A Heart for the Taking

by Shirlee Busbee

  The hall was empty when Jonathan stepped into it. His expression introspective, he made his way downstairs, grateful that he met no one else. He needed privacy and time to think, and knowing that Foxfield was where he would have both, he was suddenly glad that he had been banished to the smaller plantation until Chance and Fancy had left Walker Ridge.

  Tossing the reins of his lathered horse to a waiting black boy some time later, he hurried up the broad steps of the pleasant, if unimpressive, house at Foxfield. Shortly, alone in the small, comfortable study at the side of the house, a freshly poured snifter of brandy in one hand, a thick cigar of fine Virginia tobacco in the other, he sat in a black leather chair and stared into space.

  Planning to murder two men, with no wind of blame blowing in his direction, was not, he decided, going to be too difficult. Though everyone knew of the enmity between him and Chance, it was highly unlikely that he would be suspected if Chance were suddenly to have a fatal accident. Life was hard in the Colonies; there were tragedies every day.

  However, Morely’s death either just preceding Chance’s or very soon thereafter was going to cause a certain amount of talk. Still, Jonathan did not think it would create any danger for him. Everyone liked Morely, and since he and Morely were on good terms, there would be no reason for anyone even to cast a curious eye toward him. Two accidents were risky, but accidents did happen all the time, even in the same family. Perhaps it could be arranged that the same accident killed both men? A distinct possibility. He would have to consider it.

  It was, Jonathan thought idly as he sipped his brandy, more a case of deciding when and where and how than anything else. It really was too bad that Morely and Pru were not going to travel with Chance and Fancy to Devil’s Own. A mishap along the trail would be a simple and swift solution to the problem.

  Getting rid of Chance was imperative. Not only because of the danger that he represented, but every time Chance lay with Fancy, there was the possibility that she would conceive a child. An angry white line appeared around Jonathan’s lips. If he did marry Fancy, and he had begun to have a few doubts about that, it was going to be difficult enough living with the knowledge that Chance had known Fancy’s charms. But he would be damned if he would live with Chance’s spawn growing up under his very nose.

  Jonathan took in a deep lungful of smoke and slowly let it out. Watching the blue wisps rise in the air, he considered his position. Once Chance was dead, the greatest threat was over. What would Morely gain by telling of his suspicions then? There was no denying that Morely was a soft-headed, vacillating fool—but he knew which side his bread was buttered on. With Chance dead, there would be no point in making a scandal or attempting to implicate Constance. Killing Morely might not be necessary, but Jonathan decided to take no chances. With Chance, Morely, and Annie dead, he and his mother would be the only ones who knew the truth.

  He grimaced. Except that he did not plan to do the actual deeds himself. Well, in Annie’s case, it shouldn’t be too difficult. An evening stroll along the river’s edge, a tap on the head, and into the water she would go. By the time her body was found, it would be assumed that she’d slipped, fallen, and drowned. Any marks upon her body would be thought to have happened in the river. No, Annie would not be a problem, and he could take care of her quite easily himself. The two men, however, were something different.

  Jonathan sighed. It was obvious that he’d have to employ someone else, and he’d have to do it with extreme delicacy and great discretion. For several long moments he sat there savoring the cigar and the fine brandy, turning over various schemes in his mind.

  Suddenly he smiled. Of course, the Thackers! Their hatred of Chance was well-known, and their reputations as brutal, dangerous men, capable of any wicked deed, were also notorious in this part of the colony. All he would have to do would be to, anonymously, naturally, give them the slightest nudge in Chance’s direction and everything would take care of itself.

  A frown curved his forehead. Except using the Thackers might put Fancy in jeopardy. To himself Jonathan finally admitted that he was having trouble dealing with Fancy’s marriage to Chance, specifically the knowledge that Chance had lain with her. The fact that she had been a widow and not a virgin had not bothered him, but to know that Chance had touched her intimately galled him, and his blind determination to marry her once Chance was dead wavered. Perhaps the use of the Thackers would make up his mind for him? If Fancy fell into their hands and suffered an unfortunate fate, rape or death, well, then, that would be a clear sign that she was not, after all, the bride for him.

  Satisfied with his decision, he rang for his valet. When Simmons entered the room and shut the door behind him, Jonathan motioned him nearer.

  “How difficult,” Jonathan drawled, “would it be for you to arrange a private meeting for me with those, er, Thacker fellows?”

  Beyond a slight lifting of one slim brow, Simmons gave no other sign that he was surprised by Jonathan’s request. But he was. Very. All communication between Jonathan and the Thackers had been carried out by a carefully disguised Simmons. Now Simmons was extremely curious as to why his master wanted personally to talk with the two men he had frequently called a pair of noxious vermin.

  But it was not a servant’s place to question the master. Dropping his lids to hide the rampant speculation in his dark eyes, Simmons said, “It might take me a little while to find where they are currently abiding, but I am certain that I can do as you have asked.”

  “Do so,” Jonathan said almost jovially. “I have a little, ah, chore for them.”

  Simmons cleared his throat and, unable to help himself, asked delicately, “Chore, sir? Is it something that I might be able to help you with?”

  Jonathan smiled grimly. “No, this is something a trifle more complicated than transferring goods and gold.”

  Aware that he would learn nothing more, Simmons bowed and murmured, “Very well, sir. I shall find the Thackers for you just as soon as possible.”

  Pleased that he had set events in motion, Jonathan relaxed in his chair. He trusted Simmons, but not with something this important. Since secrecy was of the utmost importance, it would be folly to involve someone else too deeply. Unfortunately, he needed Simmons to find the Thackers for him, but beyond the curious fact that his master had requested to meet with the two men, Simmons would know nothing. When Chance died, it was possible that Simmons might guess the truth, but it was unlikely.

  Taking a long drink of his brandy, Jonathan smiled to himself. Simmons was a good man. He knew to keep his mouth shut. Since it was Simmons who had made all the arrangements in the gun-smuggling endeavor and was the person the Thackers had always dealt with, Jonathan had no fear of ever being connected to the sale of illegal weapons to the Indians. And if Simmons did decide to talk? Jonathan shrugged. It would be Simmons’s word against his, and he never doubted that his valet would be the one who suffered if the weapons smuggling came to light. All the evidence pointed clearly to Simmons; he’d arranged it that way.

  Jonathan’s smile deepened. After all, why would the heir to the great Walker fortune sully his hands in such a sordid manner? He was a Walker of Walker Ridge—not some whining weasel. And as for Simmons speaking of arranging a meeting with the Thackers for him? Piffle. It would be dismissed as a desperate man’s attempt to create whole cloth out of a pack of lies.

  Feeling rather smug and satisfied with the situation, Jonathan poured himself another snifter of brandy. Seated once more, an ugly smile on his lips, he lifted the snifter in a silent toast. To Chance . . . and his numbered days.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jonathan’s idea to murder Annie worried Constance. She was truly fond of her longtime servant, and despite Annie’s dismal failure to get rid of Letty’s son all those years ago, Constance trusted her implicitly. Annie would never betray her! But Constance also knew that, at present, Jonathan could not be convinced of that fact, so she was going to have to come up with a plan to keep Annie out of her
son’s murderous path for the near future.

  Alone in her spacious rooms, she wandered about irritably. It really was too bad of Annie not to have carried out her orders all those years before, but she certainly did not deserve to die for an attack of conscience. While Constance did not have much of a conscience herself, she recognized it in other people and had often manipulated it. As long as Annie’s conscience didn’t cause any harm, she was willing to put up with it. But Jonathan . . .

  Constance sighed. Jonathan would not be swayed. So how was she going to protect Annie, without causing a great deal of bother and discomfort to herself?

  A loud thumping noise in the hallway caught her attention. A frown on her face, she threw open the door and glared at the offending source. Two young black boys had obviously been struggling with a large trunk, and it had slipped from their hands and clattered to the floor.

  “What do you think you are doing?” demanded Constance. Before the frightened youths could answer, Fancy suddenly appeared, a look of dismay on her pretty face. “I knew that trunk of mine was too heavy for you,” she said kindly to the servants. “Now run along and find someone else to help you take it downstairs.”

  Smiling faintly at Constance, she said, “I hope they did not disturb you. We are trying very hard to get everything loaded today so that there will not be such a rush tomorrow.”

  Constance’s frown vanished as a solution to her problem instantly occurred to her. “Oh, it was no bother at all. I was just curious about what had caused the noise,” she said lightly. Her earlier displeasure with Fancy vanishing, she asked warmly, “Are you rather excited to see Devil’s Own? I have heard it is a handsome place. Of course,” she couldn’t help adding, “nothing as grand as Walker Ridge.”

  “I imagine that few places in the Colonies are,” Fancy replied politely. “You have a most beautiful home. But I am sure that I shall be quite happy with the house that Chance is providing for me.”

  “Well, yes, naturally you would be,” Constance answered quickly. “But will you not find it somewhat lonely? Your nearest neighbor is several hours away. Except for yourself and Chance and”—her voice hardened a trifle—“your sister, your only discourse will be with servants and the like. It is too bad that you have no older experienced woman to keep you company and help you adjust to life here. You may not find Devil’s Own as genteel as Walker Ridge.”

  “I am certain that there will be times when I would wish for the advice of other women,” Fancy said, “but I am confident that there will not be many problems that Ellen and I together cannot solve.” A dimple appeared in her cheek. “We grew up in the country, and we are quite resourceful when we have to be.”

  “Er, yes, but I still think . . .” As if suddenly struck by a marvelous idea, Constance said happily, “Oh, silly me! I have the perfect solution: Annie shall go with you. A change of scenery would be nice for her, and she can help and guide you for the first few months in your new home.” Beaming at Fancy’s stunned expression, she prattled on, “Oh, it shall be perfect. Why, just the other day Annie was saying that she would like to go away for a while. She gets so bored here at home month after month. And staying with you would be just exactly what she needs; she would feel useful and yet she would be away from the same humdrum surroundings. A new setting would be like a tonic for her. I shall tell her immediately.” Shooing Fanny away, she said gaily, “You do not have to thank me, my dear. You will be doing me a favor. Now go along with you. I have to see Annie and tell her the wonderful news and get her busy packing. After all, you are leaving tomorrow. Oh my, how convenient this is going to be for all of us. Run along, dear—we both have many things to do.”

  Leaving Fancy standing there staring at her as if she had been pole-axed, Constance shut the door and walked over to the velvet pull rope that would summon Annie. A few minutes later, when Annie appeared in her rooms, Constance met her with a wide smile.

  “My dear, I have such news for you: you are going to stay with Chance and Fancy for a few weeks. It will be like a pleasure trip for you, and you will be doing the newlyweds a great favor. Fancy is so very new to the Colonies; you will be able to guide her and teach her our ways. Won’t that be nice? Just think, you will not have to put up with my grumpy moods for the next several weeks, and you will have a much needed change of scenery. I hear that Chance’s plantation is very pleasant. Besides, it has been nearly a year since you have been away from Walker Ridge. ’Tis time for you to shake all those nasty old cobwebs from your mind.”

  If Fancy had been pole-axed, Annie was dumbstruck. For several long moments she stared dazedly at Constance’s smiling features. “Go to Devil’s Own?” she finally croaked out when she found her voice.

  Constance nodded happily. “Yes, you shall act as, ah, mentor to dear Fancy.”

  Her eyes locked painfully on Constance’s face, her hands clasped tightly together, she asked disbelievingly, “They have agreed to this?”

  “Oh, yes, Fancy and I discussed it just a few minutes before I rang you. She thinks it is a marvelous idea.”

  Gathering up all her courage, Annie blurted out, “Why are you doing this? Why are you sending me away?”

  Not meeting her eyes, Constance turned around and fiddled with a bottle of scent on the top of her dressing table. “Oh, there is no reason. I just think it might be for the best if you were safely away from Walker Ridge for the time being.” Their eyes met. “Do you understand me?”

  Annie nodded slowly. She did indeed. And she did not know whether to be grateful or terrified.

  * * *

  Fancy was not certain how she was going to explain to Chance the addition to their party of Annie. She was not certain herself how it had come about. She only knew that there was no way of getting out of Constance’s stunning offer without appearing ungracious. She pitied Annie’s plight in having to work for someone as demanding as Constance, but she wished there was a way that she could refuse Annie’s presence in her own household without causing even more dissension. A rueful smile curved her mouth. She and Ellen had lived all of their lives with hardly a ripple of contention stirring their day-to-day affairs, yet look at what had happened to them since they had arrived in the Colonies. Abduction. Misunderstandings. Broken relationships. She shook her head. Perhaps it was something in the air?

  She went in search of Chance and found him overseeing the loading of one of the wagons that was to accompany them to Devil’s Own. Requesting a word in private with him brought a surprised flick of one brow, but he politely escorted her some distance away, guiding her down a pleasant walk edged with roses.

  He suddenly looked very formidable to her, this tall, broad-shouldered man who was her husband. To her annoyance, she found herself asking diffidently, “Would you mind if there was to be another addition to our household for a few weeks?”

  Warily, Chance eyed her, something in her voice alerting him to the fact that he was not going to like what she had to say. And he didn’t.

  At first he thought that he had misheard her, but when she repeated Annie’s name and somewhat haltingly, in the face of his growing scowl, relayed the entire tale, he realized that there was nothing wrong with his hearing. A stinging reply hovered on the tip of his tongue, but something in the expression on Fancy’s face stilled it.

  “Do you actually want that old crone to come with us?” he demanded with astonishment.

  “Not exactly,” Fancy admitted, “but the more I thought about it, the more I decided that it might not be such a bad idea.”

  Chance snorted.

  “I feel sorry for her,” Fancy said quietly, “always at the beck and call of that woman. And there is much in what Constance said: there may be times when Ellen and I would be grateful for her knowledge and company.”

  Chance made a face. “I doubt that Annie Clemmons will be of much help to you. But if you want her to stay with us for a while, I have no serious objections.” He smiled charmingly at her. “You see what an amiable bridegroom y
ou have?”

  Fancy gave him a look over her shoulder as she walked toward the house. “Amiable? No indeed, sir, I see a man plotting to win his way into my good graces.”

  Chance grinned, and after watching for a few minutes the enticing sway of her skirts as she walked away, he returned to his task. But he was troubled by Annie’s addition to their party. What was that scheming witch Constance up to? Not for a moment did he believe that she was showing a kindness to her old servant—or Fancy, for that matter. There was some reason she wanted Annie to go with them, but damned if he could think of what it was.

  The rest of the day passed swiftly, and there was no time for a private moment between the newlyweds until they prepared for bed that night. Alone in their room together, Fancy again brought up the subject of their expanded household.

  “You really do not mind that Ellen ... and Annie are coming with us?” Fancy asked uncertainly.

  Seated in one of the chairs, his long legs sprawled in front of him, Chance shrugged. “I cannot say that I am overly pleased to have that prune-faced Annie coming with us or that the prospect of having my sister-in-law following my every step is precisely how I envisioned my first few weeks of marriage, but under the circumstances, I do not see that their presence is going to cause any difficulties.” A teasing gleam suddenly lit his blue eyes. “And of course, if I am very kind to Ellen, mayhap it will soften your hard heart against me.”

  Fancy snorted. “Now why would it do that? Especially since you have just told me that the only reason you would be so accommodating is for your own means.”

  “I did not say it was the only reason,” Chance murmured, enjoying watching her temper rise. Fancy sent him a speaking glance, and he grinned before adding, “I like your sister. She is a sweet child, and even if I had hoped to have all of your attention to myself, I would never deny a member of your family the hospitality of our house. Ellen has a home with us for as long as she wants.”