Heart's Delight

by Cheryl Holt

  Maggie had never seen how most people lived, how desperately poor most people were. Her first months at the mission had been shocking and disturbing.

  Now though, nothing shocked Maggie. She was used to getting by and making do. But Pamela was dressed in an expensive gown, her hair intricately styled, and appearing so grand she might have attired herself for a royal ball rather than a decrepit charity mission in the slums. What was she thinking with such an ostentatious display? In light of the miscreants out on the street, she was lucky she hadn’t been robbed when she stepped out of her carriage.

  “Is there somewhere we could talk privately?” Pamela asked.

  “We can talk here.” Maggie gestured to a table in the corner. “We won’t be interrupted.”

  It was mid-afternoon, with Maggie’s cook not having arrived to start supper. The building was quiet as a tomb.

  Pamela hesitated, but Maggie walked over and sat on a bench. She stared at Pamela, daring her to sit too, and Pamela sidled over and pulled out the bench across. She hovered, then opened her reticule, retrieved a kerchief, and wiped off the seat. Finally she eased down, but she was ready to bolt, as if the slightest noise would send her scurrying for the door.

  “What’s wrong?” Maggie said. “And don’t tell me everything is fine. If you’ve come all this way, it must be a horrid calamity.”

  “Why must you always assume the worst?”

  “Because when I’m around you the worst is usually what happens.”

  Pamela sighed. “You are the most infuriating person. I don’t know why I maintain a relationship with you.”

  “Neither do I.”

  Maggie stared again, waiting for Pamela to explain the reason for her trip to town. There had to be a catastrophe, no doubt caused by Gaylord, but Pamela wouldn’t spit it out. She’d stolen Gaylord from Maggie, and she was determined not to ever let anyone suspect she’d made a huge mistake.

  The silence might have gone on forever, but Maggie grew impatient and prodded, “Well…?”

  “I need to discuss a certain…situation with you.”

  “What is it?” Still, Pamela dithered, and Maggie snapped, “Is it Gaylord? What’s he done now?”

  At Maggie’s sharp tone, Pamela glanced away, giving every indication that the news was very bad indeed.

  “We’ve lost Cliffside,” Pamela murmured.

  “You’ve lost it? How could you have? When I visited last week, it seemed to be in the same old spot. Should I come to the country and locate it for you?”

  “Don’t jest, Magdalena. Not about this.”

  “All right. I won’t jest. What are you telling me?”

  “Gaylord has gambled it all away.”

  “Gaylord has.”

  “Yes.”

  Maggie had known Gaylord’s gambling debts were increasing. How could she not have known? Much of the upstairs furniture was gone!

  “The whole estate has been wagered away?” Maggie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “The house? The barns? The equipment? The animals? What does all include?”

  “It includes…everything we ever owned. He didn’t mean to,” Pamela hastily said. “It’s just that he’s in over his head, and he—”

  “Don’t defend him to me!”

  “He tried to win it back, but he’s had such awful luck.”

  “The poor boy,” Maggie sarcastically retorted.

  Ever since the day she’d first laid eyes on Gaylord, she’d been regretting the disaster she’d initiated by bringing him into their midst. Would the carnage never end?

  “Let me get this straight,” Maggie fumed. “He convinced Father to name him the heir, he inherited what should have been ours—”

  “We’re females, Magdalena. Father wouldn’t have permitted any of us to inherit. I was married. It was perfectly appropriate to leave my husband in charge.”

  Maggie had never shared that view, but she wasn’t about to rehash that old fight. “Gaylord was fortunate enough to become the sole owner Cliffside, and he’s frittered it away with his negligent habits.”

  “I guess you could put it that way.”

  “Is the damage final? Is there a new owner or what?”

  “Yes, there’s a new owner.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Michael Scott. You met him at Rebecca’s birthday party.”

  Maggie almost fell off the bench. Michael owned her home? Michael had gambled with Gaylord until he’d won all that had belonged to Maggie’s family?

  At Cliffside, she’d assumed he was one of Gaylord’s dissolute friends. She hadn’t realized he was there to take possession of his property. He’d never said a word! He’d never so much as hinted!

  An ember of fury ignited in her chest, and it grew and grew until she worried she might simply burst into flames.

  “How long have you known about this?” she seethed.

  “It’s been brewing for awhile.”

  “When Mr. Scott was at Cliffside, was the transfer of ownership already complete?”

  “Yes. He was there to conduct an inventory.”

  “What now? Are you about to ask if you and Gaylord can move in with me? If you are, I must inform you that the neighborhood isn’t up to your high standards.”

  Maggie’s snide tone rankled Pamela and yanked her out of her embarrassed stupor. “I don’t need lodging.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Gaylord has reached an accommodation with Mr. Scott, and I have to tell you about it.”

  “Gaylord and Mr. Scott can jump off a cliff.”

  Pamela glared as if Maggie was five years old and deserved a swat on the bottom. “I told Gaylord it was pointless to speak with you.”

  “For once you were correct, and while we’re on the subject of financial catastrophes, I never had a chance to ask your husband what happened to my allowance.”

  Pamela slapped a palm on the table, the irate smack echoing off the ceiling. “It’s gone, Magdalena. Everything is gone! How many more times must I say it?”

  “No more times,” Maggie quietly mumbled.

  They frowned, their tempers flaring, their misery acute, and ultimately Pamela said, “Mr. Scott has given us some latitude as to when we vacate, but with conditions attached.”

  “What conditions?”

  “It appears he’s very taken with you.”

  “Why would you presume so? He and I are barely acquainted.”

  “You can help us with him.”

  “Help you how?”

  “He’s agreed to let you…that is…ah…”

  Pamela’s voice drifted off. Whatever dubious help she envisioned Maggie supplying, it was obviously beyond her ability to explain.

  “What has he agreed to let me do?” Maggie pressed.

  “If you’ll be his…mistress—”

  “His mistress!”

  Maggie shouted the word and leapt to her feet.

  Pamela ignored Maggie’s outburst and calmly continued. “Yes, his mistress. For six months.”

  “Six months? Are you mad?”

  “It’s the only way, Maggie.”

  “The only way to what?”

  “To buy ourselves some extra time.”

  “Buy yourselves time for what?”

  “We haven’t made any arrangements, Magdalena.”

  “Whose fault is that?”

  “I thought Gaylord would turn matters around. He’s always so confident, and he insisted he could fix what was wrong.”

  “You believed him?”

  “He’s my husband. Why wouldn’t I have?”

  “Oh, Pamela…” Maggie sighed with disgust and sat back down.

  It was the closest Pamela had ever come to criticizing Gaylord, and Maggie took it as a sign of just how dire the circumstances.

  “I can’t do what you’re asking,” she said.

  “You could mend things for us with Mr. Scott.”

  “How could I? You’d merely have some extra time
to leave. At the end of six months, I’d be ruined and disgraced, and you’d still have to depart.”

  “Gaylord thinks if you could distract Mr. Scott for us we could figure out a different conclusion.”

  “Gaylord thinks that, does he?”

  “Yes, and Gaylord’s so clever, Magdalena.” Maggie scoffed, and Pamela stated, “He is clever! He had a run of bad luck, and Mr. Scott has been an absolute beast. We can delay the eviction. Gaylord is sure of it.”

  Maggie thought of greedy, corrupt, foolish Gaylord. Then she thought of the notoriously wealthy criminal and brigand, Michael Scott. Had he tricked Gaylord to win Cliffside? Had he cheated? Or had he won fair and square? However the disaster had unfolded, Gaylord would never succeed in any scheme against Michael Scott.

  “Gaylord is an idiot, and you’re both insane.”

  “You won’t help us?”

  “No.”

  “If you won’t, we have to leave on Saturday!”

  “This Saturday?”

  “Yes. Is that what we’ve come to, Magdalena? Forget about Gaylord for a moment. Have you grown so hard-hearted and vindictive that you’d allow me and Rebecca to be tossed out on the road?”

  “Don’t make this my fault.”

  “If you won’t aid us in our darkest hour, who should we blame?”

  It was the cruelest comment Pamela could have uttered, and Maggie studied her sister’s malicious expression and wondered why she still possessed any affection for her. Pamela was a dimwitted ninny, and Gaylord manipulated and controlled her. When dealing with Pamela, Maggie often felt as if she was dealing with a child. And Rebecca was no better.

  Could Maggie stand idly by and let Michael Scott harm her sisters? Cliffside was Maggie’s home, the Wells family seat for two centuries, and she had the ability to save it. She need only agree to Mr. Scott’s absurd demand, and how awful could it be? She was attracted to him and didn’t suppose a physical liaison would be horrid.

  Yet as swiftly as the notion arose, she shoved it away. She wouldn’t be bullied by Gaylord or Michael Scott. She wouldn’t let Pamela make her feel guilty. She and her sisters hadn’t participated in the wagering between the two men, but wasn’t it typical that all of the consequences would fall on them?

  Maggie stood and glowered at her sister, her condemnation shining through.

  “Go home, Pamela.”

  Pamela stood too. “What shall I tell Gaylord?”

  “Tell him I’ll visit Mr. Scott’s gambling club to give him a piece of my mind.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’m certain it will have no effect whatsoever, so you should pack your bags.”

  “I’m begging you, Magdalena.” Tears flooded into Pamela’s eyes, and she looked sincerely woeful. “Why can’t you just do this one little thing?”

  “Because I don’t want to and—despite what scheme Gaylord and Mr. Scott have concocted—I don’t trust either of them.”

  “You could save me and Rebecca, but you won’t.”

  “I can’t save you, Pamela, but I will speak to Mr. Scott. That’s all I can do.”

  “Fine. Be that way.” Pamela was so angry she was shaking. “Have your final revenge for my taking Gaylord from you.”

  “I don’t care about revenge. You can have him with my blessing.”

  “But when you learn that Rebecca and I are living in a ditch, when you learn that Cliffside is no longer ours, I hope you’ll be pleased with what you’ve wrought.”

  Pamela spun and stormed out.

  Maggie yearned to chase after her, to scold and defend herself, but she didn’t. She sank down on the bench and murmured, “Nice to see you too, Pamela. Stop by any time.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “You have a visitor.”

  “Are you deaf? I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

  Michael was seated at the desk in his office, and he bellowed his remarks to the closed door. But it was Ramsey who’d knocked, and Ramsey had a habit of not listening to orders he didn’t like.

  Ramsey flung the door open, and Michael was greatly flummoxed when he stepped over the threshold and dragged Maggie Wells with him.

  “I tried to make her go away,” Ramsey claimed, “but she refused.”

  “You’re a foot taller,” Michael snapped, “and probably a hundred pounds heavier. If you couldn’t get rid of her, what good are you to me?”

  “She’s riled about something,” Ramsey explained, “but wouldn’t tell me what it is. I figured you should talk to her.”

  Michael’s gaze was locked on Ramsey, and he still hadn’t glanced at Maggie. He waved Ramsey out, and his friend huffed away, leaving Michael alone with her in the small room.

  He finally shifted his focus to her, and she appeared young and defenseless, and Michael wondered what had spurred Ramsey to escort her upstairs.

  “Miss Wells,” he said, “this is an irksome surprise. What brings you by again?”

  “I have to ask you a question.”

  “If you must.”

  “I must.”

  “Will you sit?” He gestured to a chair in the corner. “Last time you were here, you declined, but from your dour expression, I’m predicting this might be a longer appointment.”

  “Yes, I’ll sit, thank you.”

  If he’d felt like exhibiting his manners, he’d have leapt up and grabbed the chair for her, but he was in the foulest mood ever and couldn’t bestir himself.

  He was reeling from his engagement party, disoriented from his conversation with Lady Run. Who the hell was she to Michael? It sounded as if she was the one who’d purchased the advertisements about Michael Blair. Should he have spoken up?

  To what end?

  If there was a family out there hunting for Michael Blair, why would he be the person they were hoping to locate? What if he put himself forward, only to learn he wasn’t the one? He’d look like a fool.

  But what if he was her kin? What benefit was there in being found? What detriment? If he was related to her and her brother Bryce Blair, how had he been lost? What sort of despicable people let such a tragedy happen to a little boy? Why would he choose to be reunited with them?

  His life was fine. Fine! He liked his rough and tumble existence, liked the world of men where he thrived and flourished. He had no desire to be hauled into a weepy morass with some rich, aristocratic lady, and at the moment he hadn’t the energy to deal with Magdalena Wells.

  “You’re mad as a hornet,” he said. “What have I done now?”

  “You can’t guess why I’m here?”

  “No. What’s wrong? Have I recruited another of your street urchins and trained him as a pickpocket? Are my customers making too much noise at night when they depart in their fancy carriages? Are they disturbing your sleep? What?”

  “Tell me about your relationship with my brother-in-law.”

  “With Gaylord Farrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is it you wish to know?”

  “Don’t pretend to be ignorant of the situation.”

  “What situation is that?”

  “Stop it, Mr. Scott,” she fumed.

  “We’re back to Mr. Scott, are we? I could have sworn you were supposed to call me Michael when we’re alone.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “What’s the subject? Gaylord Farrow?”

  “Yes. Tell me about him this very minute.”

  Michael sighed. Didn’t family members always blame him? Didn’t they always assume he was the one who led every wretch to ruin? Usually he didn’t care what they thought, but her snotty attitude incensed him.

  “I take it he finally spoke to you,” Michael said.

  “My sister did.”

  “Then Gaylord was too much of a coward to handle it himself. He sent his wife to do his dirty work.” Michael snorted with disgust. “Typical of him.”

  “Pamela claims you own our home. She says you own everything, right down to the silver in the drawers
.”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  “Give it back.”

  “To Farrow?”

  “Yes. Give it all back.”

  “No.”

  “How did you win it from him? Did you cheat? I’m aware of your low reputation in the neighborhood. Did you trick him? What?”

  Her accusations lit a fuse to his temper. “I’m sure this will come as a great surprise, but your brother-in-law isn’t an angel.”

  “I realize that fact. Considering my history with him, I don’t need any lectures from you about what he’s genuinely like. Just tell me what you did.”

  “What I did,” he furiously retorted.

  “Yes. He’s a negligent ass, but he wouldn’t jeopardize us this way. He was too proud of his ownership of Cliffside and the status it bestowed. He would never willingly part with it.”

  “You’re correct. He didn’t willingly relinquish it. I took it from him, and despite how he wheedles and begs, or how he has you traipse over here and bat your pretty lashes at me, I won’t sign it over to him.”

  “You’re as vain as he is,” she charged.

  “I dare say I’m worse.”

  “Is that a joke? Am I to laugh? Is this a game to you? Is that how you view it?”

  “Yes, it’s a high-stakes game. Gaylord played it and he lost.”

  “Give me my home back!”

  “No.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. “Listen to me, Magdalena.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because you’re making me angry.”

  “Good, but I must confess that—whatever state you’re in—you can’t be half as irate as I am.”

  “You storm in and start throwing around accusations—”

  “That are all fully deserved.”

  “Are they?” He studied her, his exasperation extreme. “You blame me.”

  “Absolutely. I blame you and Gaylord.”

  “It’s my fault that he’s an irresponsible wastrel?”

  “No. It’s your fault that you took advantage of him. I’m positive you caught him at a weak moment, and you goaded him into conduct he wouldn’t have contemplated on his own.”

  “Is that right?” he snidely asked.

  “Yes. I’m certain that’s exactly how it happened.”

  “For your information, Miss Wells, your brother-in-law has been involved with me for over a year now.”