A Worthy Heart Page 4

  “Brandy?” His father held up the crystal decanter, one eyebrow raised.

  Was that a question or a dare?

  “No, thank you.” Adam took a seat on the wing chair near the hearth and adjusted his jacket. He still wasn’t used to this restrictive clothing. Prison garments hung like gunny sacks on most of the inmates.

  In the two minutes it took his father to pour himself a drink, Adam rehearsed the little speech he’d prepared. Father lowered his hefty frame onto the chair opposite him and took a long swallow of the amber liquid.

  Adam cleared his throat. “For the record, I would like to formally apologize for any embarrassment I caused our family. I will forever regret the disgrace I’ve inflicted on the O’Leary name.” He bent his head over his knees and stared into the flames that danced in the fireplace. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but I’m here to throw myself on your mercy.”

  His father did not speak or move a muscle.

  Adam’s veil of courage slipped a notch. Still he soldiered on. “Since I am in need of a job, I hoped you could use another stable hand. I’m willing to start at the bottom. Do whatever it takes to earn my way back into the family’s good graces.”

  His father drew deeply on his pipe and blew out a stream of smoke. His blue eyes shone as cold and slick as marble. “Do you have any idea how I felt when I found out what you’d done? That you’d provided inside information about my clients’ horses to gangsters?” His eyes narrowed. “How could you betray me like that?”

  Adam hung his head, wishing he had an explanation, yet even he didn’t completely understand his actions. “Part of it, I’ll admit, was jealousy over Gil. The college graduate come back to share his intelligence with us lowly peasants. As though he were the salvation of Irish Meadows.” The bitterness tasted sour on his tongue.

  You must let go of your resentment. His mentor’s words rang in his head.

  Father slowly lowered the pipe. “Why have you always hated Gilbert? What has he ever done to you?”

  Was he blind? Or simply unaware that he’d treated his ward like the golden boy who could do no wrong?

  Adam shook his head. “Hate is not the word I’d use. Resent, maybe.”

  His father slammed his palm down on the arm of his chair. “If you’d shown the least bit of interest in the business—” He squeezed his eyes shut in an obvious attempt to control his anger. “I promised your mother I wouldn’t fight with you, and I plan to keep that promise.” He got up and walked to the window. “Since Gilbert is an equal partner now, I need to discuss this with him. If he agrees, you can start in the barn—on a trial basis.”

  Adam mentally railed at the irony that Whelan now held the key to Adam’s future. No employer would hire a man fresh out of prison, and Adam needed a way to earn money if he were ever to save enough to start his own business.

  One step at a time . . .

  He rose and walked to the desk. “Thank you. You won’t regret it, I promise.”

  His father turned from the window to pin him with a hard stare. “You’ve caused your mother more grief than I ever wanted to see her go through, especially after losing Danny . . .” His accusing gaze made Adam want to squirm. “Don’t give her reason to shed one more tear.”

  Adam’s heart squeezed with guilt. “I won’t.”

  “I think for now it would be best if you slept in the barn. I don’t want Connor and Deirdre influenced in any negative way. Especially Connor. He’s at a critical age right now.”

  A flash of the old antagonism surged through Adam’s veins, and he fought to supress it. To ignore the sting of being deemed unworthy to share the family home. He swallowed his pride, thinking sadly of his comfortable bed upstairs, and moved toward the door.

  “Oh, and Adam? Next weekend marks Brianna’s graduation from Barnard College. Your mother is planning a big celebration. It would be better for everyone if you remained out of sight. We don’t want Brianna’s accomplishments overshadowed by your rather untimely return.”

  Raw anger pasted Adam’s mouth shut. With a curt incline of his head, he strode out of the room, using all his willpower not to slam the door behind him.

  Aurora approached the large Simmons estate, thankful that the suffrage meeting was being held at Mrs. Simmons’s tonight, since it was only blocks from the hospital. Aurora could easily walk without having to involve the family chauffeur in her clandestine outing.

  Aurora knocked on the ornate wooden door and went over her plan for the evening, firming her resolve not to let some of the more vocal women get to her. She was here to find out about the latest developments in the suffrage movement, and if that meant putting up with idle gossip, then she would simply ignore the loose tongues of the ladies present. Aurora wished to possibly learn of larger meetings in the area, where career women met to support one another, hoping she might join a group of like-minded women.

  The housekeeper answered her knock. “Good evening, Miss Hastings. Please come in.”

  “Thank you.” Aurora removed her wrap and handed it to the woman, who then showed Aurora to the parlor.

  Plump Mrs. Simmons sat perched on her Queen Anne chair, holding court among the other women who regularly met to discuss women’s rights.

  “Good evening, Aurora. So glad you could join us.” Mrs. Simmons beamed a smile that brightened her features and caused her chin to jiggle.

  “Thank you. It’s good to be here.” Aurora crossed the plush carpet to sit on one of the available chairs, taking in the faces around the room.

  “We have a guest with us tonight,” Mrs. Simmons announced. “Colleen’s sister-in-law, Maggie Montgomery, is visiting from Ireland. Welcome, Maggie.”

  The young woman smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Simmons. You’ve all made me feel most welcome.”

  The charm of her accent intrigued Aurora. Too bad Maggie was related by marriage to the O’Learys. Ever since Colleen’s sister Brianna had stolen the affections of Gilbert Whelan, the whole O’Leary clan left a bitter taste in Aurora’s mouth. One she was still trying hard to put behind her.

  “Are you feeling well, Aurora dear? You look pale.”

  Aurora straightened her spine against the back of her chair. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “You haven’t picked up some dreaded disease volunteering at that hospital, have you? Your dear mother and I have both warned you—”

  “I am perfectly well, I assure you.” Aurora managed a wide smile, which she hoped would convince the others of her well-being.

  “Very good. Let’s get started.” Mrs. Simmons pulled a sheet of paper from the side table and adjusted her reading glasses on the tip of her nose. “The first order of business is a piece of good news. The National Federation of Women’s Clubs has voted to formally endorse the suffrage campaign.”

  A murmur went around the room.

  “The backing of this well-respected group can only mean good things for the suffrage movement. The vote for women in New York is getting closer than ever.”

  Aurora’s pulse jumped. This was indeed good news. She made a mental note to learn more about this federation.

  One of the women, Mrs. Pinkerton, crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “I, for one, will be glad when we can meet without fear of censure, not only from men, but from other women, as well. How can they not be behind women’s rights?”

  Mrs. Simmons raised an eyebrow. “As widows, my dear Harriet, we are fortunate not to have to submit to a husband’s demands. Many others, such as Aurora, must defer to the head of the household.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Mrs. Pinkerton leaned forward. “We are all aware of Arthur Hastings’s view on a woman’s place in society, as I’m sure Aurora can attest.”

  All heads turned toward Aurora, and she fought the urge to sink into the floor. As much as she supported the movement, Aurora abhorred being made a living example of the need for women’s freedom.

  “Hasn’t your father’s primary goal been to marry you off as soon as possible—
despite the humiliation of Gilbert Whelan’s rejection?” Mrs. Pinkerton’s cheeks puffed out. “I still can’t believe he threw you over for that rather plain O’Leary girl—”

  Colleen Montgomery flew to her feet, cheeks crimson. “May I remind you that the ‘O’Leary girl’ you’re speaking of is my sister, and that Gil is soon to be my brother-in-law?”

  Mrs. Pinkerton’s mouth flapped open.

  Colleen strode to the middle of the room. “Please accept my apologies, Mrs. Simmons, but I feel the need for some fresh air.”

  Maggie rose, as well, a confused expression on her face. “Lovely to meet you all.” She gave a half curtsy, then followed Colleen into the hallway.

  With all eyes trained on Aurora, the room became too suffocating to bear. The last thing she wanted to think about was her failed betrothal to Gil. And Aurora doubted she’d learn anything of further value this evening. She pushed to her feet. “I’m afraid I must leave, too, Mrs. Simmons. I do hope you’ll invite me to the next meeting.”

  Mrs. Simmons followed her out into the hallway. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I will speak with Mrs. Pinkerton and make sure she learns to curb her tongue. I’ll also send my apologies to Colleen and Miss Montgomery.” Mrs. Simmons shook her head as she handed Aurora her wrap.

  Despite the beginning of a headache, Aurora attempted a smile. “It’s not your fault. When I see Colleen next, I’ll make sure she understands that.”

  “Thank you, dear girl. You really are a gem.”

  Aurora entered her Manhattan family home, removed her hat and wrap, and handed them to the butler.

  “Is there anything else you need, miss?” Denby stood in the foyer, awaiting dismissal.

  “No, thank you, Denby. I believe I’ll ask Mrs. Forrester for some tea before retiring.”

  “Very good, miss.” He bowed and moved silently down the hallway.

  Ten minutes later, seated in the parlor with a steaming cup of tea, Aurora breathed a quiet sigh, grateful that the worst of her headache had faded. Moments later, she heard the front door open and the voices of her parents echoing in the entryway. She looked up as they entered the room.

  Her mother’s pleased expression held a hint of surprise. “Aurora dear, you’re up late this evening.”

  Aurora set her cup in the china saucer. “I got in not long ago.”

  Her father moved to the sideboard, where he uncapped the crystal decanter of brandy. “Wasting your time at that hospital again, I presume.” He poured the liquid into a glass.

  Aurora straightened her back against the cushions of the settee. “I don’t consider volunteering with the children a waste of time, Papa. On the contrary, I find it to be rewarding for everyone involved.”

  Papa shot her a disapproving look and merely grunted.

  Aurora turned to her mother, who took a seat beside her. “How was your day, Mama?” She could always count on Mama to diffuse an awkward conversation.

  Her mother smiled, creating a smattering of lines around her eyes. “I had lunch with Agnes Barnes and spent the afternoon in the garden. A very pleasant day.”

  Papa lowered his substantial frame into his favorite armchair and set his glass on the side table. “I had an interesting day.” He paused. “James O’Leary came into the bank to see me.”

  Aurora froze, her hand suspended in mid-air. Except for Colleen, whom she saw at the orphanage and at suffrage meetings, Aurora avoided the O’Learys like a contagion.

  “How are James and Kathleen?” The regret in Mama’s voice caused Aurora a slight twinge of guilt. Aurora knew Mama missed her friendship with Mrs. O’Leary, and that she had distanced herself out of deference to Aurora.

  “They are both well.” Papa paused. “James invited us to a party . . . at Irish Meadows.”

  Shock raced through Aurora’s system, causing her hand to tremble on the teacup. “That man has some nerve after what he did to us.” Even after all this time, the memory haunted Aurora. Out of a misguided sense of loyalty, Gilbert had gone along with James O’Leary’s scheme to woo Aurora in order to obtain Papa’s favor for a bank loan, yet in the end, Gil’s conscience had won out and he had broken their engagement. Aurora’s feelings had been crushed, but in truth her pride had taken a worse beating. “Please tell me you turned him down.”

  Papa cleared his throat and cast a glance at Mama. “On the contrary, daughter. I accepted the invitation on behalf of all of us.”

  Aurora’s mouth fell open, and she set down her cup with a rattle. Papa hadn’t associated with James O’Leary since the whole betrothal debacle, so why would he consider going to Irish Meadows now?

  “Surely you agree with me, Mama?” Aurora looked to her mother for support, but Mama merely shrugged.

  “It’s up to your father, dear.”

  Papa lifted his glass. “James and Gilbert have both apologized more than once for that unfortunate episode. Time and distance have allowed me to put the incident aside. I hope you are mature enough to do the same.”

  Under her father’s intense scrutiny, Aurora dared not let her dismay show. Refusing to attend would only make her father more insistent that she go. She shifted on her seat and held her tongue.

  “James’s daughter is graduating from college, and they are throwing a big celebration in her honor.”

  Aurora’s stomach dropped. In addition to facing Gil again, seeing Brianna O’Leary would be sheer torture. She may have forgiven Gil for his part in the plan, but to expect her to attend a celebration for the woman who had stolen Gil’s affections was too much. “Papa, if you wish to attend, that is your prerogative. But I will not pretend, in front of Gil and the whole O’Leary clan, to be happy for—”

  Her father’s scowl, along with the downward droop of his handlebar mustache, put a halt to Aurora’s tirade.

  “The O’Learys are a prominent family in the community—one we cannot afford to ignore.” He glanced over at her mother, who remained silent. “There will be many influential people in attendance, including, I’m sure, a fine selection of eligible young men. You will join us next Saturday.”

  Aurora bit back a bubble of indignation. I don’t care about eligible men, she wanted to shout.

  But good breeding and manners would not allow her to disrespect her father in such a fashion. She swallowed her outrage and lowered her gaze to the floral carpet. “Very well, Papa, I will go, but I can’t promise anything more than that.”

  4

  GABE FOLLOWED RYLAN into the heart of the 42nd Street fire station and fought to keep his jaw from dropping at the sheer size of the space. In the main bay, several men polished the gleaming chrome on two fire trucks. Rows of hooks housed helmets, overcoats, and other firefighting gear. Large boots sat underneath a bench in neat formation, ready for wear at a moment’s notice. It was obvious the captain of this crew ran an organized ship. If only Gabe could find a way to spend some time here, he could learn how an American fire station operated.

  “Rylan! What brings you here on this fine morning?” The loud male voice boomed out over the bustle of the room. A burly man strode toward them, grinning at Gabe’s brother.

  “Good morning, Oliver.” Rylan moved to shake the large man’s hand. “I’d like you to meet my brother, Gabriel, visiting from home. Gabe, this is Chief Oliver Witherspoon.”

  His bushy brows rose. “Home? As in Ireland?”

  “Aye.” Gabe tried not to wince as the chief gripped his hand and pumped hard.

  The big man’s eyes actually misted over. “Ah, I miss home something fierce. Twenty years I’ve been here, but I can still smell the green grass on a rainy day.”

  “I know the scent well.”

  “Gabe is a firefighter back home. He asked if I could arrange a tour of the station while he’s here.”

  “For a fellow countryman? I’d be honored.”

  Rylan stayed for the first few minutes of the tour, but once Chief Witherspoon headed to the firemen’s quarters above the slick brass poles, Rylan bid them good-bye
. Gabe, already feeling right at home with the friendly Irishman, was pleased to stay longer and view every last nook and cranny of the station.

  As the tour came to an end, they passed a large portrait of a serious-looking gent sporting a large mustache and dressed in a well-cut suit and bowler hat. With the picture claiming an obvious place of prominence, Gabe wondered what connection this man had to firefighting.

  “That’s Arthur Hastings.” Chief Witherspoon answered his unspoken question. “He owns the Hastings Bank and Loan. Arthur donated enough to get us our first motorized engine.” He jabbed a finger toward one of the vehicles.

  Gabe whistled. “She’s a beauty. I’d love to have the chance to ride on her while I’m here.” He clamped his lips shut, realizing how presumptuous he’d sounded.

  Chief Witherspoon laughed. “All the men fought to see who’d be the first to ride her. I’m sure one of them will be happy to take you out for a demonstration one day.”

  Over a cup of coffee, the two discussed fire-dousing techniques, hoses, and problems with water pressure. Gabe learned of the difficulties the department faced servicing the tall buildings in the city, since the ladders often weren’t able to reach higher than the sixth story.

  Over their second cup of coffee—a remarkably palatable beverage for a fire station—the conversation turned to Ireland.

  “Is it true what I’ve been hearing?” the chief asked. “That civil war is brewing back home?”

  Gabe’s stomach clenched at the reminder of what he was missing. The fact that the unrest might have heated up even further in his absence, that he might not be there to join in the fighting, ate at Gabe’s peace of mind. “It’s true. To be honest, it’s why I hated to leave. If there’s a war, I want to be the first to sign up to fight for my homeland.”