by Brenda Joyce
Hart stiffened, for instantly he could hear Daisy as clearly as if she stood before him. Do you really think to reform? You cannot change, Calder, not for her, not for any woman, and not for very long.
Briefly, he hesitated. Whom was he fooling? Was he only fooling himself?
And the doubts came rushing back. He should let Francesca go.
Then he heard Cahill cough and instantly he came to his senses. He was in the midst of a battle now, one he must not lose, because he had made up his mind and he was never going back to that place of gray despair, that place in which he had lived his entire life until so recently, that dark, dank place in which there was no Francesca. “Will you fault me now for my honesty?” He smiled self-deprecatingly. “Or for feelings that any man in my particular position would have? If I could undo my behavior of the night before, I would. It will not happen again. Andrew…I am determined to change. You have my word on that.”
“I do not trust your word. Nor do I trust that you are indeed being honest with me. So save your silken words for someone far more naive than I. I only wish I really knew your game.”
“There is no game,” Hart said coldly now. “And my word is always good.”
“Somehow I doubt that. Or will you now claim integrity of character?” Cahill leaped to his feet, his eyes ablaze.
Hart slowly stood and eyed his adversary. What was this? There was far more here, he mused, than anger over his brief lapse last evening. And even as he awaited the blow, he began to categorize Cahill’s business affairs and think of how he might gain leverage over his most precarious interests. “I do not claim integrity of character,” he said. “But I do claim integrity for my word,” he said.
Cahill made a mocking sound. “You may make any claims you wish and I will continue to stand firm in my opinions, sir. And I can fault you otherwise, and that I intend to do.”
He cast aside all pretense now. Cahill wanted this war, and so be it. “Really? Do I detect a gauntlet being thrown?”
“I do not bother! It has come to my attention that you continue to keep a mistress while engaged to my daughter. How dare you, Hart! I am appalled—beyond appalled. You should know that your engagement is off.” Hands on his hips, appearing dangerously apoplectic, he stared.
Hart never justified his actions, not to anyone, except of course, recently, to Francesca. He stared, the urge to crush his foe overwhelming. But Francesca’s beautiful face swam in his mind, her gaze pleading. He knew he should explain the situation now, but every fiber of his being went against the very notion. He had been more than loyal to Francesca, and in fact, he hadn’t even looked at another woman with desire. His interest had become centered on one woman and one woman only. “You do not want to go up against me, Andrew,” he warned very softly. “And I advise you here and now to cease and desist.”
“Do you deny that you are keeping a mistress, for God’s sake?” Andrew demanded, clearly not understanding the magnitude of the mistake he was making.
Hart felt his lips firm in an icy smile. Cahill had several outstanding loans at the Bank of New York. Hart knew one director there very well—the man had a penchant for male whores, never mind his wife and children. He also knew the president of the board. Several years ago when the man had been on the verge of bankruptcy, Hart had done him the vast favor of shipping his goods at cost, with no payment expected until those goods had sold. No, Cahill did not want to go up against him, no indeed. Loans could be called in prematurely, and that would only be the beginning, should he wish to bring Andrew Cahill to heel.
But how clearly he could see Francesca, her blue eyes wide and filled with a desperate plea. She adored her father. He sighed, realizing he should make one final attempt to bring a truce about before he really went after Francesca’s father.
“Sir.” Hart was brisk. “The day I became engaged to your daughter was the day I ceased my affair with Miss Jones. She continued to reside in my house because I promised to take care of her for six months. Although three months remain on our verbal contract, I have actually told her to leave. Francesca knows all of this. That is the truth and I resent the conclusions you have so erroneously drawn.”
Andrew Cahill’s eyebrows lifted. “Do I appear a fool to you? What nonsensical explanation is this!” Then he smiled coldly, showing the ruthless side that had helped him rise from his birth as a farmer’s son to an American millionaire. “Even if you have just told me the truth, I don’t care. I have never been in favor of this match and it is off, Hart. I will tell Francesca tonight.”
Hart stared. A terrible tension arose as he faced his newest enemy.
It would not be hard to hack away at the wealth and power Andrew Cahill had made for himself, oh no. It would not be hard to force him to give him what he wanted. Cahill was simply no match for him, he was certain of it.
But he would be going to war against Francesca’s father.
Francesca would be the one made to suffer, caught between father and lover.
Hart was stricken senseless then. It was an extraordinary moment.
He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.
Cahill raised an eyebrow. “I see you do not really object.”
Hart said coldly, “You are making a mistake.” He then nodded politely. “I shall see myself out.”
MADISON SQUARE WAS BUSY on a Saturday afternoon. As Francesca alighted from Hart’s coach with Joel, she saw a dozen ladies in the small park, with many children skipping about, and a few gentlemen strolling as well. Every park bench was occupied, but then, it was a perfect spring day, a harbinger for May. Since speaking so frankly with her sister, her spirits were high and she smiled to herself. Connie was undoubtedly right—and hadn’t she just received Hart’s invitation to dine from Joel? They had barely put her plan in action and already there was a good result.
“Raoul, I may be an hour,” Francesca said to the driver. He merely saluted her with one finger; although he wore a very exquisitely made suit, like his employer, he never wore a hat. She touched Joel’s shoulder as they started toward Bragg’s house. “Come, Joel.”
“Can’t I wait here?” he asked with a frown.
“No, you cannot. It’s about time you became friendly with Rick’s girls.” She rapped smartly on the door knocker and Peter answered at once.
She smiled at him. “Is Mrs. Bragg at home?” she asked formally, and then she looked past his big body and saw Leigh Anne in her wheeled chair in the hall. But that was not all. Leigh Anne wore a coat, as did both Katie and Dot, and Mrs. Flowers was entering from the kitchens, wearing a cape and carrying a wicker basket.
“I see I have called at an inopportune time,” she said. Leigh Anne looked her way and their gazes met.
And for one moment, Francesca saw not the other woman’s beauty, which had always disturbed her, but the cloak of sad ness she was enveloped in. As she gazed at Leigh Anne, she saw that her beauty had somehow dimmed, as if a blazing inner light had gone out. She was so stunned that she could only stare and it was Leigh Anne who smiled first.
“Francesca, please, come in. How nice of you to call. We were on our way to Central Park for a picnic, but we can delay. Or rather—” she glanced at the girls “—Mrs. Flowers can go on ahead. Peter, after you settle them, can you return for me?”
Before Peter could respond, Francesca hurried forward. “Do not delay on my account,” she said. “I do not want to upset your plans, as it is a stunning day.” She had to lean down to take Leigh Anne’s hands and kiss her cheek. It was very awkward.
“It is so kind of you to call,” Leigh Anne said, a slight flush now adding to her flawless complexion. But once, her skin had glowed like mother-of-pearl. Now it was merely a woman’s pale, unblemished skin.
“Frack!” Dot shouted, clapping her hands together in glee.
As Francesca scooped the impudent toddler up, kissing her cheek, she said, “I must confess that I went to Bellevue several times to visit you, but I lost my courage every time.�
�� She smiled at Leigh Anne as she hugged Dot one more time and replaced her to her feet.
“I doubt you have ever lacked courage for anything,” Leigh Anne said, “and even if you did not come to my room in the end, thank you for thinking of me.”
Francesca did not hesitate. “How could I not?” she asked simply.
Leigh Anne lowered her voice and her eyes. “And this is why my husband has fallen in love with you.”
Francesca started, about to protest. Surely Leigh Anne referred to the past, to that brief moment in time when they had almost fallen in love. Surely she did not still think a flame burned! Francesca knelt beside Leigh Anne’s chair and finally her knees touched the floor. “Your husband loves you,” she said low and urgently. “And I…” She hesitated, about to blurt out the extent of her feelings for Hart. “I am very happily engaged to another man, a man I intend to wed.”
Leigh Anne smiled at her. It was soft and sad. “We both know why I came to New York. Bartolla wrote me and claimed that Rick was in love with you. I realized I could not lose him to someone else…now, how I regret my decision.”
Francesca was aghast.
And Leigh Anne flushed. “What I mean is that you two be long together. He does not belong with me.” Suddenly she looked very upset and she turned her head, but not before Francesca saw tears shining in her eyes. “Katie, darling,” she called, extending her hand.
Katie ran to Leigh Anne and instantly hugged her. Leigh Anne buried her face in the child’s soft brown hair. Francesca wanted to cry. She could feel the other woman’s pain and misery and she could also feel how much she loved the girls. She would swear Leigh Anne also loved her husband.
Leigh Anne looked up, smiling now, but her eyes remained moist. “But if I hadn’t returned I would not have my girls, now, would I?”
Francesca remained kneeling in order to be on a level with her and she took her free hand. “There is a saying, and for good reason, not to cry over spilt milk.”
“I am not thinking about my accident. Rick deserves happiness and I cannot give it to him.”
“Why not?” Francesca exclaimed. “He loves you!” She almost added that he had told her so, but she also recalled his despair of late and his evident confusion, and she knew she must not meddle. It was so hard not to do so.
Leigh Anne became pink. “Francesca, dear, please, get off the floor. By now, your knees must ache.”
They did, and Francesca stood, trying to sort matters out. Dot grasped her hand, beaming up at her and Francesca smiled back at the beautiful blond child. Dot demanded, “Park! Park! Go park!”
“Mrs. Flowers will take you, Dot, and I will join you soon,” Leigh Anne said gently but with firm authority.
Dot pouted but did not have a tantrum. Francesca was impressed.
Katie tugged on Leigh Anne’s hand. “Mama, can Francesca come to the park with us?”
Leigh Anne was briefly surprised and then she glanced questioningly at Francesca. “Would you care to join us for a bit? You are more than welcome and I know the girls would love the company—and Joel may come, as well.”
Francesca thought of the interview she wished to have with John Sullivan’s second flatmate. But that could wait. This woman was far more important. “I would love to,” she said. “And Hart’s coach is large enough to accommodate us all.”
Dot shrieked happily, as she never missed a word, and Joel groaned.
“HEY,” JOEL SAID, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Want to fish?”
Katie blinked at him in surprise. Francesca sat beside Leigh Anne on a red plaid blanket, nibbling ham sandwiches, while Dot played industriously with a small doll. As it was such a beautiful day, the park was filled with families and couples, some picnicking, others merely taking a stroll or a carriage ride. “I don’t know how to fish,” Katie said, glancing at Leigh Anne.
“It’s real easy,” Joel said. “We can make a hook out of a hairpin and dig up a worm. All we need is some string, and the napkins were tied with that.”
Katie smiled shyly, glancing again at Leigh Anne. Leigh Anne smiled at her. “Why don’t you try it, darling? It sounds like fun.”
As the two children ran off to the lake, just a short distance from where they were having their picnic, Leigh Anne called, “But be careful, Katie, not to fall in!” Then she turned to Francesca. “Joel is such a clever boy.”
“He is, isn’t he? He has been invaluable to my investigations, and he feels very much like another younger brother.” Francesca glanced at the children. Joel was tying a hairpin shaped as a hook onto a line. “I am very fond of him—and his entire family, as well.”
“How is your brother?” Leigh Anne asked pleasantly enough. But the words were hardly out of her mouth when she turned starkly white, appearing terribly dismayed.
Francesca followed the direction of her gaze. Rick Bragg was approaching at a walk, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Warmth filled her, and just as she thought about what a pleasant surprise his appearance was, she realized that her reaction was distinctly different from Leigh Anne’s. Francesca looked at the other woman, and found her nervously patting her skirts, her hands trembling, her face stiff with what could only be tension. What was this?
Bragg paused before them, his expression carefully neutral. “Hello,” he said, and he bent on one knee to kiss his wife’s cheek as Francesca hopped to her feet.
Leigh Anne did not look up as he touched Dot lightly on the head in greeting and straightened, facing Francesca. She smiled at him as he kissed her cheek. “How wonderful that you can join us,” she cried, glancing again at Leigh Anne.
“It is certainly the perfect day for a picnic,” he remarked, gazing at Leigh Anne and then past her. “Ah, Katie is fishing with Joel.”
Francesca did not speak. She was utterly stunned by the tension she was witnessing and she simply could not understand it. Of course, she must make an exit, and quickly. Or would leaving them alone be worse?
Finally Leigh Anne looked up. How miserable she seemed. “You’re not at headquarters?” she asked, her tone strained.
His answering smile was even more miserable. “I thought to work this afternoon at home,” he said. “When Peter told me you had gone for a picnic, I decided to play hooky.”
“You never work at home, except when it is midnight,” she breathed, her lashes lowered, making it impossible to read her gaze.
“I think it is time to change that,” Rick said, clearly forcing lightness into his tone. “Is there a sandwich to spare?”
Francesca could not bear it. She saw his hurt and his pain and Leigh Anne’s answering anguish, and she wanted to hold him, comfort her, and then maybe bang their heads together. What was this mess? And how to straighten it out? “There are plenty of sandwiches left,” she said quickly. “And I must go, actually, as I have yet to interview Sullivan’s second flatmate.”
“We questioned Josh Bennett thoroughly this morning,” Bragg said. “He has shed no light on the situation, as his statement was almost identical to that of Ron Ames. He said Kate left her husband about a year and a half ago. John Sullivan was a drunk and an angry one. Not a night went by that he did not proclaim his hatred of his wife.” He nodded at her. “But if you wish to interview him, feel free. I suspect it will be a waste of your time.”
Francesca now thought so, too. She found Leigh Anne watching them and quickly smiled. “I think I will try my hand with Bennett anyway. And what of that photograph Farr found in the flat? Have you identified the gentleman in it?”
“Newman is working on it.”
Francesca nodded. “Very well.” She turned to Leigh Anne to thank her for her hospitality, but was not given the chance to do so.
“No, don’t go!” Leigh Anne said vehemently.
Francesca started. Before she could respond, Leigh Anne said, flushing, “Rick, I do not feel well. I have a terrible migraine. I am going home to bed. Please help me up.”
As Rick rushed to help her into her
chair, Francesca wrung her hands. She felt certain that this was a ploy to escape.
“But you should stay here and have a pleasant picnic with the girls,” Leigh Anne said, now seated in her wheeled chair. “I mean, you have taken half the day off, and it would be a shame now that you are here not to take advantage of it. Peter can see me home. Francesca, there is no need to rush off! Joel is having a good time with Katie, and you and Rick can dis cuss your investigation while he eats his lunch.” Leigh Anne smiled but it was terribly forced.
Francesca was dismayed, wondering if Leigh Anne thought to push her and Rick together, and she looked at Rick and saw that he was resigned. No, it was worse than that—she saw defeat in his eyes. He touched Leigh Anne’s hair. “I’ll take you home,” he said.
“No! You enjoy yourself. We all know you deserve it. Peter! Please wheel me to the carriage.” Her face was taut with determination and her eyes shone with unshed tears.
Francesca felt her own tears forming. She did not move.
Bragg dropped his hand as Peter hurried forward. Rick nodded and the big Swede began pushing Leigh Anne toward the carriage path where a buggy waited. Leigh Anne turned to look at Francesca, smiling so brightly it had to be painful. “Thank you for such a lovely afternoon,” she said.
For once, words escaped Francesca completely. As Leigh Anne was wheeled away, she could only think that she should be the one leaving.
“Mama?” Dot said, but not with any distress.
Bragg knelt. “Mama is tired and she is going home.” He stroked her hair. “We will finish our picnic and then go home and join her.”
Dot grinned and held up her blond doll. “Dolly Frack!” she said.
Bragg cupped her cheek and then straightened, facing Francesca. “I believe she has named Dolly after you.”
Francesca could not stand it. He was miserable, and so was Leigh Anne. “How can I help?” she cried. “Surely there is something I can do!”