Forever in My Heart Read online

  Jay Mac patted her hand a little harder, laughing with relief. "Of course you don't. I'm not going to send for one."

  "But..." She looked at Connor in some confusion, an elusive memory, a certain uneasiness, playing at the back of her mind. He simply returned her stare. She could see her own reflection in his dark eyes. Then she remembered other things, the terrible accusations he had hurled at her, and she cringed from the blankness of his expression now.

  "I'm sorry I frightened you," Connor said.

  He wasn't sincere, she thought. Didn't Jay Mac know? Couldn't his father hear it? She tore her eyes away and looked at her father. "I'd like to go to my room now," she said a trifle breathlessly. "I'm feeling rather silly." She squeezed her father's hand. "Mama doesn't know, does she?"

  Jay Mac shook his head and helped Maggie up. Connor sat back on his haunches and put the stopper back in the bottle of salts. Rushton stepped aside as Maggie came to her feet. She blushed, embarrassed to have made his acquaintance under these circumstances.

  "If you'll excuse me," she said, her eyes dropping to the floor. "I... I can make my own way to my room." She lifted the hem of her gown a few inches and hurried from the library.

  "So that's Mary Margaret," Rushton said once she was out of earshot. "You never mentioned that she was sickly."

  "She's not." Jay Mac and Connor spoke at the same time.

  "She's not," Connor repeated more softly. "I frightened her."

  Rushton ignored his son and looked questioningly at Jay Mac. "What have you been keeping from me, Jay Mac? I thought we had put all our cards on the table but I'm not so certain any longer. Is there something about your daughter that makes it imperative she make a marriage soon?"

  Jay Mac stiffened. "I don't think I like what you're getting at, Rushton. Perhaps you'd better make yourself entirely clear or drop the subject altogether."

  "I didn't think I minced my words," he said stiffly. "But if you need it said differently, then I'm asking you: Is Mary Margaret pr—"

  Connor did not allow his father to finish the sentence that would good as finish a business relationship that had survived the better part of a decade. "I'd like to ask for Maggie's hand in marriage, sir," he said to Jay Mac.

  "Connor!" His father spoke his name sharply, forgetting momentarily that he had never exerted any influence in his son's life, and if he had, the time had long since past where it could be influenced by a single utterance of Connor's name.

  Connor continued to address Jay Mac. "I'm quite serious about this, sir. I would like permission to call on your daughter."

  Jay Mac's ash-blond brows were pulled together in a single line above his eyes. He took off his spectacles, folded the stems, and tucked them into his vest pocket. It gave him time to think. There were things here he did not understand. Of that much he was certain. He and Rushton both had what they wanted, yet he didn't feel entirely satisfied and it was clear that Rushton didn't, either.

  "I'd like to speak with Maggie privately first," Jay Mac said.

  It was not what Connor wanted, but he had no choice. "Of course."

  "But not tonight. I don't think she's up to it tonight."

  "I understand."

  "Come and see me in two days. At the Worth Building. Do you know where it is?"

  "I can find it." Connor looked at his father. "I'm ready to leave. If you and Beryl want to stay longer, I'll walk."

  "That won't be necessary," Rushton said. "We'll go with you."

  * * *

  It was much later that night when Jay Mac and Moira had retired to their bedchamber that he told her about Maggie's fainting spell and Connor Holiday's offer. Moira stopped plaiting her hair and turned on her vanity stool to seek out Jay Mac's assurances. It was one of the few times she saw nothing in his face to ease her worry.

  One of them had to say it, and Moira could see that Jay Mac couldn't bring himself to do it. "Do you think Maggie's pregnant?"

  "No!" He sat down slowly on the edge of their bed. "That is, I don't know. Who could be the father? She hasn't been anywhere, seen anyone... she knows her books and medicine, nothing... no one else."

  Moira could see that it was time to return the strength he usually showered on her. She left her vanity and sat beside him on the bed. "It's not the end of the world if she is," she said softly, taking his hand. "We had five daughters out of wedlock. We raised five children without benefit of a church vow between us."

  Jay Mac barely heard her. "She's been so secretive."

  "Maggie's always kept to herself."

  "Yes, but if she's pregnant..."

  "What's bothering you, Jay Mac?"

  "The father's married. I know it. That's what it is. It's why we've never seen her with anyone or heard her talk about him."

  "You were married," Moira reminded him gently. "I was your mistress for twenty-eight years and I still would be if Nina hadn't died."

  "That was different," he said stubbornly.

  She smiled. "And someday I shall make you tell me how. Right now, however, I'm going to see our daughter and ask her myself if we have reason to be concerned on that count. And if I haven't insulted her beyond all reason, you can tell her later about Connor Holiday's offer."

  * * *

  Maggie was sitting up in bed, an unopened book in her lap, when her mother entered her room. She had been holding the book for the better part of an hour, never finding the energy or interest to read any part of it. She put it aside and shifted her legs to make room for Moira.

  "I thought you'd be sleeping by now," Maggie said.

  "I could say the same thing to you."

  "Is anything wrong?"

  "And ask you the same question."

  Maggie's smile faltered; her green eyes darkened. "Jay Mac told you what happened downstairs." She saw in her mother's careworn expression that she had guessed correctly. "He shouldn't have. There was no need. I'm fine, really. It was the silliest thing. I don't know why it happened."

  Moira searched her daughter's fine-boned features. Of all her daughters it was Maggie who most emphatically bore the Dennehy stamp. Her character, in turn, was also more like Moira's than Jay Mac's. Moira wondered if Maggie ever regretted that she was not more like her father or her sisters. Perhaps it was that very reason that Moira herself felt closer to Maggie. They shared a quiet strength. Moira had tapped hers many times over the years; Maggie, she knew, did not yet suspect what she was capable of.

  "Perhaps we should ask Dr. Turner to examine you," Moira said. She pulled her hair over her shoulder and began to plait it. "When people faint there's usually a reason."

  "I think it's just been nerves, Mama. You know how it is when Jay Mac sets his sights on one of his own. I suppose it's my turn now and I don't know if I'm up to it. I want to go to medical school. Why is he trying to stop me?"

  "Is that what he's doing?"

  Maggie leaned forward and took the braid out of her mother's hands and began to plait Moira's hair herself. She had always found it easier to talk if her hands were occupied. "What would you call this... this obsession with Connor Holiday?"

  "I don't think your father believes that medicine is a fitting profession for a woman."

  "That's not fair. Michael's a newspaper reporter. Rennie's an engineer. Are those fitting professions for women? Must I become a nun like Mary Francis?"

  "If you recall, your father wasn't very pleased with her decision, either." Moira laid her hand over Maggie's busy fingers. "You've had your education, dear. Four years and a degree just like your sisters. That's more than most men in your father's position allow for their daughters. If you want still more then you should be prepared to take it on your own and not look to Jay Mac for help."

  "I have money saved. What I don't have I'll work for. I'm not afraid of that. But, Mama, I want to do it with your blessing. Yours and Jay Mac's. Do you think I can't do it? Is that it?"

  Moira shook her head. Her hand squeezed Maggie's. "Your father and I have talked about this for
a long time, for as long as you've made your wishes known. Neither one of us doubts your ability. Don't ever think that. What we doubt is that you can support yourself. No, hear me out. You must have considered it. Who will come to see you? Who will have you as part of their practice? You'll always be frustrated by what you can do for others and will never be given the chance. That's what worries your father, and if I'm honest, it worries me as well."

  None of this was what Maggie wanted to hear. The knot that had never left her stomach tightened. "So I should get married."

  "Not if you don't want to." Moira took a calming breath. Her hand dropped away and she turned so she could see her daughter fully. "There's no reason that you think you have to, is there?"

  Maggie's brows furrowed. She tilted her head, emphasizing the slant of her eyes. "You mean other than Jay Mac's insistence that I should."

  "Other than that."

  "I'm not sure I understand. Why would you..." Her voice trailed off as her frown cleared and her mouth gaped slightly. "Because I fainted? Oh, Mama! How could you? Is that what you and Jay Mac think? That I'm carrying a child?"

  "It occurred to us," Moira said honestly. She didn't look away, feeling that she owed her daughter that much. "You've been so quiet recently. I'm not even certain when we first noticed it—perhaps as long as a month and a half ago. We've been worried, Maggie, you can't expect that we wouldn't be. You'd tell us, wouldn't you, if you were pregnant?"

  Something kept Maggie from answering that question. She answered another. "I'm not pregnant," she said.

  "Could you be?"

  "Do you think I had a visit from the Archangel Gabriel?"

  "Don't be blasphemous."

  "I'm sorry."

  Moira sighed. "And I'm sorry, too, Maggie. Sorry that I had to ask. Deeply sorry that I didn't have more faith in your judgment." She leaned toward Maggie and kissed her daughter's forehead. "Go to sleep now. Let's put tonight behind us."

  Maggie caught her mother's sleeve before she could move away. "Do you ever regret raising all of us alone?"

  "Is that what you think? That I raised you alone? It's not true, Maggie. Your father was always with me, even when he was with his wife. He probably saw more of you than if we had lived under the same roof all those years. Every spare moment he had he spent with us. Don't ever forget that. Know this, Mary Margaret: I have no regrets about my life with your father. None."

  "Do you think your parents were disappointed in you?"

  "They were dead by the time I met Jay Mac, but yes, I suppose they would have been deeply disappointed with the choices I made."

  Maggie merely nodded, thoughtful. She dropped her mother's sleeve. "Good night."

  Moira smiled. She stood there for a moment longer, watching Maggie as she turned on her side and drew the comforter about her shoulders. Moira turned back the bedside lamp, and then she left the room, only a little less troubled than when she had entered it.

  It was a long time before Maggie drifted off to sleep. In the back of her mind were the things that Connor Holiday had called her. Thief. Whore. The things he had said she'd done: spread her thighs, crawled all over his body, took him in her mouth. He was an evil man. A disturbed, deranged man.

  But Mary Margaret Dennehy would have slept easier if she could have accounted for eight hours on the night of March 24.

  * * *

  Connor Holiday leaned against the granite blocks in an alcove of the Worth Building. His stance was casual, ankles crossed, arms folded in front of him. He looked as if he were watching the pedestrian traffic on Broadway, taking in the hurried single-mindedness of New Yorkers going about their business. At another time he would have found all the activity entertaining after a fashion. Now, on a street crowded with people, for all intents and purposes, Connor Holiday was alone.

  She didn't want to marry him. The words played again in his mind. Sometimes in Jay Mac's voice, sometimes as if he were hearing Maggie's husky, melodious tone. She didn't want to see him. She didn't want to have anything to do with him.

  The outcome of the interview with Jay Mac wasn't entirely surprising. Connor had expected Maggie Dennehy to have objections. What he wasn't prepared for was that Jay Mac, who had initiated everything, who had plotted and prodded and prompted toward a very different end, was actually going to honor them. It made Connor wonder if Maggie had told her father the content of their conversation in the library—or the circumstances of their first meeting.

  He shook his head. He couldn't quite imagine Maggie repeating his actions or his accusations to Jay Mac. Connor couldn't quite imagine still being alive if she had. Yet there wasn't a thing he had said that he would take back. All of it was true. He remembered the evening at Mrs. Hall's establishment very well even if Maggie Dennehy pretended not to, and there wasn't much that had happened there that he would take back, either.

  Connor pushed away from the granite wall and thrust his hands in his pockets. He needed to know more. If he was going to collect on what Jay Mac's daughter owed him, he needed to know something more than he did now.

  When he jogged down the steps outside the Worth Building, when he turned the corner onto Ann Street, Connor had no clear destination in mind. He thought he was still uncertain about where and how he might have his questions answered. He would have said his walking was aimless, without purpose or direction, yet twenty minutes after leaving the Worth Building, Connor found himself in the middle of the red light district.

  * * *

  Lisa Antonia Hall didn't usually see visitors before noon. The girls were still abed and she never felt as if she were at her best. She made an exception when Samuel told her who was waiting in the foyer. Connor Holiday was trouble. It had been too much to expect that she had seen the last of him.

  She patted down her hair, arranged the string of pearls around her neck, and smoothed the skirt of her gown over her hips. Papers cluttering her mahogany desk were quickly stuffed inside the middle drawer. She eyed her palm-sized pistol, wondering if she should keep it handy, then decided against it. It was pushed to the back of the drawer as her business ledger was shoved in.

  Mrs. Hall stood behind her desk while Connor was shown into her office. She smiled in greeting, hoping she was more gracious and cool and in charge than she felt.

  "What can I do for you, Mr. Holiday?" she asked, indicating to Connor that he should take a seat in front of the desk. "Would you like a cup of coffee? I can ask Samuel to bring some for us." The bouncer, and sometimes butler, was hovering near the door waiting for his orders. When Connor declined the offer Mrs. Hall dismissed him. "I imagine that you being here means you haven't recovered your money."

  Connor realized it was a rather large concession on the madam's part to make that statement. "Then you do believe I had the money with me."

  "When cooler heads prevailed that day, the doctor and I both believed you." She leaned back in her chair, tilting her head to one side. "I would hope by now that you realize your accusation in my direction was unfounded."

  "I don't know that with certainty, but I'm willing to listen. I'd like to hear more about the girl you put me with that night."

  Mrs. Hall held up one bejeweled hand and shook her head slowly. "I did not put you with that young lady, not on purpose. It was your misfortune, and certainly hers, that I have the most difficult time with directions of a left and right nature. I admit to not noticing which way you turned at the top of the stairs, but I thought I was sending you to Megan's room, nowhere else."

  Connor was reserving judgment, his gaze fixed on the madam. "Why do you say it was her misfortune? I'm the one who had twelve thousand dollars stolen."

  "That young woman came into this house a virgin. The evidence on those sheets says she wasn't one when she left."

  Connor blinked, not quite believing what he was hearing. "Surely that's not a circumstance unknown here."

  "My girls all have experience before they work for me."

  "She didn't."

  "She w
asn't one of my girls."

  He forced himself to relax. "I think I'll have that coffee after all," he said.

  Lisa nodded and rang for Samuel. After giving her man the order she turned back to her guest. "After you left here six weeks ago, I had this house searched from top to bottom. I supervised every aspect of it personally. We went through the attic and the root cellar. We turned over beds and tore apart wardrobes. Your bag and your money aren't here. When you didn't return, I assumed you had come to that conclusion yourself or that you had found it." The bracelets on her left wrist jangled musically as she made a sweeping gesture with her hand. "I invite you to look anywhere you wish. You may inspect my ledgers, my personal bank books, or the finances of any of my employees until you're satisfied that we don't have your money."

  Lisa reached inside the middle drawer and pulled out her expense ledger. She slid it across the desk toward Connor. "You can start with this one, though they're all at your disposal. Running an establishment such as mine requires a certain amount of discretion, confidentiality, and practices that are above reproach. That includes trust. The clientele entertained here expects it." She nudged the ledger again, challenging him to pick it up. "I'm very aware you haven't made any slanderous remarks concerning my business. I would have felt the effect of them by now if you had. My clientele is only loyal to a point. They would have abandoned me if they thought I couldn't be trusted."

  She waved Samuel in as he returned with the coffee. When her cup was served, creamed, and sugared just the way she liked it, she picked up the thread of her conversation again. "Which leads me to believe, Mr. Holiday, that in spite of your words to the contrary, I think you know that I'm innocent of any wrongdoing."

  Connor drank his coffee black. Playing his cards close to the vest, he resisted the temptation to tell the madam she was right. "Tell me what you know about the girl," he said. "She's the only lead I have."