Shannon's Daughter

by Karen Welch

  She looked stunned, which he told himself was a positive sign. “Of course I am. It’s been wonderful having you here. Too brief, but we’ve made the most of our time, haven’t we?”

  “I’m not so sure. Frankly, there were things I’d hoped to do that we haven’t gotten around to.”

  “Like what?”

  Now was the moment, the only possible opportunity before he went back to London with no idea of when they’d be together again. Reaching in his pocket, he slipped the tip of his index finger into the ring and withdrew his hand slowly, so as not to call too much attention. “I know this is all new, and I don’t mean to put any pressure on you,” he paused. That wasn’t true. Pressing the issue was the only way to keep her from avoiding it. “What I mean to say is, you know very well how I feel about you, brat.” He hoped his eyes, as they passed tenderly over her face, sufficiently conveyed those feelings.

  She took a slow sip of water, her expression suddenly sober. “Yes.”

  Resting his hand causally on the table, where the candlelight caught the cluster of stones on the ring, he took a deep breath. “Then you must know it would make me very happy if at some point you agreed to wear this.”

  Peg blinked down at his hand, drawing an audible breath. “Your grandmother’s ring?”

  “I know it’s old fashioned and not very showy, but it represents everything I want to say to you.”

  She looked up slowly. “It does?”

  In spite of the tension twisting his shoulders, he smiled. “You’re suddenly very short on words, sweetheart. Surely you can’t be that surprised?”

  Shaking her head gently, she gazed at his hand. “What exactly is it you want to say to me?”

  “I know I can’t offer you anything you don’t already have. I know your life is full without me. What I want most to hear you say is that you’ll think about making a space in it for me, for us.”

  He might just as well have asked her to elope on the spot. Her eyes flew open in alarm. Her lips parted as though to speak and then clamped shut in a tight line. He watched with oddly detached fascination as her chest rose and fell rapidly and a pulse fluttered in her throat. When she finally spoke, it was with a rush of breathy, disjointed words. “But, you know. . .I mean I’ve told you. . .of course things are different, but. . .well not everything has changed.”

  He held up his hand, the one without the ring. “I don’t expect an answer now, darling. And yes, I’m well aware of all you’ve said on the subject in the past. What I’m hoping is that with time and some effort on my part, you might change your mind.”

  “But I’m happy with what we have, Kendall. Especially now that we don’t have to hide. I’m just not sure. . .well actually I am sure. I’m not cut out for the kind of thing you’re talking about.”

  “Marriage, you mean? How can you be so sure? You’ve never tried it, as far as I’m aware.”

  She let out an impatient huff. “Of course not, but I just know. I’m too self-centered, too spoiled. I like things the way I like them.”

  “And you don’t think everyone feels that way? Still, every day thousands of self-centered, spoiled people decide they love each other enough to try to make it work. All I ask is that you keep an open mind. We’ve rubbed along well enough in the past for weeks on end. You’re not trying to say we’re incompatible, are you?”

  “No, not at all. But. . .marriage is different. It’s permanent, day in and day out. You’d get sick of me running off to do my job and paying attention to so many things that aren’t about you. Husbands expect their wives to take care of them, and I’d never have enough time to take care of you properly with everything else I have to do. And I couldn’t leave New York, and you can’t leave London. There are so many complications we’d never be able to work out.”

  He waited for her to finish, watching as she finally folded her lips and stared down at her untouched dinner. “Sounds to me as if you might have given this at least a little thought. Not quite along the lines I’d hoped, but at least you’ve considered some of the things we’d be facing. Together.”

  A blush colored her cheeks. “Ever since you told me you’re free now, I’ve thought about what I’d do if you asked me. I get so confused between what I’ve always thought was true and what might be if things were different.” She pushed a sprig of parsley around the edge of her plate. “But you’re not asking me, are you?”

  “Not formally, no. I could, if you’d like.” He moved as if to push away from the table.

  “No! I’m not ready for that. If all you want is for me to think about it, I guess I’m already doing that.”

  “And will you promise to keep an open mind?”

  She nodded slowly. “I promise, although I don’t see how it will change things.”

  Taking her hand, he stroked the backs of her fingers with his thumb. “I would change a great many things if I thought I could have a life with you, Peg. Maybe not right away, maybe not even in a year or two, but with time, if you’ll give me enough, I believe we could work things out.”

  Her smile, tremulous and a little sad, moved him to press her hand tightly between his palms and wish they were in a less public place. “You used to try to tell me you weren’t the man for me. Maybe you were right. You’re too good for me.”

  “Not true. If that were the case, I would have resigned my position with the orchestra, put my landladies on notice and booked a one-way flight. I’m selfish too. I’m not ready to throw over everything I’ve worked for just yet, even for you. But I’ll chip away at it, as long as I know you’ll wait for me.”

  The smile widened and she curled her fingers round his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Have I mentioned that I adore you, Anna Margaret Shannon, always and forever?”

  “Not recently. I just assumed.” Her eyes glistened with tears.

  “And may I make a similar assumption?”

  “Oh, yes. I love you, Kendall Gregg. Always and forever and beyond.”

  They spent his final hours in New York sealing the agreement with unbridled passion. Just after dawn, he returned to the hotel to collect his bags and caught a cab for the airport, carrying in his mind the vision of Peg sleeping between musk-scented sheets, her arms wrapped tightly around his pillow. If he was confident of having accomplished at least part of his mission, he was also aware that if Peg had her way, things would move forward at her pace, not his.

  Palm Beach—1959

  Chapter Forty-six

  The first months of their now very public romance were filled with revelations for Kendall. Or perhaps he simply hadn’t thought beyond Peg’s reaction to their new possibilities. It certainly should not have surprised him that their family—the Shannon’s collectively, his mother and Peg’s father in particular—leapt on those possibilities as though they had nothing else of interest in their lives. Still, he was somewhat taken aback by their enthusiasm.

  He was also surprised by just how public their relationship became and how quickly. When he’d joked about having their picture taken in New York, he hadn’t expected that to result in their names being instantaneously linked in the social columns there. Despite his noteworthy position with one of the world’s great orchestras, he hardly considered himself a celebrity. In London, at the time of his promotion, word had spread without affecting his life beyond the requisite interviews and the increased demand for copies of his most recent photograph. However, according to the New York press, he was “highly respected,” even “wildly popular,” and in the case of one imaginative journalist, the “handsomest man to carry a violin onto a London stage this century.”

  Privately, their relationship took on a new rhythm, one he found pleasing if not as breathtaking as the papers might have depicted it. Their written correspondence was replaced by regular telephone conversations, something Peg insisted on despite his protest at the cost.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, darling. Budget is not a factor. We need to keep in touch, and since touching is o
ut of the question, we at least need to stay in communication. Everyone else is talking about us. Your mother actually wrote to my father, you know?”

  “She mentioned she planned to. Just to let him know where she stood on ‘us.’”

  “I smell a conspiracy. I told Dad I might make a quick trip to London this spring, and he said he was sure Aunt Eloise would insist that I stay with them.”

  “Don’t you dare! I love my mother, but I love you more. The thought of subjecting you to her round-the-clock attention is out of the question. Brown’s is your home away from home here. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

  “Oh, don’t worry. You know I want to keep things as much the same between us as I can, in spite of their involvement now. At least everyone seems to approve. I had a note from Agnes. She says it’s about time we decided to come out in the open. We’re not, as she pointed out, kids anymore.”

  “Agnes is bitter. Don’t listen to her. You’re still just a teenager.”

  “I’m past twenty-one, Kendall. In some circles, that’s spinster territory.”

  “And I’m past thirty, just hitting my prime, love. I’ll wait for you to catch up, how’s that?”

  “Perfect. They can all spin their wheels while we enjoy ourselves. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you! Did you know that according to an unnamed source, we just spent a romantic weekend in the south of France?”

  “Did we? Sorry I missed that. Not a bad idea though. I could probably swing a romantic weekend in Blackpool if you can manage to get yourself on this side of the Atlantic sometime soon.”

  Peg laughed, that warm, husky chuckle guaranteed to arouse him. “June. I’ll definitely be there in June, I promise. Not Blackpool, though. I thought we might go to Paris for a weekend. Would you like that?”

  “And just what would we do in Paris that we can’t do right here?”

  “Oh, see the Eiffel Tower, walk the Champs Elysees. Make love in French.”

  “Ah, now I see where you going with this. You want to test my versatility.” More laughter and he gave a moment’s consideration to the cold shower he’d need by the end of this call.

  “Do you speak French? I never asked.”

  “Do you?’

  “Of course. With a Boston accent, I’m pretty sure.”

  “All right, I’ll bite. Why a Boston accent?’

  “Sister Urban was from Boston. The first time I went to France, I realized no one there came anywhere close to her pronunciation. I never venture past parles vous anglais, for fear of being laughed at.”

  “Have I ever told you how much I enjoy these conversations, despite the ungodly sum they must be costing you?” he asked when he could contain his own laughter.

  “I’m so glad. I miss you, you know. It’s funny, missing you used to be just part of our secret affair, but now it’s much more unpleasant. Maybe I won’t wait until June. I could come in April. Dad’s going up to Cornell for a reunion.”

  “April, next week, tomorrow, all fine with me, sweetheart. I’m sure the London papers are looking forward to their turn with us. I hear from Mr. Kemper that a photographer was around snapping pictures of the front door, no doubt preparing for some sort of exposé.”

  “That’s awful! Your poor landladies!”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t be surprised to find they’d given an exclusive interview to some smarmy journalist. ‘We knew him when’ sort of thing.”

  “Oh dear. I’m sorry. I never dreamed it would get around so quickly. But it’s your fault for being the handsomest violinist to ever grace the London stage or whatever that ridiculous woman said.”

  “Now see here, I think I’ll take exception to that. I thought she was very gracious. No one else has ever paid me that sort of compliment in print, although some fellow on this side of the pond did call me young and dashing, as opposed to old and paunchy in comparison to my predecessor, I assumed.”

  Her chuckle was followed by weighted silence. “Seriously, do you mind? Our being the subject of gossip now, I mean?”

  “Not really. Do you?”

  “No. It’s just that sometimes I sort of miss the privacy. It won’t ever be just the two of us again, the way it was. And there will be pressure from our parents, I’m sure.”

  “Nothing we can’t handle.” Desperate to raise her mood again, he went on, “Some of what we do together will always be private, brat. I promise you that much. I’m a master at prevarication and outright lying when it comes to it. If you’d like, I’ll don a funny hat and glasses and sneak in the back door at Brown’s to visit you.”

  Peg laughed softly, but he had the sense their earlier mood had been lost. Since that aspect of their future wasn’t likely to get brighter, he could only hope she wasn’t too reluctant to have her name forever linked with his, at least in the papers.

  They managed to spend time together here and there fairly frequently in the first year. Peg came to London for five frantic days in April. They took their weekend trip to Paris during her month-long stay at Brown’s in June. In late September they met at Michael’s cabin in Maine for eight glorious days alone, and Kendall flew to Florida just in time to see in the New Year with at least a hundred of Palm Beach’s wealthiest, many, like Michael Shannon, winter transplants from the Northeast. It didn’t take Kendall long to realize that he was more comfortable in this new phase of their relationship than Peg seemed to be.

  “You were a big hit tonight, you know. At least ten of those old ladies, and a lot more of the younger ones, were knocking themselves out to get to dance with you.” By two a.m. they had returned to Michael’s recently acquired gated estate, where Peg had lured him to her wing of the sprawling mansion with whispered promises of a few moments to greet the New Year in private. Her bedroom, done in palest pastel greens and blues, seemed afloat in soft lamplight, or perhaps it was simply an hallucination brought by too many hours without sleep.

  “You could have cut in any time.” He struggled to focus as she turned her back and tucked her head, waiting for him to unzip her dress.

  “I know. But I love watching you dance almost as much as I love dancing with you. And I did cut in before Mary Frances Fitzgerald could drag you away for another slow dance. She always was too sure of herself around boys, even when we were in cotillion together.”

  “And you weren’t? Sure of yourself, that is?” Easing the dress off her shoulders, he laid a kiss on the nape of her neck and felt her shiver.

  “I wasn’t even interested. You know that.” She walked away, stepping out of the dress and carefully inserting a hanger. With one sweeping move, she drew the long black slip over her head and tossed it onto a chair.

  “I recall when you were fifteen you complained that boys had sweaty hands. By the time you were eighteen, you had no such aversion to my hands, if my memory serves.” Following her, he took a moment to appreciate the scraps of silk that passed for undergarments, before drawing her into his arms. “Happy New Year, brat.” Her face tilted up conveniently and kissing her seemed the obvious thing to do.

  “Happy New Year,” she murmured against his cheek. “Stay with me tonight?”

  “Won’t your father object? Assuming he’s in any condition to notice.” He watched as she stepped away to the dressing table, removing the pins from her hair and shaking it free.

  “No. He says we’re grown-ups and what we do is our business, as long as we make sure his grandchild isn’t born too soon after the wedding.” She made a face at his reflection in the mirror.

  With a bark of laughter, he wrapped his arms around her, taking advantage of so much exposed skin. “Putting it rather too bluntly for you?”

  “He seems to expect us to make a big announcement any day now.” Turning in his arms, she studiously examined his tie before tugging at the knot.

  “And that bothers you?” As her fingers deftly freed the studs, opening his shirt and sliding inside, he closed his eyes and groaned.

  “I like things the way they are. Don’t you?”

&
nbsp; Considering she was systematically removing his clothes, he could hardly pose an objection. “I love things as they are. But I do see your father’s point. He expects me to do the proper thing at some point and he mentioned something about grandchildren to me, too.” He toed off his shoes as his trousers slid to the floor, kicking them aside at the same moment his shirt went sailing across the room.

  Now it was Peg who laughed, if without much humor. “I can’t imagine being someone’s mother. I don’t know the first thing about children.” Looking up suddenly, she said, “But you said once you wanted a family.”

  “I did. And if we decided to have children, I’m sure you’d learn whatever you needed to know about them. Don’t look so horrified, darling. That’s hardly something we have to worry about at this stage of the game.” Drawing her closer, he kissed the top of her head. “Your father’s just teasing you. I’m sure he understands the problem with our rushing into marriage. As things stand now, we live on opposite sides of the Atlantic and a few days out of the year are the best we can give each other. Now, before the New Year is old, what say we give it a proper welcome?” Without allowing her time to protest, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. “In the past twenty-four hours, I’ve come all the way to Florida on a bloody airplane, danced until my feet are numb and watched a lot of very rich people get as drunk as lords, just so I could be the first man to kiss you in the New Year.”

  Finally laughing, she pulled him down beside her. “Is that all you came for?”

  “No, but it seems like a good place to begin.” He dipped his mouth to the tender spot beneath her ear. In the next several minutes, he found himself lulled by her soft sighs, every muscle in his body relaxing for the first time in more than a day.

  “Kendall?” The sighs had ceased and Peg had gone stiff beneath him.

  “Problem?” He tried to hide an expansive yawn by burying his face in the pillow.

  “All this talk about marriage and children, and I almost forgot about the diaphragm. I’ll be right back.”