Chapter 32
A wide silk ribbon ran across the threshold of the store, above the newly painted sign that stated in elegant, swirling letters, “Margaret O’Halloran, Milliner.”
In the walnut display cases, eight hats rested on their wooden stands, each one a unique tribute to Chicago and the Exposition.
Above them, the chandelier sparkled with electric light, and a maid, hired for the occasion, stood ready with a tray of champagne coupes for the women who were to enter the store.
It was ten o’clock on the morning of the grand opening, and no one was waiting on the sidewalk outside.
Maggie pressed one hand to her middle as she tried to calm her jangling nerves.
She hadn’t been expecting a heaving crowd, but she’d thought somebody would be there.
She was meant to cut the ribbon in just a few minutes, and there was no one to watch her do it but Molly and the maid.
“Maybe it’s a little early,” Molly remarked dubiously, her gaze moving to the empty sidewalk outside the store.
They’d both been working right down to the last minute, trying to get everything ready.
Theo had been conspicuously absent this last week, something Maggie was trying not to notice.
He was an investor, not a friend, she reminded herself, and ever since they’d gone skating, she’d been more determined than ever to keep her distance.
So, it seemed, was he; he had not even shown up for the opening, although Maggie told herself he’d surely make an appearance at some point in the day, if simply out of interest for the business he’d poured so much money into.
She should have been well used to his absence anyway, she’d told herself.
Theo had a habit of sweeping in and her off her feet before disappearing again.
Weeks and even months had gone by before when she hadn’t seen him.
If she missed him now, it was her own fault, and she would do well to ignore the emotion.
“What should we do?” Molly asked. She looked nervous, and Maggie couldn’t blame her. She’d left a good job at Field’s for this, and if Maggie couldn’t pay her wages, she doubted whether Field’s would have her back. More than her own reputation and livelihood was at stake now.
The grandfather clock Theo had had installed in one corner of the shop struck the hour with solemn chimes.
Maggie straightened her skirt of deep blue silk; she’d had the ensemble made for the day, its severe cut and elegant material striking the right note as proprietress, or so she hoped.
But right now, she didn’t feel sure of anything.
“We’re open as advertised,” she told Molly with decision. “We can’t look as if we’re waiting for anything—or anyone.”
Throwing back her shoulders, she opened the front door to the freezing February air and with the large pair of scissors Molly provided, she snipped the silk ribbon in two, so both ends fluttered to the icy ground. No one clapped.
“Margaret O’Halloran, Milliner is officially open!” Maggie declared with a touch of defiance, and closing the door against the cold, she turned back to the shop.
The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness as not one person came.
Maggie drank a coupe of champagne simply to have something to do, the leaden feeling of her own failure heavy in her stomach.
Was no one going to come even out of simple—or morbid—curiosity?
It almost felt as if she was being ignored on purpose.
Maybe the good women of Chicago’s society had decided she’d gotten too far above her station, or they questioned her relationship with her investor, just as she’d feared.
“It is early,” Molly said in an obvious and valiant attempt to cheer her up. “Most society dames aren’t up at this hour.”
And yet Field’s opened at eight to a throng of customers every day, Maggie thought mournfully. What on earth had made her think she could be a success?
She did her best to shake off her gloom as she adjusted a hat on its stand, admiring the fuchsia silk she’d sourced from New York, the wintry sunlight streaming in the windows giving its bright color an even deeper sheen.
Were her hats too much? she wondered. It was one thing to create hats for a spectacle like the Exposition Dedication, another perhaps to wear one every day.
She didn’t think she’d gone over the top with every design; several of the hats were perfectly appropriate for everyday wear, and she’d designed a few with a working woman’s more modest budget in mind, as well.
In any case, no one was even coming to see the hats, whether they were over the top or otherwise. No one was coming at all, not even Theo. Had he suspected the day might be a failure? Was that why he stayed away?
“Maggie, look!” Molly pointed to the shiny black landau pulling up to the pavement outside the store.
Maggie’s heart lurched and then rose as Mrs. Stein herself, her original benefactress, stepped grandly out of the carriage in a stunning ensemble of deep blue satin.
“I see I am the first,” she remarked as she came into the store. “What a lovely little place you have here! You must have some generous investors.”
“Indeed,” Maggie replied after a second’s pause.
She was grateful for Mrs. Stein’s approval, and relieved that her appearance surely meant she didn’t mind Theo’s involvement…
and yet she feared Mrs. Stein had spoken without the whimsy and knowing wink she might have expected, considering she was talking about her son.
Instead, she’d sounded as if she had no idea who Maggie’s investors were.
Could it be possible? Had Theo lied outright to her?
Now, Maggie decided, was not the time to test that notion.
“I may be the first,” Mrs. Stein remarked as she studied the hat in fuchsia silk, “but I won’t be the last. Mrs. Potter Palmer herself has said she intends to visit you today.”
“She has?” Maggie’s heart leaped with both relief and hope. If Mrs. Palmer, the first lady of all of Chicago, came to her little shop and liked it, her success was assured.
“And others, besides,” Mrs. Stein added, nodding as another carriage rolled up to the shop and Mrs. Deloitte stepped out. “You won’t be wanting for customers, Maggie, I assure you.”
The rest of the day passed in a gorgeous blur of silk and satin, customers and champagne.
Maggie swept through the store, greeting the women of society as if they were old friends, yet with the deference she knew they craved.
Molly fetched and carried, the champagne went quickly, and by the end of the afternoon, all eight hats had been sold, and Maggie had a dozen more commissions besides.
Margaret O’Halloran, Milliner seemed set to be a success.
As Maggie closed the door as the night drew in, the customers having all gone on their way, she couldn’t help but feel, in the midst of her relief and elation, a tiny flicker of disappointment.
Theo had not shown up at all. Perhaps a millinery shop was not the place for a gentleman, she reflected as she hugged Molly goodbye before finishing closing up the store.
Still, she’d expected—and hoped—he’d make at least a brief appearance.
She’d even wondered if Brendan might stop by, Maggie acknowledged with a pang of something like grief.
He had to have seen the opening in the newspapers.
She’d half-hoped, unarticulated even to herself, that he might come simply to wish her well, but as ever these last few months, there had been only silence.
She supposed she could go to Englewood to see him and her brother, but when Maggie recalled how Brendan’s lip had curled at the mention of her investor, how Danny had insisted he didn’t want to live with her, any desire to visit them vanished.
They had judged her, and no doubt they continued to judge her.
She would not court yet more judgment by visiting them.
With a sigh, she dimmed the electric lights and headed upstairs alone.
After the close quarters of the O’Malley boarding house, it still felt odd to have so much space to herself—room upon room, and she was the only person occupying them.
It was lonely, Maggie acknowledged as she heated up a bowl of stew and ate it alone by the fire.
For the last four months, she’d barely spoken to anyone, save Theo and Molly, and her conversations with Molly had been all about work, those with Theo all too fleeting.
It did not feel particularly celebratory, eating alone after the events of the day, but she told herself success was success whether it was celebrated or not, and in any case, she had plenty of work to do to keep her busy, and she was tired, as well. A quiet night in was just what she wanted.
She was just getting ready for bed when she heard a tap on the door. Maggie’s heart leaped in her chest. She’d locked the front door, she was sure of it, and the only person who had a key was Theo.
With some trepidation, for her hair was undone and she was dressed only in her nightgown and wrapper, she went to the door.
“Theo…” She opened the door only halfway, embarrassed by her state of undress. “I’m not even dressed!”
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he replied, throwing the door open wider so Maggie had no choice but to stand back. “Duty called, but I’m here now to celebrate.”
Maggie shook her head slowly as she took in his apparel—white tie and tails, a silk scarf thrown carelessly about his neck, his hair slicked back from his forehead—and what he was carrying—a bottle of champagne and an enormous bouquet of red roses, perfectly in bloom even though it was the middle of February. They must have cost a fortune.
“Duty called?” she repeated skeptically, and Theo grinned.
“Ma needed an escort to the opera, some benefit for the Exposition. Sissieretta Jones and the Fisk Jubilee Singers. They gave a good effort, but I was bored to tears. Don’t be cross, Maggie, please,” he coaxed, his lips curving into that cajoling smile she knew so well.
“I knew it would be a success, and I could hardly skulk around the store today, could I, with all the ladies? You look incredibly fetching, by the way, in that silk wrapper. And your hair.” He reached out to tug one wavy strand, wrapping it around his wrist. “It’s magnificent. ”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Maggie protested.
As ever, his familiarity was inappropriate, but also not entirely unwelcome, which frustrated her.
Where was her willpower, her self-restraint, when it came to this man?
“Theo,” she insisted, as he kept hold of her hair, tugging her gently toward him. “Don’t.”
“And you, don’t be cross,” he said again. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.” He tossed the flowers aside and put down the champagne. “I’ve been desperate to celebrate with you, you know.”
“If anyone saw you come in at this hour…” Maggie began, far too feebly. Theo’s hands were on her shoulders, his lips close to hers, making her senses swim. She should step away, she knew she should… and yet she didn’t.
“But no one did,” he replied. “The street was empty. And,” he added, “no one will.” His lips were a hairsbreadth away.
A sigh escaped her, one of longing as well as regret, because she’d been so lonely, and she wanted to celebrate, and Theo’s charm felt impossible to resist. She didn’t even want to try, not for tonight, at least. For this moment.
One kiss was all she wanted, Maggie thought, and no one would ever know. She could still be respectable. Her business could.
“Will you allow me to kiss you?” Theo asked, playing the gentleman and keeping his promise. “You know how much I want to, I know you do.”
“Yes…” Maggie whispered, the word no more than a breath.
“Yes, you know,” he murmured teasingly, “or yes, you’ll let me?”
Maggie let her eyes flutter closed. In this moment, she had no more resistance, no more will.
Theo’s flattery and desire were too much to overcome, and the truth was, she longed for this connection, to feel wanted and loved in a way she hadn’t in so very long.
Tomorrow things would be different, she told herself. Tomorrow she’d be stronger.
“Both,” she admitted in a soft breath, and then his lips came down on hers and the whole world fell away, blissfully and completely, as Maggie surrendered to the kiss.