she had older brothers and so knew how men ticked. He’d once told her that she was the only pretty girl he knew that he could spend more than a minute with. Maggie took that as the compliment it was intended to be.
Maggie swallowed heavily at the mention of her father. She had not allowed herself to think of him locked away in prison with all sorts of rough men. Her father, who loved the ballet and a fine port and cigar after supper, was not at all the kind of man who would thrive in such a place. “I miss him already,” she said, her throat closing on the last word. She cleared his throat. “But we shall all be fine. Mama says the time will fly.”
“Yes. Five years, I heard.”
It was supposed to be one. One year. He could have endured one year. “Five years will go by so swiftly,” she repeated, her smile brittle.
“Yes. But there will always be the taint,” he said, and Maggie stiffened. It was so unlike Arthur to say such a thing, for if he was anything, he was kind to a fault.
“I suppose there will be.”
“And that’s the thing. That’s it, you see,” he said, sounding muddled.
Maggie didn’t understand until she looked at his face, filled with torment and real despair. And she knew, without a doubt, that Arthur Wright had not come that night to propose. He had come to break it off.
His face crumpled briefly, but he regained control of his features and stood there, making her say it because no doubt he could not bring himself to.
“You are breaking it off,” Maggie said dully.
He nodded, his eyes filling with tears, for Arthur did love her. She’d always known it, believed it.
“It’s our business. I know how that sounds. You cannot know how hard this is for me. How I fought…” He broke off, shaking his head miserably. “But my father can’t take the chance for his name to be associated with…with…”
“Mine.”
“Oh, Maggie, not yours. Your father’s. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said, trying desperately to hold it together and failing miserably. “I love you,” he cried, then pulled her to him and embraced her, kissing her hair in an almost frenzied way.
Maggie stiffened, then pushed him gently, but firmly away. “It’s just as well, Arthur. I do believe that you love me, but you obviously don’t love me enough. And I don’t love you at all.” She shouldn’t have hurt him, she should not have lowered herself to such cruelty. But then, he didn’t know anything of what she’d gone through, of what she was going through. If losing her was the worst thing that had ever happened to him, then he had led a pathetically easy life. She should tell him just how awful life could get.
“You don’t mean that,” he said, stricken.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said dully. “Could you please go?”
“How could you say such a thing? How?”
“You hurt me. And I hurt you back. I’m sorry,” she said, sounding more like some sort of automaton than an anguished woman. “Please go,” she repeated.
He bowed his head. “Of course.”
He left the parlor, that ridiculous pink parlor, and Maggie was glad that the last thing he would remember was where she stood when he delivered the final blow to her already miserable life.
Chapter 2
Maggie sat at the dining table, waving a fan frantically at her face thinking that if she was wilting from the heat in New York, how would she feel in Savannah?
“The heat never really bothered me,” Harriet said, lying through her teeth, Maggie suspected, for her cheeks were brightly flushed and her hairline damp from sweat.
“I suppose one gets used to it,” she said, stopping the fan for a moment because her wrist was beginning to ache.
“I don’t remember ever being hot as a child,” her mother said, slipping into her gentile southern drawl for affect, and Maggie smiled. Her mother had visited her sister several times over the years, but those visits were always carefully timed to miss the worst of the Northeast’s winters. “I daresay I won’t miss those horrid winters here. Your father would joke and tell me I’d never quite got rid of my southern blood.” Harriet frowned, then gave a little shudder, as if shaking away any sad thoughts.
Maggie always liked winter, or at least the change of seasons. She could not imagine a Christmas without the biting cold or threat of snow. She adored her winter muffs, the way her cheeks would bloom with color. The taste of snow. And she would miss her brother and friends and the hope she’d had of ever having a normal life. Savannah meant more than heat, it meant she would either have to live off her relatives for life, find a husband quickly, or get a job. Though she hadn’t dared tell her mother yet, Maggie’s plan was to become a governess to some wealthy southern family. It would be a fair tragedy to her mother to have Maggie out working, but what other choice did she have? And being a governess was respectable.
If she were a governess she could have the pleasure of being with children even though she would never have her own. It would be a wonderful compromise. She’d find a nice family, one with clean, polite children, hopefully in Savannah so she could be close to her mother, and she would teach those little scrubbed faces. She could become like a second mother to them. And she would have everything any woman could ever want.
She would be old spinster Pierce, whom the children loved.
And everyone else felt sorry for.
Maggie gave herself a mental shake to rid herself of any thought that was the least bit upsetting. “Mama, I have made a decision.”
Harriet gave her daughter an uncertain smile.
“When we reach Savannah, I am going to find a position as a governess. I do not want to be dependent on Aunt Catherine and that would give me a bit of independence.”
“You don’t even like children,” her mother pointed out.
It was true. Maggie had never liked to be with them. She’d never actually spent more than a few minutes with a child, but simply accepted the fact that someday she would have one or two of them running about. Still, she decided to argue anyway. “What kind of person does not like children? Of course I like children.”
“You find them messy and loud and rather silly. And I completely agree.”
“Mother!”
Harriet laughed. “The only children I have ever been able to tolerate were you and your brothers. You were always so quiet and well behaved. Most children are not like that. It is completely out of the question at any rate. I don’t believe I could stand any further humiliation.”
“But what am I to do? I cannot live on the good charity of your sister forever. I must be independent.”
“Why not simply work as a shop girl? Or better yet out in the cotton fields?” her mother asked with uncharacteristic sarcasm. “Haven’t I been through enough without having a daughter as a governess? My goodness, Maggie, it’s almost as if you are contriving to make
