Forever in My Heart Page 11

Had she kissed him? She remembered the kiss in the library of her own home when he had wanted to stop her from screaming. She was wondering, though, about a different sort of kiss, one that was without force or anger, just for pleasure's sake. Had she kissed him like that?

  Maggie's eyes had dropped to Connor's mouth, her expression intent on the shape of his lips, until she realized the hint of the smile she saw there was at her expense. Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze to her lap. "I don't see how I could have done what you say."

  "You did."

  "But I don't know how."

  "You learned."

  "But—"

  "Maggie," he said, his tone approaching gentleness. "You're carrying a child. How much more proof do you require?"

  Her knuckles whitened as her fingers knotted in her lap. "Can it be anyone else's child?"

  Connor's faint smile vanished. "That would make it more palatable, is that it? It's easier to believe as long as I'm not the one who had his calloused ranch hands on you."

  She knew she had angered him but had no clear sense about why. "Yes... no... that's not what I meant." Maggie stood and crossed her arms about her middle. She went to the study's single arched window and stood in front of it, looking out. "I don't know what you're talking about now. You must know this isn't easy. None of it. I walked for hours before I gathered the courage to come here and maybe it's only fear that's keeping me rooted in this room, but I'm still here and I came for answers. I need you to fill in gaps, not create them." She turned toward him again and asked frankly, "Are you the father of my child?"

  He could have said he wasn't certain, that he couldn't account for the hours after she left him or the days and weeks that followed, but he declined to muddy the waters or perpetuate the notion, in his own mind or hers, that she was a whore when he knew it was no part of the truth. "The child's mine," he said.

  Maggie was silent for a time, just thinking. She didn't even feel Connor's steady regard. "It was March 24th, wasn't it?"

  "Yes. You remember that?"

  "Not the way you think. It's the only day in my adult life that I can't entirely account for." She glanced at him. "Where did we meet?"

  Connor stood. He pointed to the sofa while he reached to ring for a servant. "I think you'd better sit down, Maggie. I'll have some lunch brought to us. This could take a while."

  They didn't speak at all while lunch was being prepared. Maggie browsed through Rushton's collection of books while Connor pretended to do something other than watch her. She caught his attention without any guile on her part and that puzzled him. She was outside the realm of his experience. It was easier to deal with her when he thought she was a jade. Then he remembered there was still the matter of twelve thousand dollars. For some reason that made him relax.

  Maggie wasn't hungry and under Connor's watchful eye it was even more difficult to eat, but somehow she managed to do credit to the luncheon that had been prepared.

  "Tell me what you remember about the 24th," Connor said. He buttered a roll and gave Maggie half.

  "I was at the library most of the day. Skye came in with her friends and wanted me to join them on a scavenger hunt." She took a small bite of the roll. "I didn't really want to go but my sister can be very persistent. It was easier to give in. We broke into teams and went looking for the items on our list. Skye's main reason for wanting me along was so she could be with her friend Daniel. No one else would have let her disappear alone with him, but she didn't give me any choice in the matter."

  "So she was with Daniel and you were by yourself."

  Maggie nodded. She smiled slightly, unaware her eyes had clouded. "I didn't mind," she said. "I wasn't afraid or anything like that. I continued to collect things on our list. My problems began with a pair of white gloves."

  "I don't understand," he said. What he did understand was that she had hated being left to carry on alone and it seemed a betrayal of her sister to say so. "What about the white gloves?"

  "I needed to find some. I saw a man coming out of Delmonico's who was wearing a pair and I thought I would simply ask him for them." She sighed. "Only I'm not so brazen as all that and I followed on foot a long way before I realized I could never ask him to give me his gloves for a silly game. I let him go on and that's when I think I realized I was lost." Maggie looked down at her plate, pushing a bit of cold roast beef to the side, then raised uncertain eyes to Connor. "I don't know anything else. The next thing I clearly remember is Skye waking me up in my own bed the following morning."

  Connor held her gaze for a long time before her eyes finally dropped away. "Do you want to hear this, Maggie?" he asked. "Have you really considered whether you want to know what happened?"

  "I can't not know," she said quietly.

  Connor saw that she wasn't going to eat any more so he put aside the serving table that had been placed between them. She declined his offer of tea. He poured a small tumbler of whiskey for himself. "I don't know all the details of that evening, not about the things that happened before I met you, or after you left me, but I think I know enough to fill in some of those hours."

  "I'm ready," she said.

  Connor doubted it. "You followed the man with the white gloves from Delmonico's to the red light district." He saw by the embarrassed color in her cheeks that he didn't have to explain what that meant. "While you were there, perhaps while you were trying to find your way out again, you were accosted by some sailors."

  Maggie stared at him, fascinated as he went on. She heard the words he was saying but there was no connection to her or anything that she had ever done. This time it was as if these events had happened to someone else. It was impossible to imagine that she had ever encountered a man like Harlan Porter or escaped him only to find herself a guest of a brothel... and to be mistaken for a whore?... it was the most incredible stuff and nonsense Maggie had ever heard.

  She held up her hand, cutting Connor off. "This is ridiculous," she said bluntly. "I can't listen to any more of it. Now I know why you like Twenty Thousand Leagues. It's not a fantasy to you. Not if you think what you're telling me is true." She started to rise.

  "Sit down, Maggie," he ordered.

  "You can't—"

  "Sit down."

  She did. Her green eyes were angry now.

  "I have no reason to lie about these things."

  "You have twelve thousand reasons," she pointed out. "And you're trying to lay the blame at my feet."

  "You have a baby in your belly," he said roughly. "And you came here looking for someone to blame."

  "I came looking for answers."

  "It's a sure thing you didn't come looking for the truth." This time it was Connor who stood up. The fact that Maggie shrank back when his shadow fell across her infuriated him. "How did you think it happened, Maggie? How did you imagine we met?"

  "I don't know. I didn't think about it... I couldn't."

  "Liar. I'll bet you thought we met in Central Park, that we walked along the promenade or around the pond. You probably imagined we were overcome by a moment and couldn't help ourselves. Is that how your romantic head and heart got you with child?"

  She simply gaped at him, speechless.

  "We were overcome by a moment," he said brutally. "But it was animal, not romantic. I thought you were there for me, and I believed you thought you were there for me. It didn't happen once. It happened twice and the second time was better than the first. It happened in Mrs. Hall's brothel, not on a bed of grass in Central Park. It happened with me, not one of your whey-faced city suitors. And that's the truth, Miss Dennehy. You can rail against it all you want but it doesn't change what happened. It certainly doesn't change the fact that you're pregnant."

  Maggie stood. "No, but maybe Madame Restell can do that." She brushed past him on her way to the door.

  Connor grabbed her wrist and stopped her in her tracks. He felt her shudder, but he held her fast and gave no quarter even when she turned to face him defiantly. "What did you say?" he asked
sharply.

  His eyes should have been the color of ice chips, she thought. Eyes that were so deeply brown that they were almost black should have been warmer. Perhaps it was because she couldn't see into them that they were so cold. Even his anger was cold. Only his palm around her wrist was warm and there he held her so tightly she couldn't move her fingers. "I said," she repeated slowly, enunciating each word so there would be no mistaking it, "that perhaps Madame Restell could do that." His grip didn't ease. "Now let me go. You're hurting me."

  His fingers relaxed but he didn't let her go. "Who's Madame Restell?"

  Maggie had forgotten that Connor hadn't been raised in New York. "She's one of your neighbors."

  "That's no answer."

  "It's the only one you're getting from me. Now, let me go." She was sick with fear and it made her brave. The thought of humiliating herself by losing her last meal in front of him gave her courage she hadn't known she possessed. He was looking at her as if she were a particularly fascinating insect. Any moment she was afraid he might pluck her wings.

  Instead he set her free.

  Maggie rubbed her wrist, returning circulation to her fingers. She watched him warily. "I want to leave now."

  "I'm not going to stop you."

  She nodded. "Thank you for that at least."

  He went to the study door with her. "When I call on you at your home I expect to be able to see you."

  She had no idea why he expected that but she managed a short nod. She was biting her lower lip again.

  He opened the door for her. "I'm leaving for Denver in a few days. We should settle things between us before then."

  Maggie bit her lip harder and nodded more emphatically this time. "Settle things," she said. "Yes, we should do that."

  * * *

  Moira caught her daughter as she was slipping through the front door. "Skye said you'd be home for luncheon. You didn't make it."

  Maggie removed her hat and placed it on a table inside the entrance hall. She ran her fingers through the crown of her hair. "I apologize, Mama. I thought I would be. I hope you didn't worry."

  Moira didn't respond directly to that statement. "Your sister's waiting to see you in the parlor."

  "Skye? Why is she waiting..." Her voice trailed off as another thought occurred to her. She tried to inject some enthusiasm into her tone, though the return of dread and panic was what she was feeling. "Mary Francis is here?"

  "Mm-hmm. She came late this morning and stayed for lunch. She didn't want to go back to the convent without seeing you."

  "That was sweet of her." There was no doubt in Maggie's mind that her father and mother had arranged this. Mary Francis rarely arrived unannounced; her responsibilities with Little Sisters of the Poor were too enormous to give her the freedom to come and go as she pleased. Mary preferred to stay where she was most of the time. Her presence at home meant that Moira and Jay Mac had called for the big gun.

  Maggie was thinking just that as she entered the parlor. Nothing about her sister's appearance supported Maggie's thoughts. It was a matter of agreement among the four younger sisters that Mary Francis was the real beauty of the family. The perfect symmetry of her features set her face at rest, giving her a serenity of expression that seemed otherworldly at times. That her face was framed by the cornet of her habit only emphasized the impression. She was tall, slender, graceful in her movements, even inside the bulky and figure-hiding habit. It wasn't Mary's appearance that made Maggie think of a big gun. It was firsthand knowledge that Mary Francis never minced her words, that she was rarely reticent, and that she packed the punch of a cannonball. Maggie never particularly thought Mary was suited to the sisterhood. She should have been a general.

  "It's good to see you," Maggie said, reaching out to hug her sister. She felt herself enveloped in her sister's arms, and Maggie wondered if she hadn't been mistaken. She felt such peace in Mary's embrace. She realized she meant it; it was good to see Mary Francis again. "No one mentioned you were going to be here today."

  With typical frankness Mary said, "I think that was the plan. Jay Mac was concerned you'd run scared."

  Maggie laughed. It sounded strange to her ears, and she realized then how long it had been since she found anything amusing. "I well may have." She sat down on the sofa and Mary Francis joined her. "Are you here to pry certain secrets out of my head?"

  Mary grinned. "Something like that. No one seems quite certain what's going on with you, Mag. The only thing everyone agrees on is that you're unhappy."

  It bothered Maggie that she was the subject of so much discussion behind her back. She managed to force a smile. "Do I seem so unhappy to you?"

  "Yes. That smile doesn't particularly support your efforts."

  Trust Mary to see right through her. "I suppose you have a theory. Mama and Jay Mac thought there was a man." She was amazed she could say these things as a matter-of-fact. If she worked at it she would be able to lie, even to Mary Francis. "Skye thinks I'm still mad at her for a trick she played on me weeks ago."

  "Any truth to either one of those?"

  "No."

  Mary's calm, forest-green eyes were unwavering as she studied Maggie's face. "What's your explanation?"

  "Nothing's wrong."

  Mary Francis shook her head. One slender hand rested on her rosary beads. They slipped through her fingers in an unconscious gesture. "That's where you're making your mistake. To say that nothing's wrong when something so obviously is commands everyone's attention. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  Maggie wasn't certain. Was Mary Francis teaching her to prevaricate or helping her protect her privacy? Or was it a little of both? "I think I do."

  "You don't, but it's sweet of you to pretend." Mary Francis released her beads and took Maggie's hand in hers. "I know you'll tell us the truth when you're able," she said. "In the meantime, know that you're in my prayers."

  It was the stinging ache of unshed tears at the back of Maggie's throat that kept her from blurting out Madame Restell's name. It was difficult to swallow, impossible to speak.

  Mary's hand squeezed Maggie's. "Tell me about medical school," she said. "Have you heard anything?"

  Somehow she managed to get the words out. "I expect to hear something soon. I've been studying a lot in case I'm accepted."

  "Mama says you spend a great deal of time at the library."

  She nodded. "I like it there. It's quiet and peaceful. Rather like the convent, I imagine."

  Mary's beautiful smile animated her face and brightened her eyes. "Oh, Maggie, not at all like the convent. Except for prayers it fairly echoes with joyful noise. If I want to be contemplative, I go to the library."

  "Mama would wring her hands if she heard you talking like that," Maggie said.

  "Poor Mama. I think she's afraid if I'm not more respectful I won't be able to atone for her sins. I try to tell her that Our Lord did that already, but she sees me as her sacrificial lamb."

  "Mary Francis! That's practically blasphemous!"

  "I think it is blasphemous." She shrugged. "And then I think it anyway. And say it. I can't seem to help myself. Sometimes I wonder if Mama promised her firstborn to the church so everyone else might do as they wish."

  Maggie's eyes widened. She'd never had an inkling that Mary Francis felt that way.

  Mary patted her sister's hand. "Now, don't go thinking I'm saying something I'm not," she cautioned. "And whatever you do, don't point Jay Mac and Mama in my direction. Perhaps I'm a little more sensitive to your dilemma, whatever it is, because I'm in the middle of my own. You should be thankful. It wouldn't have taken me but two minutes to pry your secrets loose otherwise."

  Maggie knew that was true. "What will you say to Mama?"

  "That she should get involved in charity work like other grande dames."

  "You won't!"

  Mary Francis gave her younger sister a sidelong glance almost begging to be dared. "Oh, all right," she said, giving in, "but it would have kept her from w
orrying about you for a while."

  "I can take care of myself, Mary," Maggie said softly.

  "I know," came the gentle reply. "That's what I'm going to tell her."

  * * *

  Connor did not try to see Maggie that evening, for which she was grateful. She spent most of the night in her room staring at her supply of Infallible French Pills. At bedtime she tried a dozen hiding places before she decided to sleep with them under her pillow.

  The next morning it was the breeze just above her face that woke her. She blinked, her eyes crossing as she tried to focus on the thing Skye was waving in front of her nose. "What is that?" she asked, batting it away.

  "A letter," Skye said excitedly. She was dancing in place and looking every bit as young as Beryl Holiday had first thought her. "The letter! C'mon! Wake up!"

  Maggie pushed herself upright and managed to relieve Skye of the bobbing letter with one swipe.

  "It's from the Philadelphia Medical College," Schyler said helpfully.

  "I can see that." She examined the seal on the envelope and ran her index finger around the edge slowly.

  "Well? Aren't you going to open it?"

  It felt too light to be an acceptance. It was probably a rejection. An acceptance would have some instructions in it, wouldn't it? Maggie started to wedge her nail under the seal. She stopped.

  "What is it?" Skye demanded. "Aren't you excited?" Then with sudden insight she understood the problem. Her face fell. "Oh, no. You don't want me here. That's it, isn't it?"

  "I'm sorry, Skye. I need to do this alone. It's not you, it's anybody. I suppose I'm a little afraid." It seemed these days she was afraid of everything. "You understand, don't you? I'll tell everyone at breakfast. No matter what the news, I'll need that much time to myself."

  Skye leaned forward and kissed her sister on the cheek. "I hope it's wonderful news," she said. "The very best." Then she dashed out of the room, fingers crossed on both hands.

  Maggie had to wait for her slamming heart to quiet. She cracked the seal, pulled out the letter, and unfolded it very carefully. Taking a deep breath, she read silently.

  At the end there were tears in her eyes. She let them fall. They dripped on the back of her hand; they smudged the ink. She came to a decision then. She knew what she had to do. It was the same thing she couldn't have done yesterday even with a gun held to her head. It seemed incredible that a single letter could exert so much influence.