A Heart for the Taking

by Shirlee Busbee

  Ellen’s face fell. “I had not considered it in quite that light. But what am I to do?” she almost wailed. She glanced over to where Hugh stood guard, and her face softened immediately. “I cannot leave him, Fancy. I just cannot.” Her gaze swung back to her sister. Desperately she pleaded, “Oh, Fancy, help me! Think of something. You are the one who always has a plan. Help me.”

  “Ellen, I—”

  “Please! I’ll die if you don’t help me. You must help me!”

  Fancy took a deep breath. She had never seen Ellen so frantic, so determined on a course. Ellen was the sunny-natured one of the pair of them, the amiable, lighthearted one, and she was not normally given to any type of histrionics. Deeply troubled, Fancy stared at her sister, noting the ravages of their long trek in Ellen’s sunken cheeks and the lank blond hair. Her heart ached. Ellen had suffered so much—and it was her fault that Ellen had been placed in danger. If she had not insisted upon this trip . . . She had always protected Ellen, shielded her from the unpleasant aspects of life; how could she turn her back on Ellen now, when it was most important?

  Reluctantly Fancy asked, “What do you want me to do? We cannot just . . .”

  Ellen hastily wiped away any trace of tears, but there was a quaver in her voice as she asked, “Could we not just leave things as they are for a little while? Could you perhaps just pretend that what Hugh and Chance already think is true? That you are the one who is going to be betrothed to Jonathan?”

  “Me? Have you gone mad?” Fancy burst out in astonishment. “Ellen, you know that I would do just about anything in the world for you, but sweetheart, I do not think that you have thought this through. ’Tis one thing to carry this pretense out while it is only the four of us, but once we reach Walker Ridge—”

  “Jonathan will not mind,” Ellen muttered, “he always seems to be just as happy in your presence as mine.”

  “Oh, but that is not true. You know it is not.”

  Ellen sniffed. “No, I do not. Not anymore. Richmond opened my eyes to many things.”

  “But, Ellen, I cannot just . . . Can you not see that Jonathan will notice something is wrong? That he will notice you are avoiding him and are busily setting your cap for another man?” Fancy shot Ellen a look. “I mean, I am correct in assuming that you are going to avoid him—you are not going to try to hold both men captive to your charms, are you?”

  “Of course not,” Ellen replied, affronted. “This is not some new parlor game to me, Fancy. I love Hugh Walker and all I am asking is for a little bit of time in which to make him fall in love with me. Is that so very much to ask?”

  “Well, yes, it is, under the circumstances,” Fancy replied bluntly. “We are Jonathan’s guests; he thinks that you are going to marry him.”

  Ellen shook her head. “No, if you remember correctly, you were the one who advised against any betrothal. The entire purpose of this trip was to make certain if we wanted to marry. And I, for one, have made up my mind. I do not want to marry Jonathan Walker.”

  “Then the honorable thing for us to do is to tell Jonathan that information and remove ourselves immediately to Richmond.”

  Ellen’s little face crumpled. “Oh, do not say such a thing! I will never see Hugh again if we do that. Won’t you please help me? Could you not just let things alone for a few days? Just let everyone believe what they want? Please?”

  Fancy’s heart twisted at Ellen’s unhappy, pleading features. What harm would just a few days do? she asked herself reluctantly. And if it made Ellen happy? Eventually everything would have to be sorted out, and she was going to have to apologize profusely to Jonathan and his mother, but in the meantime . . .

  With great misgivings, Fancy finally said, “Very well, I will, er, let things alone for a few days.” She shook a finger at Ellen as her sister’s face miraculously cleared. “But you, miss, are going to have to handle Jonathan, and eventually you are going to have to tell him that you have changed your mind.”

  Ellen flung her arms around Fancy’s neck, nearly oversetting her. “Oh, Fancy! I knew you would not fail me. You are the kindest, sweetest, most wonderful sister in the world.”

  “And quite, quite mad, I am sure,” Fancy said tartly.

  When Chance returned some time later, he found the women busy about a small fire and the inevitable johnnycakes, made from the last of their cornmeal and mixed with blackberries, baking in the ash at the edge of the flames. Lifting up the fat turkey he carried at his side, he said cheerfully, “Tonight we shall feast.”

  He spoke the truth. Although it took the turkey a few hours to roast on the spit Chance had fashioned, with her first bite of the smoke-flavored flesh, Fancy agreed that it had been well worth the wait. Since there was no reason to hoard any of the food, they all gorged themselves, and for the first time since she had been captured, Fancy’s stomach was satisfyingly full.

  Fancy was certain, after the stunning conversation with Ellen that afternoon, that she would spend the night tossing and turning. To her surprise, she did not. Her head had barely hit the ground before she fell into a deep sleep from which she did not stir until Ellen nudged her awake the next morning.

  Everyone seemed in much higher spirits as they left the campsite; Chance even whistled merrily as they walked into the forests.

  The terrain they now traversed was hilly in some places, gently rolling in others, all thickly wooded and alive with gurgling streams. They passed springs and little brooks shaded by the spreading leaves of great sycamore trees and walked through groves of magnificent oaks and locust trees, with pecan and laurel trees scattered throughout. Later, they followed wide streams edged with willow and poplar, the ubiquitous grape and blackberry everywhere. They had been walking for several hours, and the sun was high in the sky, when they suddenly left the forest and stepped out onto a narrow path at the side of a huge tobacco field. Fancy blinked at the sight of the green tobacco plants, so abrupt was the change from the forest to the cultivated area.

  The tobacco field was the first sign of the human hand upon the land, and as they walked along the red-clay path, Fancy glanced over her shoulder at Chance and asked, “Where are we? Do you know?”

  Chance snorted. “Obviously you do not have much faith in my abilities. But yes, I do know where we are. In just a few minutes, the James River will come into view, and Walker Ridge with it.”

  Chance was as true as his word. The tobacco field ended and there, on the small ridge that had given its name to the imposing house that sat upon it, was Walker Ridge. The James River, gleaming silver and blue, was in the distance. There were so many much smaller outbuildings near the main house and fanning out behind it that the area looked almost like a village. Fancy was startled by the unexpected sight of such a large community in the wilderness. As they approached the house, she could see beyond it to more huge tobacco fields, like the one they had crossed. To the left of the house, she spied an orchard, recognizing apple, plum, and pear trees. There was a formal garden in front of the tall H-shaped house of brick and wood in which roses bloomed wildly. Agrand sloping lawn, thickly dotted with pecan, willow, and oak trees, ran all the way down to the James River.

  Their pace increased until they left the narrow path behind and reached the wide curving carriageway that circled the front of the house. Their approach had been spotted, and from several of the smaller buildings, people ran out and pointed. Fancy could hear the shouts of excitement. The soaring doors of the main house were suddenly flung open and Jonathan and Sam Walker appeared, followed closely by Constance and an older lady who Fancy assumed was Sam’s wife, Letty.

  With a great whoop, his handsome face alight with joy, Jonathan bounded across the broad porch and down the wide brick steps. Meeting them in the middle of the formal garden, the air heavy with the scent of the roses, Jonathan reached Fancy and swung her up into the air, saying delightedly, “My dear Fancy! We have been unable to sleep or eat, so consumed with worry about your fate have we been.”

  Obliv
ious of the others, he pressed a kiss to Fancy’s cheek. “We had no idea whether you were alive or dead. You cannot imagine the terror we have endured.”

  Embarrassed and uncomfortable, aware of Chance and Ellen on either side of her, Fancy was stiff in Jonathan’s arms. She wished heartily that she had never given her word to Ellen. Jonathan’s forward manner with her certainly lent credence to some of Ellen’s comments, and despite knowing that Ellen’s affections now lay in a different direction, she was angry for her sister. If Ellen had been in love with Jonathan, this unseemly display would have hurt her unbearably. Ruffled and out of sorts by the entire situation, Fancy stepped from Jonathan’s embrace, her mouth tightening with displeasure. Subterfuge was not her nature, and if it hadn’t been for Ellen . . . Jonathan was acting far, far too familiar! Sending him a cool look, she replied somewhat acidly, “Let me reassure you that your terror, while I am certain it was immense, was nothing, my dear man, to what Ellen and I experienced.”

  Chapter Seven

  The suite of rooms that Fancy and Ellen were shown to, on the second floor of the house, were luxurious. If she hadn’t known better, Fancy would have thought she was staying in a grand country estate in England. Both elegantly appointed bedchambers had their own lavishly furnished sitting rooms, as well as spacious dressing rooms. A door in each of the dressing rooms opened onto a short wide hall between the suites and gave the ladies private access to each other without having to traverse the main passageway of the house.

  The summertime furnishings were evident, from the finely woven grass mat that lay upon the polished oak floor of the bedchamber, to the pale-yellow-and-white seersucker curtains that hung from the tall windows in the room Fancy had chosen for herself. The mahogany bed with its soaring post and canopy was swathed in a cream-colored filmy netting, and a silk coverlet printed with tiny yellow rosebuds lay atop the plump mattress. Ellen’s bedchamber was similar, except that pink and cream seemed to be the predominant color of the cloth furnishings.

  Letty Walker had escorted the two women to their suite and shown them the arrangement of the rooms. She had smiled at them and, a twinkle in her eyes, had said kindly, “I imagine that the very first thing both of you would like is a bath and a change of clothes.”

  Fancy and Ellen had glanced down at what remained of their stained and bedraggled gowns and burst out laughing.

  “Mrs. Walker, how did you guess?” Fancy asked, her face alight.

  “Well, my dears, it happened that once when I was much younger,” Letty said easily, “Sam and I got lost in the forest. It was three days before we managed to find our way home again. I can tell you that the first thing I wanted was a bath and change of clothing. I assume the same would hold true for you. Am I correct?”

  “Indeed you are,” Fancy replied. “Ellen and I have had dreams of doing nothing but soaking in a hot tub of water for at least a fortnight.”

  Letty chuckled, a warm, inviting sound that added to her already charming manner. Fancy found her initial liking of Sam Walker’s wife increasing with every moment. Letty’s seventy-two years sat lightly upon her slim shoulders. Her sweet-natured face was framed by a cloud of soft white hair that owed nothing to powder. Her gray-blue eyes had been warm and welcoming when they had been introduced upon their unorthodox arrival several minutes ago. Fancy’s gratitude toward Sam’s wife had been immense when she had briskly swept the two younger women away from Constance’s embarrassingly fulsome welcome, stating calmly, “Yes, yes, Constance, I am sure that all of that is true, but I think our guests might like to refresh themselves and have a few moments of privacy right now, is that not so?”

  Constance’s lips had thinned, but she had not demurred. They had then taken their leave from the gentlemen, and keeping up a gentle flow of conversation, Letty had graciously ushered Fancy and Ellen up the broad, curving staircase and shown them to their rooms.

  “Well, I hope that we can persuade you not to linger in the tub quite that long,” Letty said teasingly. “As soon as I leave you, I intend to have a counsel with Cook and plan on presenting you this evening with a meal to tempt even the most delicate appetite.” She chuckled again. “An easy task, I would think, considering what you have been eating.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Walker, that sounds lovely, but please, please, nothing with blackberries,” Ellen said with a shy smile.

  “No blackberries, I promise you, child.” Letty crossed to the dressing room in Fancy’s quarters and opened the door. “All of your trunks and belongings have been unpacked and hung in the armoires,” she said. “I do not know if we guessed correctly whose possessions were whose, but you will be able to sort things out. I have assigned a girl to each of you. Lady Merrivale, I believe that Ora will do very nicely for you.” Sending a smile to Ellen, she added, “Clover is a little young, only sixteen, but I think, Miss Merrivale, you will find that she is very cheerful and willing. If there is a problem, please let me know and I shall take care of it.” Letty took one more glance around the rooms, then said, “And now, before I make a nuisance of myself, I shall leave and see about getting those baths for you.”

  Sinking into the warm lavender-scented water in the big brass tub in her dressing room some time later, Fancy was certain that she never wanted to move again. The tub was unusually deep and large, specially manufactured to Sam Walker’s measurements, she’d been told proudly by Ora. As she lay back and the soothing water lapped at her chin, Fancy gave a great sigh. After the fortnight or better that she had just spent, she would never again take for granted such a simple act as bathing.

  Fortunately, the Walker household had more than one brass tub. Knowing that Ellen was experiencing the same pleasure she was and that there was no reason to rush, Fancy lingered over her bath, scrubbing her body and her hair numerous times. Only when the water, despite some hot additions by Ora, began to cool did she finally rise from the tub. After drying and a lavish use of some of her favorite dusting powder, she slipped into an amber-colored dressing gown and began idly to brush her long clean hair. Even this is a luxury, she thought ruefully, remembering the lank, untidy braid she had worn during their trek through the wilderness.

  Setting down her silver-backed brush on the satinwood dressing table, she stifled a yawn, then wandered into the bedchamber. Ellen was just peeking her head around the connecting hallway door as Fancy entered the room.

  Her face scrubbed and shining, her damp hair held back by a white silk ribbon, Ellen was wearing a pale blue dressing gown edged in blond Brussels lace. Her eyes meeting Fancy’s, she cried gaily, “Oh, Fancy! Wasn’t it bliss? Did you ever think a bath could feel so wonderful?”

  Laughing, Fancy shook her head. “Never, my dear!” She looked over at the big bed. “And if that is as comfortable as it looks, I fear I shall never leave this room again.” Her stomach gave an unladylike rumble just then, and she added wryly, “Except for food, of course.”

  As if in answer to her words, there was a tap on the door and a moment later Ora entered, carrying a huge silver tray covered with all sorts of appetizing offerings. The instant the tall, stately black woman placed the laden tray on a large mahogany table in the center of the room, Ellen and Fancy, unable to help themselves, crowded close to the tray, staring greedily at the contents—sliced chicken and veal, a plate of jellied asparagus, some creamed cauliflower, cucumbers and radishes fresh from the garden, and a bowl of thick, clotted cream and some slices of apricot, as well as hot coffee and a pan of biscuits still warm from the oven.

  Ora grinned at their expressions, her teeth very white in her round black face. “Miz Letty said that you all might be jus’ a bit hungry.”

  “Ora, you have no idea,” Fancy exclaimed as she bit down on a red radish and began to fill a plate with chicken and some of the jellied asparagus. “Mrs. Walker is a saint, and you may tell her I said so.”

  Descending the staircase a few hours later, her dark hair piled artfully high, with one long dusky ringlet lying upon her white bosom, the silke
n skirts of her brocaded Spitafields gown and petticoat rustling around her feet, Fancy was conscious of a knot starting to form in her stomach. In a few minutes she would see Chance Walker again, and the prospect filled her with a volatile mixture of excitement and dread, emotions she felt frequently in his presence.

  There was comfort to be gained from the knowledge that she was looking especially attractive for a woman who had just spent the past fortnight struggling through the verdant wilderness, but as she reached the bottom step of the stairs, her fingers tightened unconsciously on the fan of delicately painted chicken skin she carried in one hand. She had never once given a thought to her appearance during the entire time she and Ellen had been in the wilderness, but now she found herself wondering what Chance would think when he saw her garbed in her normal attire. It was the thought of his eyes upon her that made her suddenly aware of how low cut her bodice actually was and made her embarrassingly aware that of the tops of her small bosom were boldly displayed for anyone to see.

  Angry with herself for caring, even fleetingly, what Chance Walker might think about anything, she lifted her head imperiously. Reminding herself that she was the baroness Merrivale and that she was wearing a perfectly respectable, fashionable gown and that no rude, country dolt was going to put her out of countenance, she swiftly crossed the passage to a pair of doors set in a graceful archway.

  Fancy opened one door and entered the room. Letty had pointed out this particular room earlier when she had escorted the ladies up the stairs and had called it the red salon. It was a large, lofty chamber, with three lovely crystal chandeliers and an impressive bank of tall, narrow windows that overlooked a different part of the formal garden. A Caucasian carpet in vivid shades of red and gold lay upon the floor; elegantly draped curtains in the same shades hung at the windows; and there were small tables and chests of mahogany and walnut scattered attractively throughout the room. A trio of delicate settees covered in gold satin and several comfortable red leather chairs constituted the majority of the remaining furnishings.