His Heart's Revenge (The Marshall Brothers Series, Book 2) Page 26

  "I don't want anything. I told you, I never cared about Victor's money."

  "You do not expect me to believe that, do you? What about your baby?"

  Katy's hands folded protectively in front of her abdomen. "Victor wanted to provide for our child," she said with quiet dignity. But it was not a position she could maintain, and Katy knew it. Had her baby really been Victor's she would have fought relentlessly for the child's birthright. It was a gallant gesture on Victor's part to want to provide for her and the baby, but it was also unnecessary. She had been on her own before and could manage this time as well. "You should consider honoring his wishes."

  "I have considered all I want to." His hand came up and cupped her chin, holding her face steady. "Now consider what I have to say. You have a decision to make, Katy dear, and I am going to outline your choices." His hand dropped to her neck when she jerked her head away from him. His grip was tight enough now that she couldn't move. "You can remain here as my mistress. You will quietly renounce your right to any part of my father's fortune. Except for Lockwood, who will draw up the papers, no one will ever know the true nature of our relationship or that you have given up your part of the estate. When your child is born, I will settle a small portion on him or her, an eighth, perhaps, of the total Donovan holdings. That is a handsome sum under any circumstances."

  "Go to hell, Michael."

  His smile was feral. "I would not be so quick to send me to perdition or to dismiss one of your alternatives. You have yet to hear the others."

  "I am not interested in being your mistress. I never have been. All the money in the world is not going to change that."

  Michael ignored her dismissal. "Another option is to accept a small gift from me." He named a figure that was generous if one did not take into account the worth of the entire estate. "Note the gift is from me. It is yours for not accepting the will. In this case, you will leave the city and endeavor to live with some degree of anonymity in another part of the country. If you can plan wisely, you should be able to manage on the money I will settle on you. You are resourceful as well. I shouldn't think it would be long before you've found some other man to see to your needs. If you are lucky, perhaps he will die and leave you a fortune—without the complication of children from another marriage."

  Katy slapped him.

  Michael's features went rigid as his eyes bored into hers. His hand dropped away from her neck. Before she could take a step back, he raised it again. Katy flinched, but it wasn't enough. He hit her with sufficient force to drop her to her knees. Michael simply stood there, looking down on her while he regained his balance.

  "Your last choice," he said emotionlessly, as if there had been no altercation, "is to fight me when I contest the will. You will lose."

  She was afraid to get up, afraid of what he could do to her and her child. Still, she could not cower in front of him. Raising defiant eyes to him, she said, "God, but I despise you. That you could be Victor's son is one of nature's nastier surprises. Perhaps you would be wiser not to challenge me, Michael. I could relish fighting you in court. I have played the bitch on stage. There cannot be much to assuming the same role in real life."

  "If it were only your reputation at stake, I believe you would do it," he said, brushing the side of her face with his fingertips. He could feel the heat from the slap he'd delivered. "But it is not only your reputation. It is my father we are talking about here. And Ria, and your child, and... and Logan Marshall."

  "Logan Marshall?" she asked, carefully making her features a blank. "What does he have to do with anything?"

  "I'm not certain. But it would be easy enough to discover, wouldn't it? He was at your hotel room at least one time that I know of. On reflection, I think he might have known you when he came backstage to your dressing room. And he was here not long before my father committed suicide."

  "Stop saying that! It was an accident!"

  "Perhaps my father was despondent over more than his impending death. After all, we are all of us mortal beings. What if Father was moved to kill himself because he knew his wife was straying from the nest?"

  "You are vile."

  Michael shrugged. "I may not be able to prove it, but I can raise the question often. And the public being what it is, well, you understand that they will draw their own conclusions. I cannot be responsible for what they might believe." He took a step backward, turned, and picked up his drink. He carried it to the door. "With the exception of reminding you of the photographs I still retain, I think I have said everything I wanted to say. I will expect an answer tomorrow morning. That gives you twenty-four hours to make a decision. If you make up your mind more quickly than that, I will be at the Union Club. Duncan can reach me there." He raised his glass again, and this time a little bourbon spilled over the edge and spattered the carpet. He grinned crookedly; a boyishly handsome expression adorned his Adonis face. "Good day, m'dear."

  When he was gone, Katy sat back on her heels. He thought he had given her three choices and yet there was only one worth considering, one that he had not offered at all. She could leave the city without accepting his money or renouncing Victor's will. It was what she should do, she thought, fingering the cameo at her throat. She would be independent again, out of reach of Michael's threats and without reminders at every turn of her brief marriage to Victor. It would be a challenge to start again somewhere else, but she did not have to stay in New York.

  Her hands folded over her abdomen, and she pressed them there in expectation that the baby would provide some answer. "If I am doing the right thing," she asked, "then why do I feel as if I am running away?"

  Chapter 10

  February 13, 1873—Washington, DC.

  It was just as the curtain was closing on the matinee's second act that Katy's water broke. There had been twinges and aches since last night, and she had resolutely ignored them. This was not something she could treat in the same fashion. Her undergarments were wet, but nothing showed on the gown she was wearing. Thank God for small favors, she thought. If she ruined the gown, she would have the wardrobe mistress to contend with. She did not think she was up to facing that dragon now.

  Off stage, she sat on one of the prop chairs and tried to catch her breath. All around her stagehands and actors moved with purpose and the grace of long practice as they set up the next scene and costume change. The activity was a well-choreographed blur, and Katy, excused from lifting a finger this late in her pregnancy, had nothing to do. Usually she stood out of everyone's way in the stairwell. This evening she could not walk that far. Still, no one noticed her until John Burja needed the chair she was sitting on.

  "Sorry, Miss Dakota. You'll have to move. This chair belongs in the next—" He broke off and his caterpillar eyebrows joined in a single line above deep-set eyes. "Hey, are you feeling all right? You are not going to whelp right here, are you?"

  The contraction had passed. Katy smiled without pain and stood. She touched John on the shoulder and shook her head. "No, John, I am not going to—"

  A small screech interrupted Katy. Donna Mae Polk pushed John at the small of his back and moved him along. "Whelping is what a bitch does," she said matter-of-factly. "And Katy here is not a bitch. Now take the chair and stop standing around asking foolish questions. Anyone can see that our Katy's going to have a baby, not a litter." She turned her back on Katy and presented an unlaced corset and the open back of her gown. "Do me up, would you, dear? I cannot find that no-account dresser of mine. Not that I care. Thanks to her I couldn't breathe through the first two acts. God, I wish intermission was longer. You are lucky you don't have to be bound up in one of these blessed contraptions. What a piece of good fortune it was to cast you for the part of Alice. 'Course, I'm sure most of the audience thinks it's pillows you've got under your gown."

  "I do have one," Katy admitted.

  Donna looked back over her shoulder, her baby blue eyes wide. "Go on with you," she said in disbelief. Donna Mae had deep dimples on either si
de of her mouth. They disappeared as her lips curved in a small O of astonishment. "Really?"

  "Really. I never got very big. I suppose because I am so tall, I just—" She broke off as another contraction gripped her.

  "Ooh, not so tight with the laces, dear." When Katy's grip did not ease, Donna Mae glanced back again. "Lord above! You are going to have this baby right now, aren't you?"

  Katy managed a small laugh, her face colorless. "Not right now. Everyone in the company who has had children tells me the first one takes awhile. I will be able to finish the third act."

  Donna threw up her hands, raising her eyes to the rafters. "Just don't drop that baby while I'm on stage, dearie. I am not going to have you stealing my best scenes."

  Considering the circumstances, the third act of Hampstead Heath was carried off with hardly a hitch. On two occasions, pain made Katy mute and each time Donna Mae covered for her. The other cast members, in whispered asides, soon realized what was happening and made allowances for Katy's condition. The last act was not Hampstead Heath as the playwright intended it to be, but only the actors were aware of the changes.

  Katy participated in two of the three curtain calls. By the last one, she was being led off-stage and into Donna Mae's dressing room.

  "Well," Donna Mae said as she entered the room. "That was much, much too close." She plucked at the fingers of her elbow-length gloves and surveyed the people crowded around Katy. Two stagehands were holding her up; another was pacing the floor. Donna Mae's dresser was wringing her hands while yet another cast member searched Donna's wardrobe looking for something that might be of use. Behind her, players were already filling the doorway. Donna Mae dropped her gloves in her dresser's lap and immediately took charge. "Please, someone put her on the divan over there. John, there is some bed linen we use in the first act. Bring it down here."

  "But—" The objection came from Katy as she was escorted to the low couch. She was ignored. John rushed out to do Donna Mae's bidding. The diminutive lead actress was a force to be reckoned with. She gave orders with authority of a general and tolerated no excuses from her legion of followers. Mutiny was unthinkable.

  "Now, Henry, you fetch Katy's doctor. Ramsey, isn't it?"

  Katy nodded. "But—"

  "He is over on Connecticut Avenue. Ask someone if you can't find it. Tell him it's the baby and that her labor is not going to be a long one from the looks of it. Florence, get some nightgowns out of my wardrobe and help Katy into one of them. The ones in the second drawer will do fine. Jacob, see about some hot water. And will someone please undo the back of my gown? I swear I cannot breathe again. As for everyone not engaged in a meaningful task, take yourself off. This is one time an actress does not want an audience. Isn't that right, Katy? Honestly you would think babies were never birthed backstage before."

  "But I want to have my baby at home," Katy finally blurted, her mouth set tightly against the pain.

  "Of course you do," Donna Mae offered soothingly. "But I don't think that's what your baby wants." She sighed with relief as her dress and corset were loosened. "So much better. Thank you, Flo. As soon as you help Katy with her nightgown you can wait outside. Bring the sheets in when John returns, the water when Jake brings it back, and show the doctor in. I will see to anything else that our Katy needs."

  Katy realized that as long as she remained an actress she would never be without family. Everyone took care of everyone else. She was not even afraid that the doctor might not come. He was a thespian from his Hasty Pudding days at Harvard and some ties were stronger than blood.

  "Are you crying?" Donna Mae asked suspiciously, peeking through the yards of petticoats she had raised above her head.

  Blinking back tears, Katy shook her head.

  "Good." Donna finished removing her undergarments, letting them fall to the floor with a flourish. "There is no sense getting yourself worked up now. You are going to need your strength for when it starts to hurt."

  "Start to hurt? But—"

  "Do not think about it." She opened her wardrobe and passed her hand back and forth across her clothes. "Are you anticipating a girl or a boy?" she asked.

  "I think I would like—" Another contraction came and Katy curled in a ball on the divan. Her nails dug into the plush velvet upholstery, "—a girl."

  Nodding, Donna's fingers curled around a pale blue wrapper and plucked it out. "I will wear this then. No sense tempting fate by wearing pink." She shut the wardrobe door and saw that Katy was in some distress. "Try to relax, darling. And be careful not to fall off the sofa."

  "Relax?" Katy gasped. Her expressive brown-gold eyes were suspicious. "Donna Mae, do you have any children of your own?"

  The actress sat at her vanity and began removing her greasepaint. Katy was reflected in her mirror. "I have been married to the theatre for thirty-five years, dear. I like to think of all of you as my children."

  "I was afraid it might be something like that," Katy said to herself. More loudly, she said, "Then you have never actually given birth."

  Donna Mae paused in wiping rouge off her cheeks. "I have presided over half a dozen, so don't think I don't know what's to be done. I am six times more experienced than you are."

  The sheets arrived then and Donna Mae stopped what she was doing to help make up the divan with a double set. Katy lay back down on her side, drawing up her knees. "I think I could have made it home," she said, thinking about the freshly painted nursery waiting for her baby. She had not thought she was so close to birthing when she left for the theatre. Ever since coming to Washington, Katy had been making plans to have the baby in her little red brick house on E Street not far from the theatre. That seemed a more fitting setting for Logan's child and Victor's heir than Donna Mae's dressing room.

  Katy sighed, touching the tip of her tongue to a bead of perspiration on her upper lip. It simply was not meant to be. Donna Mae Polk, she of the generous curves and heart, was kneeling at her side now, wiping greasepaint from her face and chattering on about names for the baby.

  When she left New York, Katy had some idea of what obstacles she might encounter. She was young, widowed, pregnant, and traveling alone. It was unfortunate that in combination these things worked against her, inspiring strangers to whisper after her rather than offer any sort of assistance. Still grieving for Victor, Katy bore their censure without indicating that she knew it existed. It was a blessedly short train ride to Washington.

  The capital was the logical place to set down new roots. She had a passing familiar with the city even though there were many changes since she had lived there as a young girl. There were enough theatre productions to support an actress who did not want to travel with tours, and the quality of those productions compared favorably with what the Rialto offered. Katy was confident she could find work. That Washington was also the home of Richard Allen when Congress was in session was something Katy had learned to live with. She was no longer a frightened little girl—something her stepfather would discover if he ever dared approach her.

  Although Katy had accepted nothing from Michael, she had gowns and jewelry from Victor that she was able to sell. The jewelry turned out to be especially valuable. She parted with everything but her wedding band in order to buy the house.

  Taking back the name Dakota, Katy found work in brief productions of Romeo and Juliet, Twelfth Night, and Much Ado about Nothing. Even before her pregnancy would have been evident to an audience, Katy did not aspire to command the lead roles. She preferred small character parts, playing shrews and peasants with equal fervor. With the proper padding she took on several minor male roles, and performed a feat of acting that remained unknown to her audiences.

  Katy played older women—grande dames and smothering society mothers—in several melodramas that were popular with the public, although not critical successes. In January, just when she thought she would have to excuse herself from work, the part of Alice in Hampstead Heath was offered to her. It was a daring character to play because A
lice Hampstead was supposed to be a free-spirited thinker, one of the Bohemians of pre Civil War Manhattan. She was unmarried, pregnant, and flaunting both those facts in front of her very staid, very circumspect family. The irony, as Donna Mae had discovered earlier, was that Katy was not large enough to flaunt anything without extra padding.

  It seemed to Katy that she drifted in and out of reality as the contractions came harder and faster. There was scarcely time to breathe between them, let alone collect her thoughts. Donna Mae kept up a steady stream of encouragement and wiped Katy's damp face with a cool cloth. Henry brought the doctor just after six o'clock, and a few minutes before nine Katy delivered her baby.

  "Oh, darlin'," Donna Mae murmured, placing the child against Katy's breast. "You never told me what you are going to call your little girl."

  "It's a girl?"

  "I'm wearing blue, aren't I?"

  Katy's eyes caressed the red-faced infant in her arms. The baby's hair was so light she appeared to be bald. Her skin was wrinkled, and her mouth was opened so wide that her eyes were mere creases. Her dimpled knees were folded against her chest and her tiny fists flailed at the air. Red-faced, wrinkled, and bleating like a lamb—she was simply the most beautiful baby in all the world. Katy touched the back of her forefinger to her daughter's soft, downy cheek. "I'm going to name her Victoria," she said quietly. "After my late husband."

  "Victoria," Donna Mae repeated, raising puzzled eyes to the doctor. If Victor was her late husband, she wondered, then who was this Logan person Katy called for during her labor?

  * * *

  New York City

  Michael paced the hallway outside his wife's bedroom. He would have liked to have gone downstairs and sought refuge in his study. The disapproval he imagined Dr. Turner would level at his head kept him precisely where he was. Dr. Turner had already expressed some concerns that Michael would not let him move Ria to Jennings Memorial. A hospital! It was out of the question.