Heart's Delight

by Cheryl Holt

  Gaylord noticed them and his bellowing immediately ceased. He always hid what he was really like so others wouldn’t witness his true demeanor.

  “This is my brother-in-law,” Maggie told the trio. “He’s leaving, and if he doesn’t, please find some men out on the street to drag him away. Then lock the door behind him so he can’t slither in when we’re not paying attention.”

  Their eyes widened with surprise, but they nodded, and she kept on.

  She was trembling, not crying precisely, but tears were falling down her cheeks. They were tears of rage and regret, of fury and shame, and she swiped at them with her hand.

  What now? What now?

  The words rang through her mind.

  Her family was destroyed, her home frittered way, her trust fund squandered, and without it, how would the rescue mission endure?

  She supposed she could visit Evangeline Drake and plead for financial assistance, but it was mortifying to envision begging her old friend. In their prior relationship, Maggie had been rich and Evangeline the orphan and charity case. With Maggie’s humiliations piling up, she couldn’t imagine such a meeting.

  Her pride was the only thing she had left, and her plight was likely to shred even that. But who could she ask besides Evangeline?

  There was a general sentiment among the wealthy that the poor deserved their fate, that aiding them encouraged them in their poverty, so she’d never raised sufficient funds to achieve fiscal security.

  If the mission was shut down—the benevolent venture Vicar Sterns had personally entrusted to her—what would she do? Cliffside was lost, so she couldn’t even trudge home like the failure she was.

  She staggered into her apartment and continued on to the bedchamber. The window looked down on the alley rather than the street, so she couldn’t see Gaylord, but she stared out anyway, pretending she could watch him mounting his horse and riding away.

  She rested a palm on the glass of the window and sent a thousand wishes out into the sky, that something good would happen, that she wouldn’t have to go on all alone, that she might actually be loved someday.

  She drew her palm away and rubbed it over the center of her chest where her heart was aching so painfully she suspected it might simply quit beating. People suffered heartbreak and survived. She had suffered it and survived, but she didn’t know if she’d survive this.

  Behind her, the door to the hall opened as someone entered the apartment. Footsteps started toward her, and she frowned, wondering who it could be. If it was the cook or a volunteer, she couldn’t abide any sympathy, and if it was Gaylord…well…

  “Maggie?”

  She scowled and whipped around to find Michael Scott in her doorway. For the briefest second, her entire being soared with pleasure. She yearned to run over and throw herself into his arms, to tell him how sad she was, to have him soothe and comfort her. But as rapidly as the feeling arose she shoved it away. She was aghast at her weakness, appalled at her reaction.

  He was betrothed to another and about to be wed. How dare he visit! How dare he barge in and assume he’d be welcome!

  “Who let you in?” she fumed.

  “There was no one downstairs. I came up on my own.”

  “Was my brother-in-law still in the common room?”

  “I didn’t see him.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I thought we should talk.”

  “You thought we should talk? About what? I can’t think of a single topic we need to address. I’m quite sure we’ve said everything that ever needs to be said.”

  He hovered, appearing abashed and a bit shy, as if he was nervous about approaching her. Could it be? Could arrogant, imperious Michael Scott be embarrassed by his conduct?

  Why would he be? He blustered through life, ruining families, destroying lives. Why would a simple woman who’d merely had her hopes dashed bother him at all?

  “I wanted to tell you about Felicia,” he claimed, “but I didn’t know how.”

  “Don’t mention her name in my presence.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? You seem upset about her.”

  “I seem upset? Mr. Scott you have no idea. You’re lucky I’m not holding a pistol. If I was, I’d shoot you right between the eyes.”

  “You would not,” he scoffed as if her fury was an irksome bout of feminine hysterics.

  He saw the box on her bed where she’d been packing the clothes he’d bought her. He hurried over and riffled through the neatly-folded pile.

  “What are you doing with your clothes?” he snapped.

  “I’m donating them to my church.”

  “You can’t give them away. They were a gift from me.”

  “Mr. Scott, I realize this will come as a great shock to you, but you don’t own me. You’re not my brother or my father or my husband, so you enjoy no position of authority. If I wish to donate these clothes or rip them to shreds or dump them in the street and light them on fire, it’s none of your business.”

  He grabbed the box, stomped over to the wardrobe, and tossed it in. Then he spun and gaped at her as if she were a lunatic.

  “Why are you so angry?” He sounded surprised and looked sincerely confused.

  She shook her head with disgust. “You have the gall to ask me why?”

  “Yes. I don’t understand any of this. I took you to Orphan’s Nest—a spot where I’ve never taken another female. We trifled and played and became friends. We were happy there, weren’t we?”

  “You were happy. I wasn’t.”

  “No, you’re lying. We established an amazing bond. I’m not wrong about that.”

  He marched over to her and she braced, as if for an assault, and it was an assault of sorts.

  She couldn’t bear to be so close to him. It was as if he emitted a secret signal or aroma that only she could detect, one that was too riveting for her to resist. It made her want to act in any brazen way he suggested.

  She leaned away, needing to put a few inches of space between them, but the wall was behind her and she banged into it.

  “Why didn’t you stay in the country?” he asked. “I told you to, and I told you I’d be back. Why didn’t you wait?”

  “Again, Mr. Scott, you’re laboring under the mistaken impression that you have some authority over me. You don’t.”

  “Stop calling me Mr. Scott.”

  “I no longer deem it appropriate to address you in a familiar fashion.”

  A muscle ticked in his cheek, his temper flaring. He was such a bully that it had to be a rare occasion when his commands were ignored. No doubt he hadn’t any idea how to respond to insubordination.

  He had a reputation in the neighborhood for violent reprisals, but what could he do if she refused to obey? Spank her? Send her to bed without supper?

  The conceited oaf was too absurd for words.

  “It seems to be my day to suffer unpleasant visitors,” she said. “First Gaylord, now you. I have no desire to entertain either of you, so go away and don’t come back.”

  “You’re mine,” he declared. “You know that. For six whole months.”

  “Don’t you dare bring up that insulting bargain.”

  “But…you agreed to abide by the terms. No one forced you. You consented of your own free will.”

  “I did not.”

  “You did! I tried to dissuade you, but you insisted we proceed. When we left for Orphan’s Nest, you were aware that I had wicked designs on you. You were aware of what you’d sworn to do for Farrow and your sister. Don’t pretend that you were tricked or inveigled into behaving in a manner you never intended.”

  She glared at him, hating that he was correct. Yes, she had traveled with him of her own accord. Yes, she’d agreed to the terms, but she hadn’t meant it!

  She’d believed him to have a different character than the one he exhibited to the world, that—rather than cruel and horrid—he was actually kind and generous and merciful. She’d assumed she could lure those honorable traits t
o the surface and obtain a conclusion that didn’t involve her ruination.

  In the end she’d succumbed because she’d been so smitten, and she’d…loved him. There! She’d admitted it. She’d fallen madly in love, but clearly he’d possessed no heightened affection.

  It had all been fake, every sordid bit of it, and she would never forgive herself for her gullibility. She would never forgive him for not being the man she’d hoped.

  “I never planned to give myself to you,” she fiercely retorted.

  “No, you didn’t, but you changed your mind and I’m glad. It was grand.”

  “It was grand for you maybe, but from where I’m standing, it looks like something else entirely.”

  “What does it look like?”

  “You used me to get what you wanted, then you trotted off to London without a goodbye.”

  “I was on my way back!”

  “You were at Cliffside! Showing it to your bride!”

  “You’re being ridiculous.” He waved away the meeting, as if it was of no consequence.

  “I am being ridiculous?” she seethed.

  “Yes. According to my deal with Farrow, I now have the right to keep you for six months, but I’d be delighted to keep you much longer than that after the initial period expires. We could be together for a year. Perhaps more than that. You can’t tell me it wouldn’t be wonderful.”

  “With each sentence you utter, I am more humiliated.”

  “What are you talking about? I’ve spoiled you and showered you with gifts. I’ve shared my home and my life. How could any of that be humiliating?”

  “You’re engaged to be married!” she shouted, and she shoved him.

  He stepped away—because he felt like it, not because she’d been strong enough to push him—so she was able to slip by him and storm out to the sitting room. She huddled behind the sofa, using it as a barrier so he couldn’t come so close again.

  “Yes, I’m engaged.” He burst through the door after her. “What of it?”

  “What of it?” she angrily repeated.

  Gaylord had made a similar comment. Where had the two men acquired such convoluted logic? Where were their morals? Was this how gaming altered a person? Or was it the huge sums of money over which they dickered? Had they been corrupted by the pursuit of wealth and status?

  “You don’t want to discuss Lady Felicia,” he said, “but it definitely sounds as if we should.”

  “Fine. Let’s discuss her.”

  “Fine. Let’s do.”

  “When you took me to the country, were you already betrothed to her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was your wedding approaching?”

  His cheeks reddened as if with chagrin. “Well, we hadn’t set the date yet.”

  “I spent the night in a bed with you.”

  “Yes, and it was spectacular, so I can’t understand why you’re raising this fuss.”

  “Does any of that evening ring a bell with you? While I was sprawled there, naked and deflowered, do you happen to remember our conversation?”

  “I remember every word.”

  “Really? Then explain this to me, because I can’t fathom how you could have forgotten.”

  “Forgotten what?”

  “You proposed marriage.”

  “I never did!” he hotly retorted. “I couldn’t!”

  “You proposed!” she responded just as hotly. “Don’t tell me you didn’t. You said we’d be together forever.”

  “And we can be, you little fool, for as long as we’re happy! We don’t need some stupid piece of paper—a marriage license—to seal our fate.”

  “No license?”

  “No.”

  “We’d live in sin, outside the bounds of civilized society?”

  “We’d be happy!” He was shouting too, as if an increase in volume would make her comprehend what she couldn’t quite seem to grasp.

  “I wouldn’t be your wife! You have another one in line ahead of me. Didn’t you notice? There’s another woman in this line, and it’s not me.”

  They stared and stared, an expanse as vast as the ocean separating them, and a thousand doubts assailed her. While he claimed to vividly recall that inglorious night, and she claimed to have vivid recollections too, she was lying.

  She’d been so overwhelmed that her memory was hazy, but two remarks stood out. As she’d insisted she wouldn’t proceed unless they wed, he’d said, Why would you want me? I’d be an awful husband. As she’d pressed him for the answer she’d sought, he’d said, What the hell? Why not?

  He’d never actually proposed, had never declared heightened feelings. He’d never asked her to be his bride. He’d muttered why not, as if she was a leftover item that could be discarded after he grew bored with it.

  “You didn’t mean marriage, did you?” she glumly mumbled. “When you said we’d be together, you meant I could be your mistress.”

  He shrugged. “It was all I could offer you.”

  There was no statement that would have wounded her more.

  “What were the new clothes supposed to be? Payment for services rendered?”

  “They were supposed to be a gift. So you’d look pretty. So I’d smile whenever I saw you walking in my garden. I can’t bear to think of how hard your life has been. I’d like to make it easier.”

  “By giving me things? By buying me clothes and coaxing me to surrender my virginity? Perhaps you’ve given me a babe too. Is that one of the little gifts I should be watching for?”

  “You’re not increasing.”

  “Are you God now? How can you say that?”

  “You’re not increasing!” He announced it like an edict, like a universal decree. He was so notorious and exalted, maybe he thought he was a deity.

  “What if I am with child?” she nagged. “What will I do?”

  “You’ll come to me and I’ll…help you.”

  It took him so long to produce the word help that she nearly marched around the sofa and shook him until his teeth rattled.

  “Yes,” she sneered, “that’s a conversation I’m dying to have. I’ll slither over to your gambling club where I will beg your servants to let me in so I can climb to your private office and plead with you on behalf of my unborn child.” She waved to the door. “Would you go?”

  He was the most obstinate man who’d ever lived, so of course he didn’t heed her request.

  “Why are you acting like this?” he inquired. “Why are you making this so difficult?”

  “Because my heart is broken,” she raged. “I am absolutely devastated, and your presence here is killing me. Why are you making this so difficult?”

  He huffed out a frustrated breath. “It’s just a marriage, Maggie. It’s irrelevant to you and me.”

  “Shut up, Michael.”

  “She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  “Shut up! You’re embarrassing both of us.”

  “You’re the woman I care about.”

  “You have a funny way of showing it.”

  “I’ve treated you better than any female I’ve ever known.”

  “Aren’t I special?” she facetiously spat. “If I’m so important to you, cry off from your betrothal.”

  He scowled. “I can’t.”

  “Why can’t you? It’s simple. You ride over to her father’s house and tell him you love another and you’re marrying her instead.” She paused, waiting for him to say that he would, but his scowl only deepened, and bleakly she said, “Unless you don’t love me and never have.”

  She waited for him to disagree, to assert that—just that very moment—he’d had an emotional epiphany, but he couldn’t.

  “I don’t love anyone,” he insisted. “I never have. It’s not in me to suffer such a maudlin sentiment.”

  “Love is a maudlin sentiment? Is that what you think?”

  “It’s what I know.”

  “Then I feel very sorry for you—and your fiancée.”

  “There’s no need
to feel sorry. We’re going into it with our eyes wide open.”

  “If she’ll get no fondness from you, why would she proceed? What’s she expecting to achieve?”

  “She’s saving her family.”

  “From what?”

  “From financial ruin.”

  “Ah…” Maggie mused. “I see now.”

  “You see what?”

  “Her father gambled away his estate to you.”

  “Yes. I thought you knew. It’s common knowledge here in the city.” He made a waffling gesture with his hand, as if his destruction of yet another family was of no consequence.

  “And Gaylord gambled away Cliffside to you.”

  “He certainly did.”

  “Her father and Gaylord both offered you female relatives to square their debts.”

  “Not to square them, but to lessen them.”

  “This is what’s vexing me, Mr. Scott. Lady Felicia gets a ring and a husband and fiscal security. What am I supposed to get besides a few pretty gowns and a bastard babe in my belly?”

  “Stop saying that,” he fumed.

  “Please comment on my assessment of the situation as it compares to Lady Felicia. She gets everything—including the home that’s been in my family for two centuries—and what do I get?”

  He was visibly flummoxed by her question, and for quite a lengthy interval, he considered an answer. Ultimately he responded with, “You get me—for as long as you like. Why can’t that be enough?”

  “It can’t be enough, Mr. Scott, because I’m a very normal, ordinary female. I too want the wedding ring and the husband and the fiscal security a spouse can provide.”

  “Maggie, we could be so happy.” For some reason, happiness seemed the key to him, the main issue, as if—should he be happy—nothing else mattered.

  “You could be happy in a sordid arrangement,” she said, “but I wouldn’t be at all.”

  “So…just like that it’s over between us?”

  “Yes, just like that, although I must tell you that it ended a tad sooner for me. I believe the break was final in the driveway at Cliffside when your fiancée introduced herself.”