Shannon's Daughter (47 page)

“What
do you mean?”

“You
showed me how to give and take equally.
 
I’ve always just taken, without anything expected in return, because I
thought it was my right.”
 

He
chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.
 
“That’s me, love, a socialist at heart.”

“I’m
serious, Kendall.
 
I’ve always felt you
were the only person who saw me completely for myself.
 
I never thought you cared about the
rest.
 
You would have liked me if I’d
been something other than Michael Shannon’s daughter, so it stands to reason
you’ll still like me now that it turns out I’m not.”
 

Rolling
on his side, he turned her face to his.
 
“You’re probably not going to like what I’m about to say, but hear me
out please.”
 
She stared up, her eyes
wide and suddenly apprehensive, but he went on, convinced that until she faced
the truth, she would not begin to heal.
 
“You’re right.
 
I would love you
regardless of whether your father was the postman or the Prince of Wales.
 
But the truth is you
are
Michael Shannon’s daughter in every way that matters.
 
Michael Shannon raised you as if you were his
own.
 
He is as proud of you as he would
be of his own.
 
He fully intends for you
to take over everything he’s built, especially the charity he established to
honor your mother’s memory, because in his heart and mind, you are their
daughter.
 
Did you ever think that after
your mother died, he could just as easily have turned you over to nannies and
boarding schools and never had anything more to do with your upbringing?
 
Instead, he’s kept you as close to him as he
possibly could.
 
I’ve seen you together
since you were just a kid, remember.
 
Everything
I’ve seen bears witness to the fact that he’s your father, no matter what
mistakes you may think he’s made.”

As he
had expected, she looked away, closing him out.
 
While he continued to hold her, he knew she had retreated within that
shelter she so often erected around herself.
 
His only hope was that something he’d said would eventually move her
toward the reality of her life.
 
Otherwise, he couldn’t help but wonder where she would go from here.

Chapter
Forty-three

It took
two days of pretending he hadn’t noticed her withdrawal before Peg began to
come out of her shell.
 
They had eaten
together, walked the garden side by side, and shared a bed, but not once had
she mentioned her situation or his argument in her father’s defense.
 

Now,
sitting in the garden at twilight, she carefully closed her book and stared out
at nothing.
 
“I’ve been thinking.”

He
resisted a smile at her understatement.
 
“Have you?”

“I
didn’t like what you said, but you were right.”

“I’m
glad you think so.”

She
sighed, finally turning to him.
 
“But I
still don’t know what to do.”

“What
do you want to do?”

“I
think I want to stay with you a while longer.
 
I even thought I might stay here on my own when you go back to town.
 
I love it here and Mrs. Beatty mentioned you
need some new
linens
for the bedrooms and the dining
room drapes have gotten awfully faded.
 
I
could stay here and help her with those things, if you don’t mind?”

“I
don’t mind at all, if it pleases you.
 
I’ll have to get back to work in another week.
 
But you’re welcome to come and go from here
as you like.”

A
little smile played at her lips.
 
“I even
thought about asking her to teach me to cook.
 
Do you think it’s hopeless at this point?”

He
chuckled, taking her hand.
 
“No.
 
I think you could do anything you put your
mind to.”

“I
promise not to burn the house down.
 
I
wouldn’t dare try anything on my own.”
 
Turning her gaze back to the garden, she sighed.
 
“I suppose I should write to my father,
shouldn’t I?”

He took
grateful note of the fact that she hadn’t referred to Michael by his first
name.
 
“I’m sure he’s anxious to hear
from you.”

“I’m
not ready to go back yet, but I don’t suppose there’s any rush.”

“No,
love.
 
No rush.
 
You’ll know when the time comes.”

Silent
for several minutes, she finally turned to him again.
 
“I meant what I said.
 
I do sometimes wish things were different,
that
we
were different.
 
I love you so much.
 
Even though we’ll never be other than what we
are, loving you is the best thing that could ever have happened to me.”

Past
the lump in his throat, he answered, “The same goes for me, sweetheart.
 
And who knows, maybe someday we will be
different.”

Her
only answer was an indulgent little smile that said clearly she didn’t believe
in miracles.

Peg’s
recovery was slow and steady.
 
In the
following weeks, each time he returned to Hertford, she showed visible improvement.
 
Busy with simple domestic projects, or not so
simple in the case of her determination to “freshen” every room in the house on
the budget he’d given her, she seemed content.
 
They settled into a routine, spending their weeks apart and their
weekends as close together as they could get.
 

Peg, he
realized very quickly, had taken full charge of his household.
 
Malcolm, the man hired to tend the property,
became her eager slave, tackling chores to which he’d only nodded
noncommittally when Kendall suggested them.
 
Under her direction, the house was cleaned from top to bottom, furniture
rearranged and subtle changes made to modernize the rooms.
 
Determined to learn her way around the
kitchen, Peg made an earnest effort, and while Mrs. Beatty declared her a
success when it came to boiling water and making toast, the cooking lessons
were abandoned after a couple of weeks.
 
Peg
seemed to accept her limitations without too much regret.

“It’s
not as if I need to be able to prepare an entire meal.
 
There are always restaurants.
 
At home, I just help Mrs. Leary with the
menus, or at least look them over, and she takes care of everything else.
 
I did enjoy doing the shopping with Mrs.
Beatty.
 
Did you know that peas can be
purchased still in their little pods?”

Pulling
her into his arms, he felt the weariness of the weekly journey from London
evaporate.
 
“As a matter of fact, I
did.
 
Now tell me you missed me.”

“I
missed you.
 
I love being here, but I
love it better with you.
 
Come see what
we’ve done in your bedroom.”
 
Wriggling
in his arms, she tried to turn toward the stairs.

“Not so
fast.
 
Don’t I get a welcome home kiss
first?”

Taking
his face between her hands, she stifled a grin and kissed him lightly.
 
“There.
 
Now come upstairs, please.”

“Don’t
worry, love, I fully intend to.
 
But first, how about a bite to eat?”

She
thrust out her lip, leaving to him wonder just what she had in mind during that
tour of the bedroom.
 
“All
right.
 
Mrs. Beatty left supper in
the oven for us.”

He shed
his jacket and followed her to the kitchen, taking time to study her as she
laid out the meal.
 
“You’re looking
chipper.
 
Roses in your
cheeks,
sparkle in your eyes.
 
You must have had a good week.”

“Oh, I
did.
 
We finished up the last room, that
being your bedroom.”
 
She wiggled her
brows suggestively.
 
“We took another
load of things to the church for their fall jumble sale, and Mr. Malcolm washed
all the windows.
 
I love the way clean
windows make a house look all happy when you walk up, don’t you?”

Chuckling,
he shook out his napkin.
 
“Never really
gave it much thought.
 
But I’m sure the
house appreciated the attention.”

“What
about you, how was your week?”

“Not
too bad, although the situation with the orchestra is increasingly unpleasant.”

“Are
they still threatening to eliminate contracts and put everyone on an hourly pay
scale?”

“Not
just threatening.
 
More like promising
now.
 
It’s not going over well with the
players, especially those who’ve been there for a while.
 
They see it as not only financially devastating,
but downright insulting.
 
I’m afraid
we’re going to have a real exodus before the thing’s done.”

“Good
you have your income from your grandparents.
 
Not to mention the quartet.”

“I’ll
be all right.
 
But some of the others are
rightfully worried.
 
Geoff says he’ll have
to take on more work, since they just had their second child last year.”

They
ate in silence for a time, and Kendall decided this was the best opening he
could hope for.
 
“Speaking of babies,
Maeve had hers on Sunday night.
 
A little girl.
 
Margaret Adelaide.”

“Oh!
 
That’s wonderful!
 
They must be thrilled.”
 
He took a relieved breath at the genuine
interest in her smile.
 
Interest was a
good reaction, as opposed to indifferent, anyway.

“Yes.
 
Reggie’s positively idiotic with paternal
pride.”
 
Putting down his fork, he
reached for her hand.
 
“We need to talk,
love.”

She
blinked at him before looking away.
 
“About what?”

“As you
would expect, Aunt Addie telephoned your father with the news.
 
Maeve and Reggie want you to be the baby’s
godmother, but of course you weren’t at home for them to ask you in
person.
 
Your father made up a story
about you spending some time on the Continent and promised to get in touch with
you.
 
The christening is in two weeks.”
 
She looked up, apprehension dulling her eyes.
 
“It’s time to get back to your life,
sweetheart.
 
This is the perfect
opportunity to see your family here and then go home to New York.”

“What
if I’m not ready?”

“I
think you are.
 
You’ve been writing to
your father.
 
And he’s been writing
back.
 
I assume to the two of you have
been working out your differences.”

“We
have.
 
And I promised him I’d go back
soon.
 
I guess I’ve just been pretending
I had something important to do here, putting it off.”

“What
you’ve done here was important.
 
You gave
yourself time to get back on your feet.
 
But it has to end sometime, and joining your family in London to
celebrate Maeve and Reggie’s baby should be an easy way to end it.”

“What
about us?”

Now he
blinked.
 
“What about us?”

“Are we
ending, too?”

“Peg!
 
Of course not.
 
We’re just going back to what we were before,
two people who are fond of one another sharing a very long distance
relationship.”
 
He placed a finger under her
chin, urging her to meet his gaze.
 
“We’ve been playing house, haven’t we?”

She
nodded solemnly.
 
“I suppose.
 
It’s been so
nice,
I
almost forgot it was pretend.”

“Come
here.”
 
He patted his knee and pulled her
onto his lap.
 
“You know once you’re back
in New York, once you’re busy with your work again, this will all fade to
pleasant memories.
 
Much as I wish things
were different, if we keep this up much longer, it will be too hard to let you
go.”
 
Burying his face in her neck, he
breathed in her scent.
 
“You have no idea
how lovely it is to come through the door and find you here.
 
I have to keep reminding myself that I’m the
luckiest man on earth to have you for a few weeks at a time, and I mustn’t get
greedy and hope for more.
 
But I do hope.
 
And hope will have to keep me going for now.”

She
exhaled a deep, resolute sigh as though she’d turned a corner.
 
“When do I have to go to London?”

“Next
week.
 
There’s a suite booked at Brown’s
for you.
 
I’ll pack up your things, meet
you at the station and you’ll make your grand return from your travels
abroad.
 
Your father sent a draft to my
account to cover your expenses.
 
He’ll
inform Aunt Addie of your plans.”

“He’s
worked it all out for me, hasn’t he?
 
And
how long do I get to spend in London before he’s flying me back home?”

“Three
weeks.
 
He reckoned that was a suitable
period for you to get acquainted with your goddaughter.”

She
stared at the floor, biting her lip.
 
“Will you promise to stay with me at Brown’s?
 
Be my escort everywhere I have to go?”

“As
much as possible.
 
I do have a couple of gigs with the lads, and
I’m involved in the negotiations with the orchestra.
 
But I’ll be at your beck and call until you
board that plane, I promise.”

Another
few moments of staring blankly and her face slowly brightened.
 
“Margaret?
 
Did they really name the baby after me?”

“They
did.
 
I’m assuming Maeve made the choice
to give her daughter someone to emulate as she grows up.
 
It can’t hurt a little girl’s reputation to
boast of a godmother who’s both an heiress and prominent New York socialite”

Peg
laughed softly, dropping her head to his shoulder.
 
“I doubt that.
 
She probably just wanted to butter me up for
an expensive christening gift.
 
But it is
nice.
 
I’m flattered.”