Chapter 11 #2
She understood completely. “Of course you do. Judge? I am very sorry. I liked Daisy very much. In spite of how she lived, she was a lady.”
He brushed the rising tears. “Thank you.”
Francesca nodded and started for the door.
“Miss Cahill? I will be staying at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. You may reach me there.”
The countryside had changed. Francesca stared out of the window of the speeding train, Joel napping beside her, his cheek on her arm.
Farms and pastures were finally giving way to factories, busy cobbled and dirt streets, shops and tenement buildings.
Working men and women with sacks of groceries were rushing on foot to their homes.
They had reached the Bronx, but there would be no more stops until they arrived at the Grand Central Depot.
She hugged herself, her heart aching terribly.
She had made copious notes about the case, until she could no longer avoid the huge hurt she had buried deep inside her chest. She would be home in an hour or so—and just ten blocks from Calder Hart’s.
Very, very shortly, she would be back in the city, and she could no longer avoid her feelings—or him.
She didn’t see a single building, a single wagon, a single person or tree as the train raced on.
I am not leaving you.
No, you are not. I am leaving you, Francesca.
In the three months of their engagement, she had learned that his first response to a personal crisis was to withdraw from her and try to push her away. He did not like discussing his feelings, and certainly not his fears.
She had seen his guilt and grief and knew he was afraid of the future. These were matters she wished to discuss, and she was not giving up, even if this rejection had felt so final. Surely, when this case was closed and the real killer had been brought to justice, Hart would come back to her.
But Francesca could not deny her feelings.
She was filled with doubts. She was very afraid.
One of the problems with Hart was that he was so unpredictable.
Only last month, he had confessed to her that he was falling in love with her.
Francesca had been thrilled. Now she realized her elation should have waited.
Leave it to Hart to refuse to admit to solid feelings of affection.
If he had been falling in love with her, had he now simply changed his mind and resolutely brought that process to a halt?
No one could be more stubborn and more effective than Hart.
It was a reason she so admired him; now it was the reason she was so afraid.
This morning, he had meant what he had said, that their engagement was off. She had seen the anguish in his eyes, and knew it hadn’t been easy for him.
She had told him she would never give up on him. In her mind, this was a temporary separation. Had he understood that? And if so, where, exactly, did that leave them?
She already missed him. Was she still allowed to call on him at whim?
Why should she wait for their paths to cross when she desperately wanted to see him?
When she desperately needed to see him? More importantly, once she saw him, she would have a better idea of the mood he was in.
Maybe he was having regrets and a change of heart.
Her decision was made. She would make a quick stop at home to change her clothes—she wanted to look beautiful and attract all of his male interest and attention—and she would go directly to Hart’s. Her train was arriving at half past six; she should be at Hart’s shortly after eight o’clock.
Francesca was so involved in her decision to call on Hart that she had not thought about the morning’s newspapers.
But the moment she started through the spacious front hall of her home, her mother appeared, stepping out of the dining room.
Julia was as pale as a ghost, her distress apparent.
Instantly, Francesca remembered the terrible headlines and she halted, one foot on the bottom step, her hand on the brass railing.
“Francesca,” Julia said, her voice hoarse. “Your father wishes to speak with you.”
Francesca stepped away from the stairs. There was no doubt in her mind that both of her parents had seen the Sun, at least. The house was terribly quiet, which told her there were no supper guests.
That was odd. Julia entertained every day of the week except for Sundays and Mondays, or she and Andrew went out.
Julia easily read her thoughts. “We canceled our plans to go out tonight, Francesca. Neither one of us was in a social mood.”
Francesca approached her mother. “Mama, we discussed this earlier. Hart is innocent. Do not believe whatever you have read.” But she kept her voice low, not wanting to alert Andrew to their conversation. Julia would surely move back to her side!
“Francesca, you know how fond of Hart I am. You know how thrilled I have been that you have managed to get engaged to him. I don’t think he murdered anyone.”
For some reason, Francesca was not relieved. “Thank you for your faith and loyalty.”
Julia raised her hand. “Stop! It doesn’t matter whether Hart is innocent or guilty. This scandal is simply unacceptable and you cannot be a part of it.”
Francesca was in disbelief. Julia had been their biggest ally, their greatest supporter.
“How can you say that his innocence doesn’t matter?
Of course it does! Mama, I love Hart. I am not going to back down now.
He will be proved innocent and this terrible scandal will fade away and disappear.
One day, it will be entirely forgotten.”
“You may be right. On the other hand, this scandal may follow Hart for the rest of his life—unless he moves to Paris. But it might even follow him there!”
Francesca found it hard to breathe. “So what are you saying? You no longer approve of my marriage to Calder?”
Julia’s face collapsed. “I have to protect you, Francesca. You are my child.”
“I am a grown woman,” Francesca cried in anger now. “Mama, I am begging you, do not oppose my marriage. I need you on my side.” She felt frantic—a very rare moment for her.
Julia wiped the tears that had appeared. “Your father wishes to speak to you. He is in the dining room.”
“I have to go out,” Francesca said tersely.
Julia was incredulous. “Francesca! Andrew wishes to speak to you!”
Francesca steeled herself, hardly able to believe that she would be so disrespectful as to go out without giving her father a word. But she did not want that confrontation now.
It did not matter what she wanted, she realized, for Andrew had come into the hall, his face terribly sober, the light in his eyes as grim.
Francesca knew what he would say. She rushed to him. “Papa, you have always respected my judgment and my choices. You have been proud of me because I am an independent thinker. Do not do this!”
“Francesca.” He actually hugged her. “You are right. I have allowed you the freedom of choice and action that no one I know allows their daughter. But like your mother, my duty is to protect you. I have been opposed to Hart from the start. Like your mother, I do not care whether he is innocent or not.”
“That is not fair,” she said bitterly.
“Life is not fair, and I know you know that.” He hesitated. “I already ended the engagement, but neither you nor Hart seemed to listen or to care. I will not allow the marriage, Francesca, not now—and not ever.”
In that moment, Francesca realized that her father, the most kind and rational of men, was going to close his mind forever to Calder Hart, and the choice she must make became crystal clear. It saddened her to no end.
“Did you hear me?” he asked quietly.
And because she had no intention of ending the future she had planned with Hart, she did not tell her father that Hart had ended their engagement that morning. “Yes, I did. I am very sad, Papa,” she said as quietly.
“You will recover. I know you do not think so, but you are only twenty-one years old. Eventually, you will find someone else.”
“There is no one else,” she said calmly.
His eyes widened. It took Andrew a full moment to understand. “You are going to disobey me?”
“I am afraid so,” she said evenly, but her heart raced with sickening speed.
He was shocked. “Francesca, I forbid the marriage! I forbid your seeing him, period!”
Behind them, Julia gasped.
Francesca wasn’t certain she had ever been so hurt.
A lifetime of memories flashed through her mind.
She saw herself as a child eagerly and adoringly following her father about the house or his offices, soaking up his every word.
There were other moments, too, sitting in his lap while he read to her, or his tending to her skinned knee.
And later, as a young woman, there were the fierce debates they had shared, with one of them playing the devil’s advocate, as they were always on any issue’s same side.
“Papa,” she whispered. “I wish you weren’t making me choose, but you are. I am choosing the man I love, the man I trust, the man I believe in. I am choosing the future I am determined to have.”
Andrew had turned white. “First Evan,” he whispered in shock and disbelief. “But you, Francesca, you would oppose me this way?”
Nothing had ever been harder than turning away from the man she had loved, respected and admired for her entire life. She wiped away the moisture that was gathering in her eyes. “I can’t stay here anymore.” She closed her eyes, realizing that it was true. “I will move in with Connie.”
Julia cried out. “Francesca! You can’t mean it!”
Francesca smiled sadly at her. “I love you both. But Hart is in a difficult time. I am not abandoning him because of a temporary crisis. I wish you both could be supportive of me. But as you are not, yes, I do mean it. I am moving out.”
Julia sat down on the stairs, tears running down her cheeks.
Andrew had not moved. “Francesca, I am your father. No one, no one, loves you more than I do!”
“And I love you, too,” Francesca said. She hugged him briefly, kissing his cheek. “When Hart and I marry, you will always be welcome in our home.” She realized she would not be changing her clothes. She had to leave, before she lost all control, breaking down in tears.
Francesca went back across the hall, aware of her parents standing at its opposite end by the sweeping staircase, in shock and disbelief.
She vaguely smiled at the doorman, and as he blanched, she realized he had heard every word.
“Have Raoul meet me at Hart’s,” she told him, her tone tremulous.
She had no intention of waiting a half an hour for her carriage; she would take a cab.
“Francesca.” Julia ran after her.
Francesca faced her mother and hugged her, hard. “Don’t worry, Mama. It will all work out in the end. You shall see.”
“Will it?” Julia cried, weeping.
“Yes, it will.” She meant her every word.