Remembering Mathilda, the kangaroo she had petted at Parramatta that recent day that seemed so far in the past, Maggie felt her spirits sag just a little. Things had not been quite so complicated then.
Samuel was quick to try to cheer her. “Did you know that the Aborigines have a legend about the ’roos, and how they came to be?”
Maggie shook her head, at once touched at Samuel’s unflagging concern and intrigued by the prospect of a story. He led her back to the same bench and they sat down again, Samuel’s hand holding Maggie’s own.
“It seems there was a terrible windstorm,” he said, in his storyteller’s voice. “Strange animals were blown through the sky, and their hind legs grew longer and longer, they were trying so hard to reach the ground.
“It was a dreadful storm, tearing grass and bushes from the ground and even uprooting trees. The Aborigines hid in the rocks, watching in horror, as you can imagine.”
Maggie smiled and nodded, and Samuel went on. “As it happened, to the utter amazement of the onlookers, one of these odd animals became caught in the branches of a tree that was still clinging to the earth, and it was hurled to the ground. The creature looked all around, and then went hopping away.”
Maggie laughed and clapped her hands. “Samuel, that was marvelous.”
“Of course it was,” he said with gentle humor. “Now, let’s go and have something to eat. As it happens, I am quite ravenous.”
Samuel’s prosperity extended to having a carriage at his disposal, and he ushered Maggie to it and seated her inside. They drove to a restaurant in a hotel overlooking Rushcutter’s Bay, and Maggie quite forgot her troubles as she laughed at Samuel’s stories and consumed an enormous supper of roast beef, potatoes, and corn.
At the end of the meal Samuel invited Maggie to attend a performance of the play and see how her understudy was carrying on, but she shook her head. It was time to go back to Reeve’s house and face things as they were.
Samuel got out of the carriage and escorted her to her door, planting a gentlemanly kiss on her forehead.
“Thank you, Samuel,” she said softly. “You made an impossible day better.”
He smiled. “I’m off to convince yet another Kate that the moon is not the sun,” he said, and then he strode back down the walk to his carriage.
Maggie let herself in and made her way slowly up the stairs, braced for another encounter with Eleanor. She didn’t see her, however, and by the time she reached Reeve’s door, she was brave enough to go in.
Eleanor was standing at the window, one side of the draperies still caught back in her hand, and Reeve was staring stonily at the ceiling. It was as though he’d made no progress at all.
Angered, Maggie went to his bedside and touched his hand. Reeve drew it away, and Maggie’s eyes lifted to Eleanor’s face.
“I was just telling Mr. McKenna that you’d arrived home in a gentleman’s carriage,” she said brightly, letting the drapery fall back into place.
Maggie could well imagine how the caring Miss Kilgore had phrased that bit of information. “Please go,” she said steadily, and, to her surprise, Eleanor shrugged and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Maggie smoothed dark locks back from Reeve’s forehead and then kissed his stubborn, ungiving mouth. “You can’t imagine how pleased I am that you’re jealous,” she teased.
His whole body trembled with the effort to speak. “I’m not—jealous!” he insisted.
Maggie smiled. “You are too. You’re wondering who I was with and what I was doing. I went to the menagerie, if you must know, and there I encountered my friend, Mr. Samuel Fairmont, who is an actor.”
Reeve was scowling, and his blue-green eyes snapped.
“He’s quite handsome,” Maggie went breezily on, “and very attentive. He bought me supper and listened to my tale of woe.”
Reeve made a disgusted sound and tried to push Maggie off the bed, but she settled herself firmly and kept right on talking.
“My heart’s broken, you know. I’m in love with this wonderful man—he’s the father of my unborn child, incidentally—but I have a terrible suspicion that he’s only using me because he thinks I know a great deal about his missing brother.”
Reeve didn’t react, but he was listening with his whole being.
“Oh, yes!” Maggie cried tragically, as if he’d said he didn’t believe her. “It’s quite true. But the truth is, I don’t know anything about his brother. All I know is that I love this man who’s sired my baby, but he freely admits that he doesn’t love me.”
Slowly, Reeve’s hand rose to her face, and she thought she saw the hint of a smile on his mouth.
Maggie got up and walked to the door, summarily turning the key. Then, as the room filled with the first shadows of early evening, she began removing her clothes.
“I don’t think much of Miss Kilgore’s therapy,” she teased as she tossed her dress aside and then slipped out of her petticoat. “It’s not nearly so effective as mine.”
She took a long time unbuttoning her camisole, and then went to sit on the bed, in only her drawers. Cradling Reeve’s head in her arms, she lifted it to her bare breast, and he took the offered nipple hungrily into his mouth.
Chapter 20
THE NIGHTMARE REPLAYED ITSELF BEFORE REEVE’S MIND’S eye, day and night. He saw the water, seeming to boil with blood, and he heard the screams of his crewmen. The unforgettable stench of carnage filled his nostrils, and he could not turn away from the ship’s rail. Not, that is, unless the Yank was loving him. She provided his only respite from the gruesome scene that plagued both his mind and his spirit.
He couldn’t remember her name. She was lying beside him in the bed; he knew that. If he could just call out to her, she would drive the haunting spectacle from his mind for at least a few minutes.
“Loretta,” Reeve rasped after a few minutes of desperate mental groping.
The light was turned up and the dreamscape became less intense, less brutal. He felt her hands on his bare shoulders, warm and reassuring.
“I’m Maggie,” she said.
Reeve could see her clearly then. Her silvery-blond hair was tangled and soft, and her gray eyes were filled with a teasing sort of reprimand.
“Maggie,” he repeated, puzzled.
She laughed softly and kissed his chin. “That’s better,” she said, twisting so that she sat with one soft hip against his side, looking down at him. Her hand stroked the hair back from his forehead. “We’re off to Queensland tomorrow.”
Reeve willed her to keep talking, about anything and everything. She had a way of absorbing his every thought and emotion.
She reached for a book on the bedside table and leafed through the pages, knowing somehow that the sound of her voice and the sight of her face were all that kept the horrors of the night at bay.
“The Lord is my shepherd,” she read, “I shall not want.
“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
“He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”
The familiar words rolled over Reeve’s troubled spirit like a balm. He reached for Maggie’s hand and held it tightly, and she understood. She began to read the same passage over again, and Reeve dared to close his eyes. For the first time he was not met with the grisly sight of sharks tearing at the carcass of a whale and at living men; instead, he saw green pastures, dotted with sheep.
And he slept a deep and healing sleep.
At Maggie’s insistence the trip to Brisbane was
made by train and not by sea. As a consequence, it took much longer, and everyone was exhausted on arrival.
Arrangements had been made for the party to spend one night at a local hotel and then journey on, the following day, to Reeve’s property. From what Maggie had been able to discern by talking to Simon Coates, the plantation was a good ten miles due north of Brisbane. Reeve had recovered to the extent that he needed only a cane instead of the invalid’s chair, but he still spoke rarely, and when he did, it was in monosyllables. Maggie suspected that he was just being cussed.
The hotel, as fate would have it, looked out over a crystal-blue sea, and after searching the entire upper floor of the building, Maggie finally found Reeve standing on the porch, gazing out at the rolling, white-capped waves.
“This is an incredible place,” she said, drawing in the scent of burned sugar that filled the air. In a nearby gum tree, parrots alighted, like robins might in America or England, their plumage colorful and their songs raucous.
Reeve made a sound that indicated nothing more than that he’d heard her and kept his gaze fixed on the horizon.
Just then Cora came out of the hotel with Elisabeth, and the little girl hurled herself at Reeve, wrapping her arms around his legs and looking up at him adoringly. “Apple!” she crowed, demonstrating her progress. “Shoe button, potato, kangaroo!”
Reeve smiled wanly and ruffled her hair, and Cora removed the child and started down the steps. “We’re going looking for seashells, Elisabeth and I,” she announced.
“Seashells!” yelled Elisabeth.
Maggie laughed and linked her arm through Reeve’s. “You’re not fooling me, you know,” she said quietly. “You could talk much more than you do if only you wanted to. I would think Elisabeth’s efforts would shame you into trying harder.”
He touched her nose. “Shoe button,” he said, obediently, his eyes dancing. “Potato, kangaroo.”
“That isn’t funny,” Maggie huffed, though secretly she thought it was.
“Marry me, Maggie,” Reeve jarred her by saying. “Now, tonight.”
Hope swelled within Maggie, but before she could reply, Eleanor appeared at the base of the steps. She’d been out walking along the beach, and her beautiful dark hair was windblown. Ignoring Maggie completely, she smiled at Reeve, smoothed her hair back from her cheek with one hand, and said, “I think you’re overextending yourself, Mr. McKenna. Perhaps you’d best go to bed.”
Reeve’s attention, Maggie was relieved to see, was all for her. “That’s a fine idea,” he agreed, touching the tip of her nose. “But first I want to talk to a preacher.”
Two splotches of color appeared on Eleanor’s flawless cheeks. The look she gave Maggie would have scorched the hide of an elephant. “To confess your sins?” she drawled before she snatched up her skirts in her hands and stomped up the steps.
Maggie smiled warmly. “We’d be delighted to have you for a witness, Miss Kilgore,” she said.
Eleanor marched inside the hotel, her chin high, her skirts rustling.
“I’m warning you,” Maggie said, standing very close to Reeve. “The first thing I’m going to do as your wife is give that woman the sack.”
Reeve laughed. “Jealous?”
“Never!” lied Maggie. But her good spirits were plummeting. Yet she was troubled by the fact that Reeve had still not said he loved her. She sat down on the swinging bench the hotel had provided for its guests’ comfort and sighed.
Reeve immediately sat beside her. “What is it, Yank?”
Maggie whispered, “Do you love me?”
He picked up her hand, his thumb toying with the magnificent diamond on her finger. “I gave you this, didn’t I?”
“You’ve probably given a lot of women a lot of baubles, Reeve.”
“Never an engagement ring.” He sighed.
Maggie repeated her question doggedly. “Do you love me?”
“I’m not sure I know what that means, Maggie, but insofar as I understand the word, yes.”
Maggie closed her eyes. It certainly hadn’t been a flowery declaration, but considering that she loved Reeve desperately and that she was carrying his child, she was relieved. Still, there were other hurdles. “About Jamie. Reeve, do you remember being with Jamie? Coming home with him on the ship after your—your experience?”
Reeve was staring at her as though she’d grown an extra nose. “What?”
“It was Jamie who brought you home. He looked after you before that too—until you were well enough to travel.”
All the color that remained in Reeve’s taut face drained away. “My God,” he breathed. “I was with Jamie?” He grasped Maggie’s elbow hard. “Why don’t I remember?”
Maggie could only shake her head.
“There’s a lot you can tell me, isn’t there?” The words were sharp with suspicion and mistrust.
The wedding, a shining prospect only moments before, suddenly seemed impossible. “Reeve—”
He was propelling her inside the hotel, his cane stumping on the floor as they walked. Since the dining room was still empty, he chose that spot for his inquisition. Flinging Maggie down in a chair, Reeve leaned against the table and ordered, “Tell me everything!”
“He lives somewhere in New Zealand, Reeve—probably near Auckland. That’s all I know, I swear it!”
Reeve’s hand caught under Maggie’s chin. “It had better be,” he said through clenched teeth.
Maggie slapped his hand away, her eyes stinging with tears. “Damn you, Reeve,” she spat out, leaping to her feet, the table between them for a barrier. “You have been using me all along!”
His face changed; Maggie saw him weaken. “No,” he protested. “That isn’t true.”
“It is!” Maggie cried, wiping away her tears with the heels of her hands. A moment later she wrenched the ring from her finger, hurled it at Reeve, and fled the hotel.
She didn’t stop running until she’d reached the beach, where she slumped to her knees in the pure white sand and covered her face with both hands. Her grief and her fury were noisy, and Maggie made no attempt to control them.
“I knew it would come to this,” observed a voice behind her.
And Maggie whirled at the familiarity of the tones and cadence of that voice. “Duncan!” she gasped, scrambling up from her knees.
He was dressed for Queensland, in a pristine white suit with an elegant string tie. He came toward her and, with a handkerchief as pale as his suit, dried her face as though she were a lost and errant child. “Come back to us, Maggie,” he said softly. “I swear there’ll be no more episodes like the one in Melbourne.”
Maggie shook her head, amazed that she’d been tempted, for just a moment, to go with Duncan. “I couldn’t. I love Reeve.”
Duncan’s face tightened almost imperceptibly. His eyes slipped over the bodice of Maggie’s simple cotton dress to her thickening waistline. “Good God, you’re pregnant, aren’t you?” he asked in a stunned whisper.
Maggie dropped her eyes. “Yes.”
There was a dreadful silence, during which she could feel Duncan’s fury, but when he spoke, his voice was even. Composed. “All the more reason for you to come with me, Maggie, right now.”
Maggie looked at Duncan in wonder. “How can you suggest that when you know—”
“I know that McKenna will tire of you just as he tired of Loretta. What will you do then, Maggie? Raise your child alone, on the generous stipend Reeve always provides for his former mistresses?”
Maggie swallowed. “I won’t accept anything from him!”
“That would be foolish indeed. Unless, of course, you’d already made other arrangements for your own support and the child’s.”
“Your tenacity never ceases to astound me, Kirk,” Reeve said.
Neither Maggie nor Duncan had heard him approaching, and both were stricken to silence.
“Go back to the hotel,” Reeve said to Maggie, though his gaze was fixed on Duncan Kirk. “The preacher will
be arriving at any minute.”
Maggie stayed where she was. “There won’t be any need for a preacher, Reeve.”
Duncan had recovered his aplomb by then; he was smiling at Reeve. “I should think you’d want the services of a priest, being who you are. But that kind of marriage wouldn’t be quite so easy to annul, would it?”
Reeve’s hand tightened on the handle of his cane, and for one awful moment Maggie thought he was going to club Duncan over the head with it. For her part, she was reasoning out what it might mean for a Catholic to be married by a preacher instead of a priest. In the eyes of the church the ceremony would not be valid.
Maggie looked covetously at the cane. Oh, to grab it and twist it around its owner’s neck!
“I’ll be damned, Kirk,” Reeve breathed, “if I’ll explain to you!”
“You can explain to me, then!” Maggie cried, planting herself directly in front of Reeve.
“Go back to the hotel and wait for the preacher, darling,” he said with an acid smile.
Where once Maggie had gloried in the idea of marriage to this man, now she felt trapped. She had no real choice but to do as he said; leaving with Duncan was unthinkable, and she’d missed her chance to go on tour as an actress. She lifted her skirts and stomped back toward the hotel, and Reeve followed, though at a much slower pace.
Inside her room, which adjoined Reeve’s, Maggie quickly locked the door to the hall and the one that linked her quarters to his. Then, steaming, she opened her trunk and riffled through it, passing up all her pretty new things for the tattered nightgown she’d brought from England. Quickly, she stripped off her clothes and put it on.
The key in the door between Maggie’s room and Reeve’s toppled to the floor with a warning clink, and then he was standing there in the opening, brandishing a key of his own.
His wonderful blue-green eyes narrowed at the sight of the nightgown she wore. “What the hell—”
“Bed is all you want me for, isn’t it?” Maggie snapped, taking down her hair and brushing it. “I thought I’d dress appropriately!”
“I prefer you naked, but if you insist on being married in your nightgown, I guess that’s your business. Explaining the wedding pictures to our children will be something of a problem, but I’m sure you’ll come up with a story or two.”
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