By me writing as Rachel Wilson
Jove Haunting Hearts
1998
By the way, I wanted to call this book The Soul of Chester Pease, but was overruled. The world of publishing is cruel indeed.
P.S. This book is the first published Harry Potter book. Unfortunately, it didn’t do as well as J.K. Rowling’s books, dang it.
Penelope Potter was thrilled to go to London with her brother, Harry, for his best
friend's wedding. And she was determined to ignore the jealousy that arose at the
thought of Art Collingsworth marrying another woman. Besides, she'd already committed
to a life of independence -
Now Penny's free-
Prologue
Chester Pease's mother used to say that the company he kept would be the ruination of him. His aunt generally countered that for something to go bad, it had to be good in the first place. Invariably, she went on to say Chester didn't qualify.
Probably John Wesley Hardin best expressed most folks's opinions of Chester. In
April of 1877, right before he plugged Chester in the heart after a poker game in
Cimarron, New Mexico Territory, John Wesley said, "You're a low-
Thus it was that in his twenty-
Chapter One
Penelope Potter tried to remember to behave in a ladylike manner and not allow her excitement to express itself in exuberance as she clutched her brother’s coat sleeve. Such restraint was difficult for her at the dullest of times. Today, when she was about to embark upon the most exciting adventure of her life, Penny forgot herself at her first glimpse of England’s foggy shore and commenced jumping up and down.
“Oh, Harry!” She clapped her free hand to her large-
Her brother laughed. Harry always laughed at her when she tried and failed to behave herself. “Now, how can you expect me to see that far if you can’t, Pen?”
Penelope laughed, too, because she couldn’t help it. “I was hoping your eyes were better than mine.”
She was absolutely delighted to be visiting England for the first time. Her anticipation about touring England, however, was nothing to her joy at the prospect of renewing her acquaintance with Mr. Arthur Collingsworth, upon whom she’d had a crush for four years, ever since he visited her parents’ Montana Territory ranch. In fact she was so thrilled, she could barely contain herself.
Not that being unable to contain herself was an unusual circumstance for Penny. Miss Quilling, headmistress of the exclusive Boston academy for young ladies from which Penny had barely graduated last June, used to despair of ever getting Penny to comport herself with propriety.
The huge ocean liner seemed to crawl toward the dock. Harry had to grasp his sister around the waist and haul her back as she leaned over the railing. “Penny! Art won’t be impressed if you fall overboard before we even land, you know.”
Her brother’s good-
She hoped she looked presentable. Actually, she hoped she looked pretty. She’d had
this suit especially made by the best dressmaker she could find in Butte. It had
been crafted out of an expensive, soft woolen worsted she’d ordered all the way from
Boston. She thought she looked good in it, although Penny was about as far from vain
as a young woman could be and didn’t consider herself the best judge of beauty. The
suit’s color, a deep rust-
Not for the first time she wondered why she couldn’t have been blessed with Harry’s
coloring and he cursed with hers. Nobody thought twice about a man with red hair
and green eyes. She knew she’d look much more dignified if she had dark curly hair
and dark brown eyes like Harry’s instead of the garish hair and sprightly greenish-
As a rule, Penny didn’t give much thought to her appearance. She prided herself on her rugged, independent Western ways, and had been taught from the cradle that surface appearances didn’t matter much. When one ranched in Montana Territory, other attributes—such as stamina, fortitude, and character—mattered far more than beauty.
Today was different. Today she wanted to make a good impression on Art. Rather, she wanted to correct the impression she feared she’d already made on him. She worried her lower lip with her teeth and recalled his visit to the ranch during the summer of 1882.
“Do you think Mr. Collingsworth bears a scar from that horsewhip, Harry?” Oh, she hoped he didn’t. If he did, she’d be mortified.
Her brother laughed at her again. “I don’t know, Penny, but I suspect he’ll let us know soon enough.”
That’s what Penny was afraid of. She frowned and stared hard into the throng of people awaiting the arrival of their liner. “Do you suppose he remembers that camping trip?” She didn’t mention her real worry: That he might resent her for the burn he’d sustained when she’d dropped a smoldering log on his hand.
“How could he possibly forget?” her brother asked with a chuckle. “You practically burned him alive.”
Oh, dear. Penny added hand-
She really hadn’t meant to startle Art’s horse into throwing him, and she’d been truly sorry when he’d broken his ankle. Although, it must be admitted, she’d been glad when he’d had to delay his departure from the ranch. She’d enjoyed waiting on him, even though she now regretted having entertained him by teaching him card tricks. She recognized today that demonstrating her ability to cheat at cards hadn’t been very feminine behavior on her part.
Not that it would make a particle of difference if Art bore scars from her buoyant childhood accidents or not. It’s not as if he would ever consider her appropriate wife material. And she didn’t want him to, anyway. Not really. Penny huffed impatiently, wishing her heart and her head would coordinate their desires with greater facility. She lectured her heart sternly, which did about as much good as it ever did.
Harry patted her on the shoulder. She appreciated the gesture, even though she knew Harry didn’t understand the true source of her distress.
“Don’t worry, Penny. Art specifically asked that you accompany me to England. He wouldn’t have done that if he harbored malice towards you.” He chuckled again. “Unless he wanted you here so he could get even, of course.”
Penny glared at her brother. “Harry! Mr. Collingsworth is a gentleman. He wouldn’t be base enough to seek revenge just because I had a couple of accidents around him when he visited us back home.”
“A couple of accidents? Lord, Pen, you marked the poor man for life!” This time, Harry threw his head back and roared with laughter.
Penny’s scowl deepened. “I was only a girl, Harry,” she muttered, her feelings wounded.
Harry snatched his snowy white handkerchief from his breast pocket and proceeded to mop his eyes with it. “Oh, mercy,” he gasped. Then he seemed to take note of Penny’s worried expression, and he patted her arm again.
“Don’t worry, Pen. I’ve known Art for fifteen years, and I’ve never known him to nurse a grudge.” His laughter bubbled up again and he doubled over, helpless with it.
Penelope Potter rarely thought ill of her brother, whom she loved more dearly than anyone on earth save their parents, but she’d gladly have shoved him over the liner’s railing and into the ocean at that moment. “It’s not funny, Harry.”
Harry was gasping for breath by this time. “Of course not,” he managed to choke out. “Of course, it’s not funny.”
They were close enough to the dock now that Penny could make out individual facial characteristics among the mob of people gathered there. She decided it was useless to attempt to reason with her brother and instead took to scanning the crowd for Art Collingsworth.
“There are so many people . . .”
All at once her breath caught, and her hand flew to the cameo brooch pinned to the decorously high collar of her white shirtwaist. There he was!
If Penny’s sturdy nature allowed for such feminine idiocies as swooning, she might
well have swooned right there on the deck of the ship. There he was! Mr. Arthur Collingsworth,
great-
Her fingers had tightened of their own accord on her brother’s arm, and Harry seemed to take note of them at last. He ceased laughing at his sister’s expense, wiped his eyes once more, and glanced toward the crowd where Penny’s gaze had fastened.
“What is it, Pen? Do you see Art?”
All of Penny’s breath was occupied in keeping her body upright and conscious at the moment, so she had none left to use on words. She jerked her head in a brief nod and remained with her gaze fixed on Art Collingsworth’s magnificent face. The wind gusted, lifting the brim of her hat, and she clapped her hand on it again unconsciously, never removing her gaze from that dear countenance.
She’d never seen anything to match Art Collingsworth’s face. She’d grown up on a ranch in Montana Territory in the heart of the wild West, among men whom the dime novelists described with romantic words and artists painted with affectionate strokes of their brushes, yet she’d remained completely unmoved by any of those rugged frontiersmen’s charms. The moment she’d clapped eyes on her brother’s adventurous friend Art Collingsworth, however, she’d been smitten. It had happened four years ago, and she hadn’t recovered yet. Seeing him in that throng of waiting people, in fact, rejuvenated her ardor.
His features were refined and aristocratic—indeed, even slightly arrogant. His hair was thick and blond, and Penny remembered watching it gleam under the glare of Montana’s sun and thinking she’d never seen anything so pretty as Art’s hair. Since he stood at least a head taller than most of the other men in the crowd, she could observe him at her leisure, so she did. Her sigh gusted out before she recalled her determination to behave as a lady, but it didn’t matter. Her brother was too busy waving madly at Art to notice. Even if he’d heard her, he wouldn’t think anything of it. Harry was used to Penny’s ways, a fact Penny sometimes appreciated and sometimes deplored. If he were more of a stickler himself, Harry might have had a more edifying effect on her own manners.
No sooner did the selfish thought enter her head than Penny rued it. As she watched Art, she knew deportment was important—especially in England—and that, if she expected to be treated like a lady, it was up to her to act like one.
Art hadn’t caught sight of them yet. Penny saw him anxiously searching the people thronging the ocean liner’s railing, and wanted to scream at her fellow passengers to go away and leave her and Harry alone. She wanted Art to see her: to see her now, as she was today. She wanted him to take one look at her and know beyond the shadow of a doubt that she was no longer the gangly, feckless girl of four summers gone, but a young lady. A woman grown. A woman who had at least a small claim to attractiveness.
Oh, Penny knew good and well she’d never pass for one of the fragile, delicate beauties with whom she’d attended Miss Quilling’s Select Academy in Boston. She stood, after all, almost five feet seven inches tall, too large to aspire even to a pretense of fragility. And she had all that deplorable red hair, too, braided up today and knotted into a discreet coil at the nape of her neck.
She sported a nose sprinkled with freckles, as well. Those freckles were the product
of a childhood spent running free in Montana. Penny had never cottoned to sunbonnets;
indeed, as a girl wearing her brother’s britches and riding astride her huge bay
gelding, she’d scorned them. Today, she wished she could speak to the little girl
she used to be. After a good hot lecture, she’d paddle her soundly for ruining an
otherwise fine complexion with those stupid cinnamon-
Nevertheless, Penny could and did take pride in a slender figure, complete with all
the attributes men claimed to admire. Unwilling to make herself miserable with tightly
laced corset stays, she could yet boast a small waist, if not the wasp-
She used Mrs. Minnie’s Fading Cream religiously every day in an effort to make her freckles disappear, although this morning she’d taken refuge in a light dusting of face powder. Still, she didn’t think her freckles were too unattractive. She’d even gone so far as to ask Harry what he thought about them before the ship entered port.
“Freckles?” he’d said, as if he’d never heard the word before. “Do you have freckles, Pen?”
Penny had cast her glance heavenward and given up. It was useless to ask her brother questions about her appearance. She knew it, and had only done so out of nervousness.
At least the captain and first mate had seemed to find her appealing. Never of a
flirtatious bent, Penny had nonetheless been thrilled by the attention the two men
had lavished upon her. She had, in fact, used them to practice on, thinking that
if she rehearsed with the two robust seafarers, she’d be well-
Not that it would make any difference. Her fluttering heart reeled and began to throb when she recalled the purpose of her visit to England. She and Harry were here to attend Art’s nuptials. The thought made Penny suck in a deep, painful breath, even as she squared her shoulders and reminded herself that the life she’d planned for herself held no room for a husband, not even one as appealing as Arthur Collingsworth.
“I wonder if that’s Art’s fiancée standing there beside him,” Harry murmured, saying aloud what Penny had been thinking, and making her heart hurt harder.
“I don’t know,” she murmured back and wished, if that pallid creature standing beside
Art was his bride-
“No,” Harry said after a minute spent squinting at his old friend. “She’s with that other party. It looks like Art’s alone to greet us.”
Good, Penny thought, her mood lightening. Then there was no more time to worry. To a loud cheering from both ship and shore, the liner came to rest at the dock. The gangplank was lowered, and people began to disembark.
It seemed to Penny as though a huge mass of humanity swarmed down the gangway and was swallowed up, in little groups, by the huge mass of humanity seething in wait for it. She saw people embrace each other, tears flowing freely even as smiles blossomed, and she and Harry were jostled about. The first mate shook her hand warmly and looked as if he’d like to kiss her cheek, but the swarm of people came between them. Penny wasn’t sorry, although she relished the look of disappointment on the first mate’s face.
Then Art was there. Out of the crowd of people he seemed to appear by magic, making Penny’s heart soar like one of the pelicans that used to fly over their ship’s deck. Harry met him in a bear hug that Penny wished she could share, even though she knew the thought to be inappropriate. After all, she was an unmarried lady, and Arthur Collingsworth was a single gentleman. And, what’s more, he was engaged to be married to another woman.
“God, it’s good to see you again, Art!” Harry said when he caught his breath. “You haven’t changed at all.”
“Nor have you,” Art said, laughing, his sky-
Penny caught herself grinning like an American, and primmed her lips, striving for the ladyship that always managed to elude her. “Good morning, Mr. Collingsworth,” she said when he let go of her brother and glanced at her.
“Good Lord!” Art took a step back, as if shocked, and slammed a hand to his chest melodramatically. “This can’t be little Penny, can it?”
Penny fought her frown. Little Penny? Good heavens! That Art could think of her as “Little Penny” made her heart ache. She wanted to give him a stern lecture about proper manners and appropriate modes of address.
Instead, she held out a gloved hand, and murmured in a voice Miss Quilling would have been as proud of as she was astonished at, “How do you do, Mr. Collingsworth?”
He ignored her outstretched hand, clasped her shoulders with his two large hands, and stood back to observe her, sending a thrill coursing through her. She tried to hide it, although she feared the excitement in her eyes would surely betray her. Her eyes always gave her away.
“Good Lord,” Art exclaimed again. “I can’t believe how you’ve grown, Penny.” He laughed
heartily. “I suppose I should call you Miss Potter now, shouldn’t I, since you’re
such a grown-
Penny wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say to that. Or even if Art expected an answer. It didn’t matter in the long run, because he let go of her shoulders and grabbed her in a hug as warm as the one he’d just given her brother. She guessed she appreciated it, although she was too stunned to take in all the sensations rioting in her. He almost sent her reeling when he suddenly released her.
“Well, come on, you two,” Art said in a hearty voice. “My carriage awaits. I wish you’d reconsider staying at the Clarendon and come to stay at my flat, Harry.”
Harry shook his head. “Can’t do it, Art. You know as well as I do that your stuffy British countrymen would look askance at a young lady lodging with a gentleman or staying alone at a hotel.”
“Your sister could stay with my parents, Harry. You know that.”
Penny caught herself frowning again, but this time she didn’t cease the unladylike activity. She hated it when people talked about her as if she weren’t there. In order to remind both of these rude men that she existed, she said rather loudly, “I prefer staying at an hotel, thank you very much. And I certainly do not mind lodging there alone, should you care to stay with Mr. Collingsworth, Harry. I,” she said in a stately voice, and angling her chin at a depressing angle, “am a grown American woman, after all.”
Both Art and Harry laughed, crumpling Penny’s dignity even before it had a chance to solidify. This time it was Art who patted her shoulder. “It’s all right, Miss Potter. We’ll take you and Harry to the Clarendon as planned. Sorry I mentioned it.”
Her frown deepened. Penny wished she could sort her feelings out. She longed to be
considered a lady, but every time she tried to behave in the manner prescribed by
Miss Quilling, her independent American spirit rebelled. And, while she loved the
easy-
Lifting her chin again, she decided that smacking Art back would not be the best way to demonstrate her newly achieved womanhood. She merely nodded in as regal a manner as she could, and said, “Thank you very much, Mr. Collingsworth.”
Art looked slightly taken aback, and Penny experienced a rush of inner satisfaction. Then Harry went and spoiled her whole effect by saying, “Don’t mind her, Art. Pen’s only putting on airs to be interesting. She’s still as rowdy as ever underneath.”
Penny could have pummeled him.
# # #
“I don’t know what you’re so mad about, Pen,” Harry exclaimed.
“What do you mean, you don’t know what I’m so mad about, Harry Potter? You treated me like a child!”
“Aw, Pen, you’re being too sensitive. Art’s a good fellow. He didn’t think anything of it.”
Exactly what she feared. Penny jammed her lacy nightgown into the drawer and then slammed the drawer shut. At once she regretted her show of temper. A lady never showed her temper in this unseemly manner. Miss Quilling had told her so; over and over and over again.
A huge sigh gusted from her lips. “I’m sorry, Harry.”
Her brother shrugged. “That’s all right, Pen. But you’re sure touchy lately. Is it that time of the month?”
Heat scorched Penny’s cheeks and fury bloomed anew in her breast. “Harry! How on earth can you even think anything so indelicate, much less say it?”
Another shrug lifted Harry’s shoulders, this one more helpless than the last. “Shoot, Pen, you always used to complain about feeling puny when the curse was on you. And you never used to be so missish in Montana, either.”
Penny opened another drawer and slammed it just because the racket thus produced suited her mood. “This isn’t Montana, Harry Potter, in case you hadn’t noticed. This is England!”
Harry stared at her for a moment, his mouth open, as if an incredible thought had just occurred to him. Then he said dubiously, “You don’t mean to tell me that you’re actually going to try to behave yourself are you, Pen? Good Lord!”
Penny resented the grin spreading over her brother’s face every bit as much as she resented his words. Her cheeks still felt as hot as a lit match. “I went to Miss Quilling’s Select Academy in Boston, Harry. I know how to behave properly in society.”
Harry’s grin broadened. “I’m sure you do, Pen, but I’ve never seen you actually do it before.”
Her brother’s words stung Penny to the quick. Forgetting herself entirely, she heaved her hairbrush at him, barely missing his head, and then only because he was quick enough to duck. “You just watch me, Harry Potter! You just watch me! I can behave as properly as any stupid old English lady!”
Going off in a gale of laughter, Harry picked up her hairbrush. He held it until he’d made it to the door of her hotel room. “I’ll watch you, Pen,” he called to her as nipped out the door.
Right before the door closed, he set the brush on a table. Penny knew it was because he feared she’d snatch it up and fling it at him again. She felt a sense of terrible failure when the door closed behind her brother.
“Who are you trying to fool, Penelope Helen Potter?” she asked aloud, her mood fading from angry to glum. “You couldn’t behave like a lady if you tried for the rest of your life.”
Upon that pessimistic note, Penny settled a pretty flowered hat on her glossy hair, tied the bonnet strings under her ear at a dashing angle, and sallied forth to eat her dinner. Alone. In the restaurant in the Clarendon Hotel. She held her head high, knowing she was defying convention by dining alone and, thus, foiling yet again her determination to behave as a lady should behave.
A true lady, when faced with the prospect of dining alone at an hotel, would have made arrangements to do so in the privacy of her room, tucked away from the curious eyes of society. A true lady would never dine by herself in a public restaurant, no matter how eager she was to look about her new surroundings, and no matter how many notes she planned to jot down about those surroundings so she could write an article about England for publication in her former school’s literary journal.
She told herself she didn’t care, and knew she was lying.
Alice Duncan
P.O. Box 4316
Roswell, NM 88202-
alice@aliceduncan.net