Bees in the Butterfly Garden (6 page)

“I’m sure you do have your choice of suitors,” Maguire went on.

“Without a family to present me properly? I don’t think you understand the circle that frequents Madame’s.” Meg looked past Maguire and Kate, her gaze taking in the sunporch and, beyond, the view outside again. There was no reason she couldn’t spend the summer
here
. It was her father’s home; therefore she had some right to it. Didn’t she? “Pedigree is nearly as important as money.” As she spoke, her mind formulated plans having nothing to do with the conversation. “Sometimes it doesn’t have to be an old pedigree, but one’s family mustn’t be a mystery.”

“Madame Marisse assured your father there were eligible gentlemen vying for your attention, even two years ago—”

This time Meg herself interrupted Kate. “There is no reason to begin that future immediately. No one is waiting for me, and I have no wish for anyone in particular to be waiting for me.”

“But that’s where your life is, Meggie,” Maguire said in that same soft, somehow disconcertingly gentle voice. “Everything you know is there. Where else could you possibly go?” He bent over her and slipped his hand under her elbow to help her rise. “I can see you’re feeling better, so you might want to visit your father again. After that I’ll take you to the train myself and accompany you back to the school. Because—” his dark-blue gaze held hers—“that’s what your father would have wanted, and it’s my desire to do exactly as he would have regarding you.”

She stood but pulled her arm from his light grasp. “While I would appreciate it if you’d take me back to my father’s side, I must tell you I have no intention of returning to Connecticut today. At the moment my plans are indefinite.” Coward! Why hadn’t she told them what she meant to do?

Their astonished stares nearly made her stomp her foot, demand to know why she should do anything they wished. She was eighteen years old and could go where
she
wished. And what was so outrageous in wanting to spend time in her father’s home, anyway? To be in her father’s life—even if he was no longer here? Especially since he wasn’t here to say no?

“Listen to me, Meggie.” Maguire leaned toward her, once again too close. “I can’t let you leave without knowing exactly where you intend to go.”

She stepped around him, not caring that her shoulder brushed his in order to get to the door. “You have nothing to worry over, Mr. Maguire. I intend staying right here in my father’s house. It must be mine now, anyway.”

6

It was important to me that my lawyer—and through him, the jury—knew I was not just a thief. I was every bit a gentleman as well.

Alexander “The Gent” DiBattista

Incarcerated for fraud and bank robbery

Code of Thieves
, compiled from interviews of temporary residents of Tombs Prison, New York City, 1873-1875

“Meggie!”

The entreaty came from Kate, but it was Ian who caught up with Meggie first, in only two long strides. At that moment he wasn’t sure if he felt admiration or exasperation. Irritation, at least. Meggie was the prize of John’s heart, the symbol of everything fine and worthy and precious. Here was someone to be protected at any cost—protected from the harshness of life. From the truth.

But as much as he might have unwittingly wanted her here, she was turning out to be a nuisance. She’d become the beautiful young woman he’d once dreamed she would be, with eyes he was sure were even bluer than John’s and hair as dark as licorice. But she shouldn’t be here. She should have stayed in Connecticut, being a good little girl at school, learning all she needed to know so she might one day become the grand lady with a respectable future John had always envisioned.

He should tell her the truth, at least some of it. He knew Kate would if he didn’t. He stood in front of Meggie, effectively blocking her path.

“This house isn’t your father’s, Meggie. It’s mine.”

Meggie looked at him, brows now raised over those two blue pools. She looked from him to Kate, then back again with something he’d never expected to see in her eyes. Suspicion.

“Yours? Entirely?”

He nodded and saw that Kate did the same. For once, he and Kate seemed to be united.

“Did he . . . leave it to you, then? Instead of to me?”

Kate took one of Meggie’s hands, something Ian wished he’d thought to do first. “Ian bought this house nearly a year ago. Your father lived in the city, with me.”

“How . . . convenient,” Meggie whispered. Then she took in a breath, her petite shoulders rising as if in determination not to change her ridiculous plans. “I’ll go to the city, then, at least for a few days. I’d like to see where he lived.”

She looked uncertain, and Ian thought that a good sign. Perhaps she wasn’t nearly as determined as he’d feared. Besides, so long as Kate didn’t invite Meggie into the dregs of John’s life, she would never be the wiser to how he’d lived.

“New York isn’t the place for you, Meggie,” Ian said. “Your father would have preferred you to stay in the clean country air of Connecticut. At school.”

He took Meggie’s arm again, this time looping it through the crook of his, relieved when she didn’t resist him. He’d dreamed often enough of having her beside him, and for the moment he intended to enjoy it. He even put one of his hands over her soft one, as if the one that rested beneath his was there by her design rather than his own.

Her skin was as inviting as he had imagined it to be. Ian had always known she would be beautiful—he’d known since she was nine years old that she’d grow up to be lovely. But when she was older and he and John had secretly attended several of her chamber music concerts, he’d gotten a good look at just how beautiful she’d grown to be.

It had been John’s idea to leave a yellow rose backstage, but it had been Ian who’d always left it for her. Inside the instrument case with her name on it, or in the little cubbyhole where it was stored, so he knew he’d left it somewhere she could find it.

Downstairs, Ian kept a close eye on Meggie as he delivered her once again to the ballroom, where her father was laid out. He and Kate waited with her until the room cleared—a new mourner had arrived whom Ian recognized instantly as one of Brewster’s younger brothers. Then Ian escorted Meggie closer while tipping his chin Kate’s way.

He knew she understood: leave Meggie alone, but make sure no one else interrupts. She walked from the room.

“Will you be all right, Meggie?” He used the same gentle tone he summoned when feeding meat to ill-trained guard dogs in order to slip past them. “I’ll stay if you like.”

She shook her head without looking at him, then left for the table upon which her father lay.

Ian wanted to stay but knew he shouldn’t. Not only for her sake, but also because of those waiting on the veranda. He followed the path Kate had taken a moment before.

Most of the mourners would miss the man they affectionately called Skipjack, but Ian also knew a number of them had already begun assessing things, before John’s body was either cold or buried. They were looking between Ian himself and Brewster, as if wondering which of them would take the role Skipjack had left vacant.

Ian was determined that man would be him, and it was none too soon to start making that clear. Letting Brewster take the reins of the men he’d worked with so many years would lead down a path Ian had no wish to travel. It had been John who restrained Brewster more than once, away from excess, from violence. Crime was one thing, John used to say, greed another. And while Ian couldn’t claim himself free of avarice, he’d never once been impressed by Brewster’s willingness to let force take the place of clever and careful planning.

In the hall, Kate stopped him.

“I’d like a word with you before you go outside.” Her voice was low but with a hint of urgency. Fine. He had a few things he wanted to say to her too. Things that probably couldn’t wait.

Chin high, eyes defiant, Kate stared at him a full moment as if in preamble to whatever she was about to say. “I want Meggie to come to the city with me, and I don’t want you to interfere.”

Ian looked over his shoulder to make sure the words hadn’t been overheard before taking one of Kate’s arms, nearly pushing her into the library. “Are you insane? The last thing John wanted was for Meggie to know about him, and if you think you can keep the truth from her and be a friend at the same time, you’re deluding yourself.”

Kate was already shaking her head. “You heard her, Ian! She doesn’t believe he loved her. Maybe the only way she
will
believe it is if we tell her the truth.”

“No! We’ll do it John’s way, the way he’s always handled his daughter. That was his decision, not ours.”

“But she must be told of the risks he took, the sacrifices he made—and his intention to make the best of his legitimate investments. As soon as he was able, he was going to invite her into his life, just as she’s obviously always wanted.”

That was news to Ian. Not that John hadn’t hinted at going clean—his living here at Ian’s for the last few months before intending to marry Kate had been evidence enough of that. It had been a move that stirred unexpected thoughts in Ian’s own life—of his father and how he’d have wanted Ian to do the same had he still been alive.

But it didn’t matter. John hadn’t been allowed the time to prove his good intentions, and all that was left was evidence of the kind of man he’d always been. The kind not good enough to be a lady’s father.

The kind of man Ian was too.

“It’s out of the question,” he said. “I won’t have it.”

“
You
won’t! Who do you think you are, anyway? Have you assigned yourself John’s role before he’s even buried?”

Ian put his face directly before Kate’s, reveling in the moment when doubt took the place of her anger. “It’s me or Brewster. And you don’t want him telling everyone what to do, do you?”

Her eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened, the intimidation he’d stirred a moment ago quickly fading. “He
won’t
be telling me what to do, nor will you. John was hanging up the Skipjack name; you know it as well as I do. It was the Skipjack way of life that killed him.”

“A way of life you were happy enough to live for more years than I have.”

“To my everlasting regret, yes. And to John’s, too. He was going straight, Ian. You can’t deny it.”

“Going, perhaps, but never gone.”

Kate’s face softened, and now it was her turn to lean forward. “It can’t possibly do any harm for her to know. She already thinks badly of him. It can only help.”

“No. She goes back to the school. I’ll see to that myself. Today.”

Then he turned his back on her, walking from the room with only one destination in mind. As much as he wanted to return to Meggie, he knew he couldn’t ignore much longer those who stood on the porch. Even now, Brewster was no doubt campaigning for the confidence of men Ian couldn’t afford to lose.

Meg stood over her father’s body, no longer dizzy. For the first time she saw something familiar in him. Most of his face—the odd set to his jaw, the lifeless curve of his brow, the sallow color of his skin—belonged to someone, something, else. But his nose was the same, perfectly centered, neither too large nor too small. It was his, all right. Unchanged.

“It doesn’t matter what they said about you loving me,” Meg whispered. She’d once convinced herself she’d outgrown her need for a father, but somehow seeing him this way reminded her of what she’d missed, and it pierced her soul.

It was too late for him to hear what she had to say, but words spilled from an overfilled fountain deep inside. “I wanted so little from you, things you could never give. Never once did you
tell
me you loved me or that you were proud of me. Did you think the money would say it for you? I’d rather have had the words.”

She wanted to touch him, his hands that were so peacefully folded across his chest. The single memory she had before living at the school was of him tossing her up into the air, catching her safely in his strong arms with those same hands. Where had that father gone, the one who’d rejoiced in having a daughter? What had she done to make him shut her away?

She took a step back, still facing him, words she’d wanted to say for years now refusing to be stifled. “I’m finished being that perfect student, that perfect young lady. There’s no hope of pleasing you now, so I might as well do as
I
please. At last.”

Meg turned away, shoulders so stiff they ached. Without looking back, she walked from his side, so fast and firm that the heels on her shoes tapped against the floor, no doubt hard enough to nick the wood.

But she made it no farther than halfway across the room. It was as if her father called to her, using words Maguire and Kate had just spoken. He knew about her studies; he knew about her being Harvest Princess. He’d left the roses.

“Why?”

She hadn’t realized she’d nearly screamed the word until it came back to her in an echo.

Meg fell into one of the nearby chairs, and tears pricked her eyes—tears that made way for the torrent that followed.

She didn’t hear the light footsteps behind her until the edge of Kate’s skirt came into view. Perhaps Meg should resent this woman who’d been allowed to share her father’s life—at least as much as she resented Maguire—but when Kate took the seat next to Meg, drawing her into a gentle embrace, any desire to feel that resentment dwindled away.

“I wanted him to love me.” Her voice, garbled with tears, was barely recognizable even to Meg herself.

“Shh, now. He did, Meggie.” Meg felt Kate stroke her hair as if she were a child. “He loved you, and I can prove it to you.”

Her words penetrated Meg’s tears, slowing the spigot inside.

“You can’t.” Meg wiped her eyes with a handkerchief Kate supplied. This handkerchief was black, although a red one still peeked out from Kate’s pocket. “I don’t care if he knew every last thing I did. Nothing could convince me he loved me. It’s too late, don’t you see?”

With a glance over Meg’s shoulder as if to make sure they were alone, Kate shook her head. “John didn’t think himself worthy to be your father.” Kate looked at the table now, at the box holding Meg’s father. The older woman seemed to fossilize before Meg as a frown set premature creases into place. “I suppose you already believe him unworthy, but that wasn’t his intention.”

Meg spared only a glance her father’s way. “He never gave me the chance to see if he was unworthy or not! His absence proves he wasn’t a good father.”

“He was a better father than you think, considering how he made his living. You cannot discount his protection of you.”

“Protection from what? I know about the gambling, Miss Kane. Jamie mentioned it in the carriage. And while I’m sure a number of families sending their daughters to Madame Marisse’s would have been scandalized to learn such a thing about him, it’s hardly an illegal way to make a living. That was no reason to banish me from his life.”

“You were to be raised a lady, like your mother. Someone he never thought himself worthy of, either, really. You never knew, Meggie, that she was from London, did you? The daughter of a gentleman, and your father wanted you to be just like her. He knew he couldn’t raise you properly, so he found the finest school in all of New England to do it for him. All he needed to do was supply the money, and he did.”

“And so he gambled. Is that all?”

Kate looked from Meg to her father, then to the door that led from the room. The hesitation lasted long enough to make Meg wonder if whatever she had to say was the truth or just being made up for Meg’s benefit.