How had her calm, well-ordered life come to this? she wondered unhappily. How had she found herself thousands of miles from home and married to a man who at turns fascinated, beguiled, and enraged her? A man whose touch woke passions and turbulent emotions she hadn’t known she possessed? Aman whose mere smile made her heart thunder in her breast and whose presence filled her with both rapture and fury?
Fancy knew the answers to some of her questions, but she couldn’t answer the most important one of all: she was married to Chance Walker, tonight was her wedding night, and what was she going to do about it?
She sat there for several minutes, her miserable thoughts chasing themselves around in her head. She had made a total disaster of her life. And she was honest enough with herself to realize that she couldn’t lay the entire blame for the fiasco of their marriage at Chance’s feet.
She had let herself be pressured into the marriage; she could not pretend otherwise. She could have run away, back to England, instead of marrying him. Of course, there would have been a prodigious scandal, and of course, it would not have been very pleasant for Ellen, but it would have passed. She was, after all, a widow, and everyone knew that widows had far more license than wives or maidens. Yes, some whispers might have followed her, but what did she care? She was dependent on no one. She had her own fortune, and in England, if the whispers persisted, it would have only made her appear a more sophisticated, dashing figure.
I should have packed up my things and returned immediately to Richmond and taken the first ship back to England, she thought grimly. No one could have stopped me, and it is what I should have done. But you did not, murmured a small, sly voice in her brain. You stayed and married a man you claim to despise. Why did you do that, do you think? Her jaw clenched. I do not know why, she answered herself harshly. I have no idea. I must have been mad. Mad? Or half in love with Chance Walker? taunted that sly voice.
Fancy clapped her hands over her ears. This was insanity. She would not listen. She would not allow herself to entertain for a second the absurd notion that she loved Chance. That she felt anything for him but disgust. She had allowed herself to be coerced into this marriage, but she would not, she vowed fiercely, convince herself that she felt any deep emotion for her new husband. Yet she had allowed herself to be married to him.
It suddenly occurred to her that all the things she could have done to escape marriage to Chance in the first place were still true. At this point an annulment was possible. If she acted quickly, she could return to England and, in time, live down the embarrassment and scandal. It wouldn’t be easy. But it could be done. But was she going to do it?
Fancy sat there for a long time, a very long time, her thoughts not very pleasant. She would have been less than human if the idea of the terrible scandal and gossip an annulment would cause didn’t give her pause, but at some point in her musings, she admitted that if she hated Chance as much as she pretended, if she truly loathed him, nothing, not scandal, not even outright ostracism by all and sundry, would stop her from seeking an end to her marriage.
She took a deep breath. So. She wasn’t going to run away. She was going to stay. And be a good wife to Chance? Her mouth twisted. Perhaps. And perhaps not.
* * *
It seemed like endless moments that Chance had stood staring at the doorway through which Fancy had disappeared, but it was probably no more than a few minutes. Berating himself for being all kinds of a fool, he finally left the solarium and went in search of more congenial company—anything to take his thoughts away from Fancy’s stricken face. He had thought to find Hugh and to try to smooth over the misunderstanding created by Jonathan, but it was Morely, staring off morosely into the distance, whom he found just a few paces away from the solarium.
Smiling faintly, Chance asked, “All alone, Morely?”
Morely jumped as if he had been stabbed. “Chance!” he exclaimed in obvious startlement. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, it is my wedding day, you know. Where else would I be?” Chance replied, looking speculatively at the older man. Morely had been acting damned odd of late, and Chance had the curious impression that something was preying on his mind.
“Is something the matter?” Chance asked quietly. “You seem more than usually distracted these days.”
Morely sighed and looked away. “I had hoped it was not noticeable. I have had much on my mind.”
“Anything I could help you with, sir?”
Morely looked at him strangely, almost, Chance would have sworn, guiltily. “No, no, I do not think so,” Morely said heartily. “ ’Tis something I must do by myself.” He sent Chance a sickly smile. “You know how I procrastinate and am forever putting things off—always waiting for a better time in which to do this or that. But I am afraid that I cannot put this particular thing off much longer. I should have spoken of it, oh, years ago.” He sighed heavily. “Somehow the opportunity just never seemed to present itself.”
The two men had begun to walk along the edge of the encroaching forest where the shade was thickest. For the first time in his life, Chance sensed that Morely was uncomfortable in his presence, and he frowned. What was troubling him?
Chance was on the point of asking that question when a sudden buzzing near Morely’s left foot caught his attention. Chance swiftly jerked Morely to the side. “A rattlesnake,” Chance said flatly as they stared at the large, coiled reptile directly in Morely’s path. “Another step and my wedding day might have had a tragic end for you, sir,” he said grimly as the snake uncoiled and slowly retreated deeper into the forest.
Deeply shaken, Morely seemed unable to take his horrified gaze off the disappearing snake. Finally, though, he looked at Chance and stammered, “W-w-why, I might have been killed. I might have died and no one would have . . .” He swallowed, his eyes fixed painfully on Chance’s face. “If I had died,” he said softly, almost to himself, “what I know would have died with me. No one would know the truth.”
Puzzled, Chance said, “The truth about what, sir?”
Morely seemed to recover himself, and glancing back at the throng, he said swiftly, “Oh, nothing, my dear boy. Just the comments of a silly old man. Pay me no heed.”
Under other circumstances, Chance would have demanded an explanation. But since he had troubles enough of his own, he was more than happy to follow Morely’s lead. A few minutes later they rejoined the wedding party. Morely’s odd words left his mind almost immediately, the memory of the way he and Fancy had parted driving all other thoughts from his brain. Now where, he wondered warily, had his prickly duchess hidden herself?
Part Three
Stormy Horizon
There is no gathering the rose
without being pricked by the thorns.
Pilpay
The Two Travelers
Chapter Twelve
The sound of a door slamming in Ellen’s room jerked Fancy from her unhappy thoughts. After a quick glance at herself in the cheval glass, she pinched her cheeks to bring some color back into them and then, putting on a pleasant face, she walked through the connecting hallway to see who had entered Ellen’s room.
As Fancy had suspected, it was Ellen herself, a very distraught Ellen. She was pacing agitatedly around the room, and at the sight of Fancy she gave a small sob. “Oh, Fancy! What am I to do? Hugh hates me now and, and, I definitely do not want to marry Jonathan.” Her beautiful blue eyes filled with tears. “My life is ruined. I might as well throw myself into the river and end it all.”
In spite of the drama of Ellen’s words, Fancy smiled faintly. “Do you really think that would solve anything?” she asked gently.
“Probably not,” Ellen admitted miserably. “But I feel so wretched and unhappy that I want to die.”
Wearing a charming pale lavender silk gown, her normally blond locks formally arranged and powdered to a soft, silky white, she looked very young and desperate, and Fancy’s heart went out to her. Her little sister might be a bit flighty and,
perhaps, even silly at times, but Ellen wasn’t entirely to blame for the situation in which she found herself. Fancy had no doubt that Ellen would have been honest with both Hugh and Jonathan—if she’d been given the chance. Unfortunately, Jonathan’s actions had prevented her from explaining anything, and Fancy wondered precisely what Jonathan had been thinking of when he had made his surprise announcement. Especially since he’d followed it almost immediately with the statement that they should keep the betrothal more or less secret. Somehow Fancy did not believe his desire for secrecy had anything to do with saving the news for his mother’s ball. Jonathan was still conniving, though what he eventually planned she could not even begin to fathom.
Putting aside her own troubles and further speculation about Jonathan’s motives, she walked over to Ellen and put her arms around her sister’s slender shoulders. Brushing a soft kiss against Ellen’s temple, Fancy said, “I know that things look rather bleak right now, darling, but I am sure it is not so bad that you have to think, even for a moment, about such a final solution.”
Ellen gave a watery chuckle. “I know you are right, Fancy, but, oh, it hurts so much.”
“I know, dear. I know.”
Ellen sighed heavily and reluctantly left Fancy’s comforting embrace. “What am I going to do?” she asked forlornly as she wandered around the room. Her eyes met Fancy’s. “I cannot marry Jonathan,” she said quietly. “Even if I did not love Hugh, I still could not marry him. He is not what he pretended to be in England, is he?”
Fancy made a face. “No, I do not think so. And I cannot help but feel that he has some devious plan in mind.” She frowned. “I do not think that he really means to marry you. I think Jonathan enjoyed the situation he created, but once his announcement had the desired effect—Hugh did leave in a temper—he wanted to make certain that no one else hears of the engagement.”
Her face troubled, Ellen sat on the edge of the bed. “ ’Tis all a horrible tangle, isn’t it? And my fault. All my fault. I should never have asked you to keep silent. I should have admitted right away that I was to be Jonathan’s bride, then none of this would have happened.” She grimaced. “At least Hugh would not think that I am an unscrupulous jade.”
Fancy sat on the bed beside her. Taking Ellen’s hand in hers, she said softly, “If he cares for you, he is not going to think of you as an unscrupulous jade forever. He was hurt and, no doubt, disappointed in you, and I am sure he was very angry. But I think that if you give him time to deal with the situation and then try to explain it to him, he will understand.”
Ellen looked sulky. “I think you are wrong. I do not think Hugh Walker cares one whit for me.” She sniffed disdainfully. “He has certainly given no sign of it this past fortnight—and you know that I have made a fool of myself trying to catch his attention.” Her eyes sparkled angrily. “Do you know that he pinched my cheek? Just as though I were an infant.”
“You are very young,” Fancy said with a twinkle.
Ellen sent her a look. “Not that young.”
“I agree, but did it occur to you that Hugh might be hiding his own feelings and that by treating you like a child, he is able to keep you at a distance?”
Ellen appeared entranced by that idea. “Really?” she asked hopefully, her earlier anger with Hugh suddenly forgotten. “Do you really think so?”
“I do not know. But I do know that until you untangle yourself from Jonathan, you are not in any position to find out, are you?”
Ellen’s pretty face fell. “Oh, Fancy,” she wailed again. “What am I going to do?”
“Well, if I were in your position,” Fancy answered carefully, “I think that I would seek a private audience with Jonathan just as soon as I could. Tell him the truth—that you have changed your mind about marrying him.”
An apprehensive look flitted across Ellen’s young face. “He is going to be very angry. And hurt if you are wrong and he really does want to marry me.”
“That is a possibility. But, Ellen, what other alternative do you have? Will you let yourself simply drift into marriage with him because you are afraid to tell him the truth?”
Ellen shook her head vehemently. “No. Never.” She cast Fancy an appealing glance. “I do not suppose . . .” she began tentatively.
It was Fancy’s turn to shake her head. “No. I will not intercede for you in this case. You must do it yourself—if not for yourself, for Hugh—if you love him and truly want to marry him.”
“Oh, I do,” Ellen averred passionately, an ardent light shining in her blue eyes. “More than anything in the world.”
“Then your course is clear. Talk to Jonathan. Tell him the truth.”
Ellen stood up from the bed and took a deep breath. “Very well. I shall. Right now.” A rueful little smile dimpled her cheeks. “Before I become too frightened to do otherwise.”
Fancy rose from the bed and hugged Ellen. “He cannot eat you, love.”
Ellen didn’t look very convinced, but her small jaw firmly set, she gave her silken skirts a pat and then, her head held high, walked from the room.
It was very hard for Fancy not to call her back, not to weaken and intercede for her as she had done most of Ellen’s life. She had always fought Ellen’s battles for her, but she realized that it was time for Ellen to take charge of her own life. But perhaps I should have gone with her, she thought uneasily. Given her moral support in case Jonathan takes the news badly. Then she shook her head. No. This was Ellen’s fight.
Ellen would have been very happy to have Fancy by her side when she finally found Jonathan and asked him quietly for a moment alone. Her heart was quaking in her breast, but he only looked at her for a long, unnerving minute and then courteously took her hand and, placing it on his wine-colored sleeve, began to walk toward the house with her.
Showing her into the large, comfortable study at the rear of the house, Jonathan shut the door behind them. After seeing her seated in a russet leather chair, he quirked a smile and, leaning his hips back against a large cherrywood desk, asked, “Now what was it that you wished to talk to me about, sweetheart?”
Her blue eyes huge in her little face, Ellen blurted out, “Jonathan, do you really want to marry me?”
Jonathan stilled, and one heavy black brow flicked upward in obvious surprise at her question. “I believe that not more than a few hours ago, I announced our betrothal. That should give you some idea how I feel about you,” he answered evasively, his mind racing.
“But that does not answer my question,” Ellen persevered bravely, her fingernails digging into the palms of her hands. He looked very large and almost threatening as he lounged against the desk. Staring at his face, seeing for the first time the selfish cast to his lips, the faint lines of dissipation on his face, and the cold calculation in the dark blue eyes, Ellen wondered how she had ever convinced herself that she was in love with him.
Jonathan let a small, intimidating silence grow as he considered the situation. It was fairly obvious that Ellen was working herself up to breaking off their engagement, the engagement that was still known only to the family. The question for him was whether he was going to let her do it or not. He’d accomplished what he’d set out to do with his sudden announcement—broken up the budding romance between Hugh and Ellen and made it clear to Chance which of the two Merrivale sisters had been his prospective bride. Jonathan smiled grimly at that knowledge. So why not let Ellen break off their engagement? It had served its purpose, and it would certainly make his plans less complicated. Jonathan’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Ellen’s lovely face. But it rankled a great deal, damaged his abundant pride, to realize that Ellen no longer wanted to marry him.
Staring down at the green-and-gold painted canvas rug on the floor, stalling for time, Jonathan asked carefully, “Why is this so important to you now?”
Ellen sought desperately for a way to soften her words, but there was none. Her face unhappy, she said huskily, “Because I am afraid that I have made a terrible mistake.
I do not love you and I do not want to marry you.”
Jonathan’s jaw clenched and rage rose up inside him. Despite the fact that he had no intention of marrying her, he was furious that she was actually turning him down. Throwing away the great honor that he, Jonathan Walker of Walker Ridge, had bestowed upon her. Stupid little chit. If it wasn’t to his advantage to let her have her way, he’d hold her to their betrothal, force her to marry him.
Jonathan gave a twisted smile. “Well, my dear, I am hurt that you feel this way. But if it is your wish for our betrothal to end, I see no point in trying to dissuade you.”
“R-r-really?” Ellen stammered out, hardly daring to believe that it could be this easy.
“Of course,” he said blandly. “I have no desire to marry a woman who does not want me.”
“Are you v-v-very disappointed?” she asked softly. “I do not want to hurt you.”
Jonathan straightened and grasped one of her small hands, then pressed his lips against the back of it. “I am wounded, I cannot deny, but your happiness means more to me than anything. If you do not want to marry me, then there is nothing else for us to say.”
Ellen stood up, and stepping away from him, she said, “You are being very kind.” She walked quickly to the door, then stopped and looked back at him. Uncomfortably she said, “Fancy already knows of my decision. Will you tell your family?”
Jonathan nodded slowly. “Yes, of course,” he said coolly. “ ’Tis fortunate, is it not, that we decided not to make the announcement public?” A cutting note crept into his voice. “It would have been extremely awkward for us to explain to the guests such a short time later that we had made a mistake, is that not so?”
A Heart for the Taking Page 20
