Beguiled

By Glenna Rollins Riddle

After her parents' death from the Spanish flu, rich and entitled Fiona MacCleary learns that they have left her penniless.  Desperate to regain her status and prestige, she embarks on a journey that takes her from her family estate to the seedy back alleys of London, and across the ocean to Boston, where she goes to work for the wealthy Lampton family.   

When she falls in love with Mr. Lampton and cannot convince him to divorce his wife, she meets Alexandra, a local psychic fortune-teller, who presents her with an unusual way to achieve her goals -- body-jumping -- into Alexandra's body.   

Over the course of twenty years, Fiona uses her new life and newfound psychic power to beguile her customers, growing ever closer to her goal.   Will her plan succeed? How far is she willing to go to achieve her dream of being the mistress of the Lampton estate?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Glenna Rollins Riddle
• Release date: Apr 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201446055

Glenna Rollins Riddle

I began my author journey at a later age than most, and often wonder why I waited so long. When I'm not working on my novels, I can be found hanging out with my kids or grandkids, or belting out tunes at karaoke! I have been described as somebody with a positive outlook on life, yet when I write my stories, they rarely seem to have happy endings. What can I say? I'm a hot mess -- maybe? Maybe I just recognize that life isn't all good or all bad.  It is a thrilling mixture of both, and to ignore one would be at the expense of appreciating the other. Stories of passion, triumph, and tragedy. I have always loved to tell them, to hear them, to live them.  Happy ending or not, they are the stories of life -- of living. To feel, happy or sad, is to live.  I have experienced the tragedy and triumph of surviving an abusive childhood, a brush with death after narrowly escaping a nightclub bombing in Berlin, Germany, and after too many failed relationships, I found the love of my life and married him; only to lose him to a rare genetic disorder just 13 months later.  Through all of this, I have held onto my passion for life, love, and a good story.  Life may be painful at times, but it is short … enjoy it, experience it, feel it. While you can.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Fiona MacCleary cursed silently under her breath as she set her bags down and opened the large mahogany doors of her family’s manor on the outskirts of London.    

Worthington, where are you? she bellowed.

A portly man of about fifty entered the foyer. His gray wool suit made a bristling sound as he approached her.

Worthington isn’t available. He’s down with the flu.

Barely glancing at him, Fiona turned to pick up the bags, which were still sitting just outside of the open doors.

Well then, Mr. Smyth, don’t just stand there, she snapped. Give me a hand with these bags.

I hardly think so. I am your family’s barrister, not your butler, he sneered as he watched her fumble with her burden. What were you thinking, going shopping today?

Well, Fiona said, the sun was shining, and it wasn’t raining. A perfect day for shopping, don’t you think?

And I suppose the fact that your parents only recently passed away didn’t cross your mind?

Spare me, Smyth. Life must go on, mustn’t it? As the new lady of the manor, it is only fitting that I be outfitted properly.

And you have no concern about the Spanish Flu? The same illness that killed your parents only recently. Smyth shook his head. I’m quite surprised you even found shops open, with so many thousands of our citizens being afflicted with this dreadful disease.

Oh, they were open, Fiona smiled as she set down the last of her bags and closed the front door. And only too happy for my business. I found some of the most remarkable dresses. Some of them from Paris.

Well, Smyth muttered, I hope you enjoy them. It will be a long time, if ever, before you can go on such an excursion again.

What do you mean? Fiona stopped fidgeting with her bags and stared at Mr. Smyth, her eyebrows raised.

Mr. Smyth cleared his throat and turned away from her.

That is why I’m here, he said. Fiona, please follow me to the study.

Her bags forgotten, Fiona followed Mr. Smyth down the hall. The echoing sound of her heels against the marble floor of the foyer faded as she stepped onto the large Persian rug lining the hallway to the study. The hem of her peach dress, hanging just below her knees, twirled slightly as she walked. Entering the study, she immediately walked to the large mahogany desk that had been her father’s and sat down in the brown leather chair behind it. Her long blonde hair, draped over her shoulder, glistened in the light streaming through the study window. Reaching her hand up, she flipped her hair behind her and looked up at Mr. Smyth who stood next to one of the upholstered chairs facing the desk.

My father never let me in here. Did you know that Smyth? she asked.

No, miss, I did not, he replied.

He thought that business was something that a woman couldn’t understand. He was a fool, she said, the resentment clear in her voice.

He was your father, Fiona. You could try to show a little respect for the dead. He reached for a folder in his valise.

Why respect him, or my mother, now? They showed me no respect when they were alive. Why should I feign respect for them just because they’re dead? Fiona leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands.

Excuse me, miss?

My father spoke down to me as if I were a fool, and my mother bowed and scraped before him like he was a God. I’m better than that. As their heir, I will show all of London that a woman is someone to be reckoned with, feared even. I’ll show them all that I am not a woman to be trifled with or looked down upon.

Mr. Smyth cleared his throat.

So, Smyth, let’s get on with the matter at hand. I assume you’re here to tell me the value of my estate.

You certainly seem to think you’re entitled to it.

Well, I am, Fiona replied tersely.

I am here to discuss the estate, however, it’s not what you think. Mr. Smyth laid the folder on the desk in front of Fiona. There is no estate. It’s gone.

Bollocks! Fiona said, her eyes opening wide. What do you mean, gone?

Your parents were heavily in debt at the time of their death, and we must sell the entire estate to satisfy those obligations. There will be nothing left once we pay the debts.

That can’t be true. The estate is mine! Fiona slammed her hand on the desk and jumped out of her chair. How could they do this to me? They bloody well owe me!

They don’t owe you anything. They raised you, they cared for you. Good God, girl, they loved you!

Fiona grunted and sat back down in her chair, her mouth turning down as she fidgeted with her hands.

I am sorry, miss, but those are the facts.

You’re our barrister. Can’t you do something about this? she asked.

I have tried. Unfortunately, your father made several poor investments, borrowed money to cover his losses, and could not pay them off before his, and your mother’s, untimely demise.

So, I have nothing?

I’m afraid so, Miss. We have been forced to sell the estate and its contents to satisfy the creditors. We have already sold the home.

Desperately, she asked, Do I get to keep anything? How long do I have?

You can keep your clothes and personal belongings. Unfortunately, that is all. Smyth paused a moment, taking a deep breath. Oh, and you only have until the end of the week.

What? You’ve got to be joking. How am I to find another place to live? How am I to survive?

You are going to have to go to work, I suppose. You don’t really have time to find a husband, even if you could. Mr. Smyth closed his valise and turned to leave.

What is that supposed to mean? Fiona glared at him.

You’re a spoiled brat. Your parents were far too lenient with you, and all they did was raise an entitled, pretentious ingrate. I can understand why they could never marry you off.

How dare you speak to me that way! Fiona’s voice rose as her face reddened.

I dare speak to you in any manner I wish. This visit marks the end of my employment with your family. I strongly recommend you try to find some work and another place to live. You have little time.

But I shouldn’t have to work. I’m better than that. Fiona’s bosom rose and fell rapidly against the bodice of her dress as she tried to catch her breath. Besides, what could I do? I’m not trained to work. I wasn’t raised to have to work!

The barrister took a step toward her, reached out and lightly ran his fingertips down her arm.

You do have some fine attributes, despite your marked personality. His eyes lingered over her slender figure. Perhaps that will help you earn some money and a place to lay your head.

Fiona lurched backwards.

How dare you insinuate such a thing! I would never debase myself in that manner. She pointed toward the door to the study. Get out, you pig!

I’ll leave, Mr. Smyth laughed. Be sure to be out by the end of the week, or the constables will be here to remove you bodily. Giving the girl one last lecherous glance, he walked out the door.

Fiona plopped back in her chair as Mr. Smyth left the room. She slammed her fist on the table again as she burst into tears.

Damn it! Damn them! What am I going to do?

FIONA CLOSED THE DOOR behind her as she left her home of 18 years. A large trunk full of her clothes was all she had left of the life she had known. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and wiped the tears from her eyes as she began walking, never turning back. Half an hour later, she arrived in town. She knew she was close to the Savoy and had determined that is where she would live until she could figure a way out of her dilemma. She jumped in surprise as a young boy, his shorts and shirt covered in dirt, sprinted across the street toward her.

Scuse me, miss, he said as he attempted, unsuccessfully, to wipe the dirt from his face. Can I help you with your trunk? Looks awful heavy.

Fiona raised an eyebrow as she glanced down at him.

I’m small, but I’m stout. He smiled as he raised his puny arm, flexing his bicep.

Fiona sighed and set down the trunk.

I suppose you can, she said.

Where are you headed, miss? he asked.

The Savoy.

Ooooh, that’s awful posh. You must be rich.

I am, she paused. Or at least, I was.

How are you going to pay for it? he asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. "I mean, if you was rich. Seems to me you’ve got to be rich now, if you want to stay in a place like the Savoy."

Dammit, Fiona frowned. I hadn’t thought of that. She looked around at the various storefronts along the street. Where do you think I could sell some fine jewelry? Is there a place somewhere nearby that I could do that?

Ahh, you’ve got some baubles, do ya, miss? the boy grinned. I know just where you can go. Here, follow me, he said as he snatched up her trunk and began walking down the street. Fiona quickened her step as she followed the boy to a storefront a few blocks down the road. She watched him reach for the doorknob to the store and called out to him.

Wait, she said. Come back here with the trunk for a moment.

He walked back to her and set the trunk down.

What is it, miss?

I’ve got to get the jewelry out of the trunk, don’t I? I’m not very well going to open it in the middle of the shop. Glancing over her shoulders, she bent down and opened the trunk, removing a purple velvet bag which was buried beneath her clothing. I’m glad that bastard Smyth didn’t see me take these before I left, she muttered.

What was that, miss? the boy asked.

Nothing, she said as she removed a ruby necklace from the pouch. She stuffed the necklace into her pocket, closed the purple bag, and buried it back underneath her clothing. Closing the trunk, she stood up, motioned to the boy, and walked into the shop. Fifteen minutes later, Fiona walked out of the shop, her purse a little heavier with cash, and the small boy trailing her with her trunk of clothes as she made her way to the Savoy.

I can’t believe he only gave me fifty pounds for that necklace! she complained as they approached the entrance to the Savoy.

Times are hard, miss, the boy replied. You could have said no.

I didn’t really have a lot of choice, she said. As they entered the lobby of the grand hotel, she slipped the boy a twopence and he scurried out the door.

I would like a room, please, she said to the desk clerk as she set down her trunk.

How long will you be staying, miss? he asked.

I don’t know, a week or so, I imagine.

"That will