Enclosed in This Heart: Closed, #3

By Regina Puckett

When Lady Margaret unexpectedly inherits her great-aunt's vast estates and servants, this gives her direct power over Mayfield's land steward, Mr. Colin Caswell, the very man who broke her heart years earlier.

Margaret knows it would solve both their problems if she could find a way to hate him, but how can she? not when she vividly remembers the sensation of his lips pressed against hers. Of course, with that memory also comes the recollection of the heart-wrenching pain she suffered at Colin's rebuff of her hasty proposal of marriage. She understands why the stubborn man refused to let her lower herself to his social level, but he'd been wrong. While he thought she would be demeaning herself if she joined her life to his, how could loving him be anything but the best thing that could possibly happen to her?

Will Colin ever admit they belong together, or will he break Margaret's heart a second time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Regina Puckett
• Release date: Feb 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386785705

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Copyright © 2017 Regina Puckett

Editor: Daisy Banks Editing

All rights reserved.

Chapter One

England, 1828

Margaret descended the preposterously long staircase, and with each step, trailed a finger along the curve of the banister. She hoped, by focusing on the feel of the cool, smooth wood, that it would be enough to keep her thoughts from her great-aunt’s sudden death. Unfortunately, it only made her remember the time she and her three sisters had slid down this very rail, Great-Aunt Mildred full-pelt ahead of them, her skirts hitched up so they wouldn’t get in the way and her giggling at the top of her lungs. Of course, all five had landed in a heap at the bottom of the steps—almost killing themselves—but on the descent, they’d filled the house with screams and laughter.

That memory made Margaret’s eyes fill with tears. She missed Great-Aunt Mildred but was so grateful for all of the wonderful recollections she had of the sweet woman. As delightful as those memories were, the wild adventures she’d often led her great-nieces on would have been considered so scandalous by their peers.

Margaret stopped and wiped away her unbidden tears. It was annoying not being able to control her feelings. There was too much to do and so she had to control them before having to face Colin. He, nor any of her newly inherited servants, must see any sign of weakness. They needed to believe her capable of running Mayfield and all its vast holdings.

You must stop this nonsense. If Great-Aunt Mildred were here, she would tell you to stop being so silly, to dry your tears and carry on.

Margaret drew in several deep breaths, hoping it would help her regain her usual unruffled composure. Her mother would be dismayed at any lack of control, a well-bred lady not being expected to let anyone outside close family and friends witness any form of vulgar display of emotions.

Margaret would somehow find a way of pulling herself together before she faced the servants. Her servants, and that thought echoed around her mind until again she pulled herself up short.

Inheriting such a vast estate had left Margaret dazed and out of kilter. Only a few days earlier, Margaret had been a cumbersome fixture, living as a spinster with her older brother and sister-in-law, The Earl and Countess of Windmore. At the ripe old age of twenty-eight, Margaret was considered unlikely ever to wed, so it was assumed by all that she would be dependent on Robert for a roof over her head and clothes on her back until she died. But leave it to Great-Aunt Mildred once again to do the unthinkable and buck tradition, bequeathing her the Mayfield Estate. She’d not been the lady’s nearest male relative, but to her, the fondest of her great-nieces.

When Great-Aunt Mildred’s solicitor had read the family her last wishes, Margaret could have been struck down with a feather. Of course, the dear woman had never done anything high society dictated whilst alive, so why would her final act be anything less than astonishing? Even though Margaret and her great-aunt had been close, it had never occurred to her that one day Mayfield would be hers.

Maybe it was best not to linger on how many people were now depending on her to keep a roof over their heads. If Margaret failed, they too would suffer.

She headed down the stairs again and whispered, So I won’t fail.

Once again, Margaret stopped. Great-Aunt Mildred, I do hope you knew what you were doing.

Drawing in another deep breath, she finally settled her nerves and continued down the staircase once more, telling herself it would be far better at the moment just to think about her beloved Great-Aunt Mildred than the enormous task she’d now set before her.

It was really too bad that her great-aunt’s peers had never taken the time to find out for themselves what a treasure the dear woman had been, although she had been a tad unconventional. This, however, should not have been a good enough reason to stir the rumour mill with nasty stories of Great-Aunt Mildred being unhinged. Whilst alive, Margaret’s father had been able to supress most of the tittle-tattle, but when he died, high society had taken full advantage of the Worthingtons’ period of mourning to renew the old rumours, forcing Great-Aunt Mildred to become a veritable prisoner in her own home during the last year of her life.

The person Margaret had known as she’d grown up had been a person full of life and with a great sense of humour, something certainly in short supply amongst the aristocracy. But then, Margaret and her rowdy family had never cared one jot what anyone thought about their great-aunt. They’d appreciated her eccentric behaviour as part of her charm. What did it matter in the great scheme of things if Great-Aunt Mildred had at sometimes switched between English and Italian? Margaret had always enjoyed never knowing what was going to come out of the dear woman’s mouth next.

As Margaret neared the first-floor landing, the footman stationed in the front vestibule below looked up and met her eyes. His sudden interest forced Margaret to straighten her shoulders and fold her hands together, to hide that for a moment she’d wanted nothing more than to be that little girl again, one who could still crawl into Great-Aunt Mildred’s lap whenever she needed a hug or a reminder that she had someone on her side.

When Margaret stepped from the bottom step, the head footman nodded his respect, which helped settle her nerves. Now all she had to do was make it through seeing Colin again.

Margaret drew in another deep breath before crossing the entrance hall. She gave a silent prayer that her face disclosed none of her fear, and that her behaviour wouldn’t elicit whispered talk below stairs that she wasn’t up to handling the responsibility her great-aunt had entrusted to her.

She forced a ring of authority into her voice. John, please fetch Mr. Caswell, and have him meet me in Lady Ashford’s study, then she thought to add, And tell him to bring the estate books.

The footman briefly bowed his head again. Yes, My Lady, he’d promptly answered, leaving Margaret relieved he’d maintained a respectful expression and responded quickly to her request.

To steady the fluttering in her stomach, she listened to the sound of his footsteps echoing from the marble floor, and only once they’d completely faded did she make her way to the study. It had been a huge concern that the servants might not have wanted to stay after Great-Aunt Mildred’s death. but since Margaret’s arrival the day before, none had broached this possibility. She certainly needed experienced assistance in managing this huge house and estate.

Upon reaching the closed study door, Margaret let her hand hover over its doorknob—wary of entering what had once been Great-Aunt Mildred’s sacred domain. Oh, how her great-aunt had loved this room and what it had meant.  To Great-Aunt Mildred, the study had embodied power. Not many women ruled over any such estates, much less one the size of Mayfield.  Great-Aunt Mildred loved being different, though, and never once forgot her gratitude that her father had entrusted Mayfield to her care. And now it had been entrusted to Margaret.

The butterflies in her stomach returned with a vengeance, so Margaret grabbed the doorknob and turned it.

Under her breath, she chided herself with: Don’t be a complete ninny. You can’t let Mr. Caswell find you standing here, as if you’re too afraid to go in.

Margaret pushed the door open but couldn’t steel herself to enter the room.

What are you afraid of? The answer was obvious; she was afraid of failing. To keep that fear at bay, Margaret rushed into the room and went straight to the enormous desk that stood at its centre, quickly sitting in its overstuffed chair before she could change her mind and hurry back up to her room to hide.

A knock came presently, and she looked up to find Mr. Caswell standing in the doorway, clearly awaiting permission to enter.

Come in and please shut the door the door behind you, and to avoid her hands from trembling, Margaret placed them on top of the desk. It didn’t work, so she tightly clasped them together and placed them out of sight in her lap.

It was a joy and a torture to watch Mr. Caswell cross the room. He did so without once meeting her eyes. When he reached the desk, the infuriating man again waited, this time for permission to sit.

So the stubborn man was going to be just as stubborn as the last time they’d seen each other. So be it.

Please be seated. I would hate to think we were going to go over the books with you looming over me.

She’d meant the words in jest, but Mr. Caswell’s reply was lacking in humour. "I would never loom, My Lady."

The chill that filled the air made Margaret uneasy. Great-Aunt Mildred could surely never have really understood what she’d done by leaving the estate to her. Margaret considered herself to be in an impossible position. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around Colin—and yes, he would always be Colin to her. No matter how stuffy he sounded, or how much he tried to keep her at arm’s length, Mr. Caswell would always only be