind the Quaker couple, followed by a water carrier in a speckled patterned waistcoat and an old black felt hat, his back bent under the weight of the heavy wooden buckets he carried on a rod across his shoulders. A shopkeeper, an apron of green baize around his ample waist, hurried busily down the center of the wharf, and here and there an Indian with feathers in his hair or a frontiersman in rough buckskins sauntered through the shifting colorful crowd.

  An elegant carriage pulled by a pair of high-stepping bays suddenly swung onto the wide wharf and Jonathan said, “Ah, at last, there they are! My family have come to greet us.”

  A little knot of nervousness formed itself in Fancy’s stomach. She knew it was silly. There was no reason in the world why she wasn’t going to like Jonathan’s family, or why they should take a dislike to her and Ellen. She took in a deep, steadying breath. She needed to remind herself that she wasn’t just plain Miss Merrivale without fortune or in need of a guardian or husband anymore and hadn’t been for a number of years. But old habits died hard, and fiercely she reminded herself that she was Lady Merrivale, the widow of a peer of the realm, and that she had a nice little fortune safely invested in the funds in England. If Jonathan’s family proved obnoxious and inhospitable, well, so be it! She and Ellen would do just fine without them!

  Ignoring the flutter in her chest, Fancy watched as a tall gentleman, his hair powdered and tied in a black silk bag under a black ribbon bow, politely helped a woman in a gorgeous creation of green figured silk from the carriage. She guessed that the gentleman in the tan cloth coat trimmed in silver braid was Jonathan’s half brother, Samuel, and that the woman was Jonathan’s mother.

  Beside her, Jonathan quickly confirmed her guess as the pair made their way toward the ship. They made a distinguished couple. The gentleman, though over seventy, walked straight and tall, and even from a distance Fancy could see that in her youth Jonathan’s mother had been quite lovely. Constance Walker was still an extremely attractive woman, even if she had celebrated her fifty-third birthday in May. Her figure was perhaps a trifle fuller than when she had been a young woman, but she moved with the grace of a maid. As was the fashion, her hair was curled and powdered beneath a charming calash of a darker green than her gown, her full skirts swaying gently as she walked beside her much older stepson.

  Intent as she was on Jonathan’s relatives, as the minutes passed, Fancy became aware of a prickling sensation, an unease that she couldn’t explain, almost as if someone were watching her and not kindly. She glanced around, seeking the source of her discomfort, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Surely Simmons’s presence behind Jonathan didn’t bother her? Of course not! She shrugged her slender shoulders, deciding that she must be letting the coming meeting with Jonathan’s family disturb her, and she wondered with sudden amusement if for the first time in her life she was going to suffer a fit of the vapors.

  A faint, rueful smile curved her generous mouth. What a ninny she was being! These people weren’t going to bite her, for goodness’ sake!

  Still, the sensation persisted and, becoming irritated, she took another impatient look around her. It was then that she saw him. . . . He was on the wharf, standing almost directly in front of them, an expression of amused contempt on his handsome face as he stared boldly back at her.

  Fancy’s heart gave a funny little start. From his garb, fringed buckskins and calico shirt, she took him to be
a rough frontiersman, and he was certainly staring at them, her, in the rudest manner! Her chin lifted, but she couldn’t seem to stop staring at him, something about those fiercely chiseled features and that tall, powerful body holding her mesmerized. His thick black hair was unfettered and waved freely about his dark face and broad shoulders, giving him a feral, untamed air. A lion, she thought giddily, that’s what he reminds me of, a black-maned lion. A lion, leashed but ready to spring on its hapless prey in an instant. Fancy gave herself a shake and with an effort tore her gaze from his. A lion indeed. She was definitely fanciful this morning.

  Forcing a bright smile, she kept her head firmly averted from the disturbing creature on the wharf and stared determinedly at Jonathan’s relatives as they started up the gangplank. Who did he think he was, looking at her in such a way? Why, she had half a mind to . . . What? Hit him with her reticule?

  A giggle threatened to escape, and forgetting for the moment the annoying man on the wharf, she was able, a few minutes later, to greet Samuel Walker and Jonathan’s mother, Constance, in her usual charming manner. She liked Sam Walker on sight, but the hard, assessing gleam in Constance’s green eyes and the slightly petulant cast to her mouth gave Fancy pause. She’d seen, upon the rare occasion, just that same expression in Jonathan’s eyes and had also idly noticed the tendency for his lips to curve in a petulant pout when events didn’t go precisely as planned. It hadn’t bothered her before now, but seeing those traits more obviously defined in his mother caused her to speculate about the true nature of the man Ellen wanted to marry.

  After the introductions had been completed and questions about their journey from England had been answered, the conversation became even more general for several moments. Fancy and Ellen were both enthusiastic about their first sights of the New World and they spoke animatedly about the small settlements and the vast green wilderness they had seen on their journey up the James River to Richmond.

  Sam Walker was obviously pleased by their reactions, and Fancy was drawn to him by his ready smile and the warm twinkle in his deep blue eyes. He might be over seventy, but he was still an extremely attractive man, his skin firm and dark, his nose straight and broad, and his mouth wide and full lipped.

  Beaming at the two younger women, Sam murmured, “I hope that you will find your stay at Walker Ridge even more pleasant and entertaining than your journey has been so far. My wife, Letty, has been in a tizzy since she first learned that you were coming to visit. She would have been here with us this morning, but there were a few final things that she wanted to oversee before your arrival at the house. We all want you to enjoy yourselves.”

  “Of course,” Constance said airily, “you must not expect to find things as you would in England, my dear Lady Merrivale. We are such provincials! I only hope that during your stay we can provide you and your delightful sister with suitable amusements and that you will find things here in the colonies not too backward!”

  “I am certain that my sister and I will be most happy,” Fancy said gently. “Jonathan has told us a great deal about life in the Colonies and we have been looking forward to our visit at your home.”

  “Well, Walker Ridge is, even if I do say so myself, quite, quite exceptional,” Constance said proudly. “I doubt you would find a finer home, even in England.” Asuperior smile on her lips, she added, “The Viscount Darnley and his lovely wife came to visit us just last year and we had a prodigiously gay time. Do you know them? Oh, I suppose that you do. After all, your late husband was a baron, was he not?” She gave a titter of laughter. “My dear, I simply cannot tell you how pleased I have been since my darling Jonathan wrote and said that he was bringing home a baroness and her sister for a visit. I must tell you that all my friends have been positively green with envy. Of course, they will all want to meet you.”

  Fancy wasn’t quite certain how it came about, but a few minutes later, as they all walked toward the gangplank, she found herself firmly anchored to Jonathan’s arm, his mother on his other side as they followed behind an amiably chatting Sam and Ellen. Fancy was paying only half a mind to Constance’s chatter, and while she didn’t want to be too judgmental, she sincerely hoped that Letty Walker was more like Sam and less like Constance. If she wasn’t, it was going to be a very long visit.

  They had almost reached the gangplank and were just starting down, when there was a sudden gasp from Constance and she stopped dead in her tracks. Her face almost ugly with displeasure, she grasped Jonathan’s arm even tighter and hissed, “What is he doing here?”

  Fancy’s gaze followed the direction of Constance’s look, and her heart gave another of those funny little leaps. The frontiersman who had stared so boldly at her just a short while ago was standing at the base of the gangplank, a cool smile tugging at the corners of his long mouth. Unable to help herself, she whispered to Jonathan, “Who is that man?”

  An unpleasant expression on his handsome face, Jonathan said grimly, “Why, only the bastard of the family. Chance. Chance Walker.”

  Chapter Two

  Sam Walker heard Jonathan’s comment, and sending his half-brother a stern look over his shoulder, he said quietly, “Have you been away so long in England that you have forgotten that this is a New World and a man should be allowed to put his beginnings behind him? Because of an unfortunate set of circumstances—none, I might add, of his own making—is Chance to be forever branded?”

  Jonathan stiffened at the note of reprimand in Sam’s voice and muttered, “Have you forgotten that he cheated us out of thousands of acres?”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. “No,” he said softly, “I have not forgotten precisely how it was that Chance came to own that particular tract of our land. And now, I think we have said enough in front of our charming guests.” He smiled down at Ellen’s wide-eyed expression. “Forgive us! You have stumbled across a long-standing family disagreement and we have been rude enough to air it in front of you. Believe me, we are not always so impolite.”

  The moment was smoothed over, but the exchange between the brothers left Fancy with the decided impression that Chance Walker was not someone she would care to know any better. It also left all sorts of questions floating around in her head. What were the circumstances of his birth, and how had Chance Walker obtained that land? And why, if he was the blackguard that Jonathan indicated, did his brother seem to defend him? Remembering the contemptuous way Chance Walker had stared up at her earlier, Fancy decided that in this case, Jonathan probably had the correct understanding of the man. Chance Walker was obviously not a gentleman.

  As they continued down the gangplank, the closer they came to the tall, buckskin-clad figure standing so arrogantly on the wharf, Fancy found herself tensing, and unconsciously she clung more tightly to Jonathan’s arm. She was suddenly glad that she wasn’t alone and that they were in a public place with several people nearby.

  Why she felt that way, she couldn’t have said, but there was something in the way Chance Walker was looking at her, some expression in those hooded eyes, that warned her he was no more impressed by her than she had been by him. Which, of course, naturally put her on her mettle and put an unusually haughty expression on her pretty face and had her little tip-tilted nose firmly in the air.

  Avoiding even looking in the direction of the waiting figure at the base of the gangplank, she began to speak with great animation to Jonathan, talking airily about some ball they had attended together in London. She didn’t even know what she was babbling on about, and despite her apparent lively conversation with Jonathan, she was unbearably aware of the other man. She could feel his gaze like a searing blade, boring into her.

  They finally reached the wharf, where Sam Walker greeted Chance with a warm smile. “Good morning, Chance, I didn’t expect to see you here in Richmond. The last I heard of you from Morely, you were somewhere out in the wilderness trading with the Indians. Was it a profitable trip, my boy?”

  At thirty-four years of age, Chance hardly resembled a boy, standing
nearly six feet three in his stockinged feet. Beneath the fringed buckskins that he wore with such careless elegance, his shoulders were broad, his body whipcord lean, and his dark face was hard and shuttered. An unforgettable face, Fancy thought in spite of herself, her gaze noting the swooping black brows, the startling cobalt blue eyes, and the long, mobile mouth.

  Their eyes suddenly met, and Fancy felt her heart drop right down somewhere around her curling little toes. Mercy! No one had ever looked at her that way before! The cool contempt was plain to see, as was the inexplicable dislike, but it was the flash of something else deep in his eyes that made her pulse leap.

  Ignoring a craven impulse to pick up her skirts and run back up the gangplank to the relative safety of the ship, Fancy lifted her chin even higher, and her lovely eyes held an angry sparkle. Who did he think he was, this backwoods buffoon, looking at her in such a manner?

  Sam cleared his throat gently, breaking the odd spell between them, and Fancy’s mouth nearly fell open in shock at the change of expression that swept over Chance’s features as he glanced at the older man. A warm, stunningly attractive smile tugged at the corners of that long mouth and lit those blue, blue eyes as he said in a deep voice, “It is good to see you, sir. And as for my trip . . . well, it was not very successful—you know that Logan has joined with Cornstalk and that the Shawnees and other Indian tribes have banded together. They have been raiding and killing all along the Ohio since Logan’s family was slaughtered in April. I went more at the governor’s request to see if I could convince them to meet to talk peace, but . . .” Chance shrugged. “I was, I am unhappy to admit, no better a peace emissary than I was a trader.”

  It was too good an opportunity for Jonathan to pass up, and he drawled, “I must say that I am surprised that Lord Dunmore sent someone of your ilk to deal with these warring savages. After all, your, er, skills are more in fleecing the unwary, aren’t they?”