Chapter 20

Twenty

Moore

"Forgive me, Mr. Emerson, but there's been no trace."

My fingers curled around the edges of my desk so that I didn't throw something. Or someone. "You aren't looking carefully enough. A woman like Miss O'Donahue does not just disappear . Find. Her," I growled.

The Pinkerton detective held up his palms. "Sir, we have fifteen detectives out twelve hours a day searching for her."

I slammed my palm on the wooden desktop. "Then hire fifteen more and work twenty hours a day!" I didn't care what it cost or who I had to badger. Rose disappeared three weeks ago and I needed answers. "She is somewhere and I need you all to find her."

"We've checked all the places you suggested and we've spoken with everyone who knows her. She didn't buy a rail or steamer ticket, and she didn't board a coach." He shrugged. "We are out of ideas."

As was I. I'd been out every day, every night, searching. Talking to anyone with even a brief association with Rose. They all claimed ignorance, even when I badgered them. No one knew her whereabouts, or at least they weren't telling anyone if they did.

I was losing my fucking mind.

The fury and panic gathering beneath my skin burst free, my rage choking me. Picking up the crystal tumbler on my desk, I hurled it against the wall. It didn't lessen my anger in the least, so I grabbed another tumbler and hurled that one, too. "Get out! You're fired!" I shouted at the Pinkerton. "You and the rest of the detectives are all fired. I'll find her my-goddamn-self!"

My office door opened and my mother's voice filled the room. "What in heaven's name is happening in here?"

"Everything is fine. This gentleman was just leaving." I waved my hand and rubbed my tired eyes. "No need for concern."

The Pinkerton dashed out of my office, the coward. My mother, on the other hand, didn't budge. Ignoring her, I picked up the report on Rose's last-known whereabouts—from two weeks ago—and began reading it again.

After a beat of silence, I heard the door close. Skirts rustled as footsteps sounded on the carpet. "This isn't a good time," I told her. "Whatever it is will need to wait."

"This will not wait. Furthermore, I am your mother and I will not tolerate such disrespect. Now, pull your head out of your arse and address me properly."

Never in all my thirty-eight years had I heard my mother use a crude word.

My jaw fell open as my head snapped up.

"I see I have your attention." She lowered herself into the chair the Pinkerton had vacated. "Good. Now, this has gone on long enough. You've been worse than a wounded bear since the engagement ended, which I find thoroughly confusing. I would think you'd be pleased to remain a bachelor. So why are you throwing my best crystal and terrorizing Pinkertons?"

I couldn't tell her. She wouldn't understand or approve. "It's nothing for you to worry about."

"Is this about Miss O'Donahue?"

All the air left my lungs in a rush. "How do you know her name?"

"Moore." She sighed. "I may be getting up in years, but do you honestly think I'm unaware of your association with her? Rumblings have reached my ears for weeks now. As we both know, Fifth Avenue is a very small world. And Miss O'Donahue is a talented actress and quite beautiful, from what I understand."

The damn gossips. I couldn't ever escape. "I suppose this was why you pushed for me to marry Gladys."

"Let me be clear: I wanted you to marry, plain and simple. I still do. But when Harold suggested his daughter, I couldn't see a reason to refuse. Of course, no one knew she was embroiled in an affair with Mr. Hyde, but that's a discussion for another day. You need a woman to soften your edges, Moore. To help you see there's more to life than sitting behind a desk."

Rose had done that. She'd gifted me with more joy than I ever dreamed possible.

I deserve to be enough for someone.

She was enough for me. Rose was all I ever needed—and when I found her again I would make sure she never doubted it.

"You've hired Pinkertons to find someone, so am I to understand that Miss O'Donahue has left New York?"

I was too exhausted to lie. "Yes. She is very angry with me."

"Why? What did you do?"

"She confessed that she loved me and wished to marry. Except I bungled it. I . . . didn't know what to say. It took me by surprise."

"Understandable, considering men of your station do not marry actresses."

I'd thought about this a lot while the Pinkertons were searching for Rose. Because if—no, when —I found her I was giving Rose everything she wanted. I didn't care what it was, because I wouldn't lose her again. "George Gould married Edith Kingdon. The two are quite happy, in fact."

My mother wrinkled her nose. "Well, the Goulds . What does one expect from that family?"

"Disparage them if you like, but times are changing, mother. And we'd best change with them. I married Eugenia out of duty and lived to regret it. God knows I would've been miserable married to Gladys. I'm not entertaining the possibility ever again. People wish to marry for love."

"Do you love this woman?"

"Yes," I answered immediately. "Unequivocally. And I'm going to marry her."

Her eyes rounded. "What of the talk? The entire city will dine on this news for months and rip you apart as they did before."

"I couldn't care less." And I didn't. As Rose once said, they were just words. What mattered was having the right people stand beside you during the difficult times. "I'm sorry the first scandal killed Papa, more than you'll ever know, but I can't?—"

"Killed your father? What on earth?" She leaned forward and placed her hand on the desk, almost as if she were reaching for me. "You cannot truly believe such nonsense, do you?"

I swallowed hard. "We both know he was in perfect health before the divorce trial. He tried to talk me out of it for weeks. Then his heart gave out once . . . " I couldn't manage the rest. My exhaustion and worry and heartache was bringing all of my pain to the surface, making it difficult to speak.

"Oh, Moore. That wasn't what happened. My dear boy, you've blamed yourself all this time." Her eyes grew glassy. "I'm so terribly sorry. I didn't . . . Well, I prefer that you never learn the true circumstances." She drew in a deep breath. "He died in bed with another woman."

The room tunneled to my mother's face and this revelation. Ears ringing, I said, "What?"

She toyed with her pearls, looking as nervous as I'd ever seen. "A mistress. Down on Jane Street. Imagine when she rang our telephone to inform me. I was utterly horrified."

"Were you aware of her?"

"Yes. All men think they are clever at hiding these things, but wives always know. Or at least suspect. Anyway, I have to assume his liaison was one of the reasons he didn't want you to go through with your trial. No doubt he worried the increased attention on the family might reveal his secret."

Reeling, I dragged my hand down my face. "This is unbelievable," I mumbled. "All this time . . . "

"So when Whitney-Dunn told you of my heart troubles, you thought you'd cause my death, as well."

I nodded, not surprised that she'd put it together. "I couldn't bear to be responsible. I couldn't lose you, too."

"Moore, you are not responsible for his death. Put that firmly out of your mind. And if I die, it's my time and no one's fault. Do you hear me? Stop sacrificing your happiness for your parents. It is supposed to be the other way around, for heaven's sake."

It was like a heavy weight lifted off my shoulders. I drew in the first truly deep breath since the trial began all those years ago. "I'm going to marry Rose, mother. Your daughter-in-law will be an actress from Ohio. I suggest you start growing accustomed to the idea."

"I will welcome her because I love you, but not everyone will understand. You must realize the obstacles you'll both face, the gossip and derision."

"Let everyone talk. I won't hide her or our marriage. In fact, to announce the engagement, I'll buy a full page advert in every newspaper from here to?—"

My jaw closed with a snap.

The newspapers. Of course. Those rags had once used me to sell copies, ripping me apart in my darkest moment. Perhaps it was time to use them .

"What is it?" my mother asked. "I see you've arrived at a conclusion of some sort. Does this mean you've realized where Miss O'Donahue has gone?"

"No, but I may have a way to reach her." I stood and buttoned my topcoat. "If you'll excuse me."

"Grandchildren, Moore. Legitimate grandchildren. That is all I ask."

I strode across the Persian carpets, hurrying toward the corridor. "Believe me, I'm working on it."