The Firebrand (30 page)

"But all of them are not," said Mrs. Silver.

"Just most of them," Mrs. Kennedy pointed out.

"Our claim is—" Lucy spied Rand and stopped abruptly. "Oh, hello," she said. "You're home."

He had an instant and unexpected reaction to seeing her again. She was disheveled, her face flushed, eyes bright and hair in charming disarray, and he found her appearance uniquely unsettling. There was a peculiar quality to the lust she inspired in him. It had a way of undermining his every thought and intention. He meant to yell at her for running off the governess, but instead he simply stood there, the letter forgotten in his hand.

Wiping her fingers on her smock, she gestured at her friends. "Deborah and Kathleen have come to help. You met them at the wedding, remember? Miss Landauer and Mrs. Boggs are working on the banners in the yard and keeping an eye on the children."

Pretending the circumstances were not completely absurd, he said the usual how-do-you-dos. He wondered why a woman like Deborah Silver would involve herself in politics. She was well-known as the wealthiest heiress in the city. After losing her father in a scandal-laden tragedy, she'd married Tom Silver, turned her efforts to philanthropy and was much in demand by the leading hostesses of Chicago. He knew less about Mrs. Kennedy, though like everyone else he'd heard the gossip: She was the daughter of Mrs. O'Leary, in whose barn the Great Fire had started.

He glanced at the sign Deborah was lettering. "I am no man's chattel." Odd that such a seemingly agreeable, refined woman could be a radical.

"Thank you," said Mrs. Kennedy, "for the use of your home for our work. It's ever so much more spacious than Lucy's apartment over the shop."

"To be honest, I had no idea any 'work' would be taking place here."

"We meet once a month to work on the campaign for the vote," Lucy said, not even pretending to be contrite. "We shall have to meet more often to prepare for the Centennial on July Fourth."

Something in his expression must have alerted Mrs. Silver, for she stood quickly. "Kathleen, we really must be going. The children will be as wild as coyotes if we don't round them up soon."

"But—"

"Now, Kathleen." Mrs. Silver spoke sweetly, but eyed the other with steely determination.

"I'll see you ladies out," Viola said.

After the four women had left with their children in tow, Rand surveyed the house. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in explaining yourself to me."

"I explain myself to no one," Lucy said. "As my wife, you have a duty to—"

"I
told
you I wouldn't be good at being a wife." "Suppose I were to ask out of simple, polite interest?" "In that case, I would be happy to enlighten you." "I'm interested," he said.

"But you're not very polite. You practically ran my friends off. It was rude." "I'm not accustomed to coming home to chaos." Stalking to the window, he

glared out to see the four women herding the children into the waiting coaches.

"Who the devil are they?" "I told you—"

"Their names." He turned back to face her. "But that's not what I'm asking."

She planted her hands on her hips and thrust up her chin. On her, the defiant stance merely looked charming. "Deborah and Kathleen are two of my dearest friends. Lila Landauer came to the shop, hoping to improve her English, which I'm happy to say she has. Sarah Boggs and her two children visited the shop, too, when she—"

He didn't like the way she hesitated. "When she what?"

"She never learned to read, and her husband forbade her to pursue it. So she comes in secret." Lucy dropped her hands and clenched them into fists at her side. "She tried to divorce him once, but her suit was denied. All she got for her troubles was a beating from her husband and another baby on the way. This is the sort of injustice I'm fighting. Don't try to stop me."

"Is painting provocative slogans on banners going to change things for the woman?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but one day it will. Not just for her, but for all women." Agitated, she began tidying up the room, stacking pamphlets and closing the lids on the paint jars. "There is to be a significant march on the Fourth of July," she announced, "and we intend to be prepared."

"A march," he said, picturing a line of wild-eyed, chanting women surging through the streets of Chicago.

"Indeed. The Centennial of our nation's birth provides the perfect occasion to make a plea for our cause. A hundred years ago, Americans protested taxation without representation and declared that all men were created equal."

"I'm well aware of that."

"Women pay taxes," she explained. "Yet we are not permitted to vote for representation. It's a travesty, and I will not rest until it changes."

Her pale face lit with determination, Rand realized then that, in arranging to marry her, he'd overlooked a key element. Simply marrying Lucy Hathaway was not going to make her a biddable wife.

He had a sudden thought of his mother, lurking deep in the shadows of memory. She hadn't been biddable, either.

Her independent spirit had left the broken wreckage of her family in its wake, and years later, he was still finding jagged shards of betrayal in his heart.

"You're not to do any more of your organizing under my roof," he snapped. "I won't tolerate it."

Her brown eyes widened with amazement. "I beg your pardon?" "I said—"

"I heard what you said. I simply can't imagine why you'd think I would do as you say."

"Because this is my house. Maggie is my daughter, and you are my wife."

"I'm not an idiot, Mr. Higgins. Was I foolish to believe you're not, either?

Because truly, only an idiot would oppose equal rights and universal suffrage."

He clenched his teeth, holding in his anger. "I don't give a damn who gets the vote. But if equality means women will turn their backs on their families, then I have a problem with that."

"I haven't turned my back on my family," she said heatedly. "If anything, I've been even more attentive to the needs of my daughter."

"So attentive that you've driven away the governess."

She formed her mouth into a round O of surprise. "Really? What a pity." She made a bouquet of paintbrushes in a jar of water.

"Miss Lowell is one of the most reputable educators in Chicago." He took out the letter, which he'd stuffed into his pocket. "She has resigned, citing your lack of cooperation with her educational program."

"Her educational program consisted of trussing my child into a corset and forcing her to recite meaningless phrases, memorize pointless rules of etiquette and stay inside on a perfectly beautiful day."

"She has worked for some of the best families in Chicago. Clearly she knows what she's about."

"As I know what I am about." Lucy rolled up a large banner and aligned it on the table with several others. "I'm about justice and commitment and change for the better."

"You are about ineffective carping and agitation. If marches and demonstrations worked, then you'd already have the vote. What you're doing isn't just foolhardy, it's dangerous."

She planted her hands on the tabletop and leaned forward. He knew he shouldn't be staring at her breasts, but he did, nearly forgetting the thread of their argument until she said, "You're wrong. What could be dangerous about fighting for freedom?"

"Next time you see Robert Todd Lincoln, you could ask him," Rand bit out.

She narrowed her eyes. "Your point is well taken. But if the people who fought to make this country free had accepted tyranny, we'd still be singing 'Rule Brittania.'"

"You think I'm being an alarmist. You think I'm overreacting." "For once we agree."

"A public demonstration is tempting fate. You know as well as I do that there are those who will resort to violence in order to silence you."

"Are you one of those?" she demanded. "Of course not."

"Then I have nothing to worry about, do I?"

God, but she was naive. Frustratingly so. He could see he was getting nowhere arguing with her, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. He wondered why keeping her safe mattered so greatly. It was because he cared about her. As the woman Maggie called mother, of course, but there was something more. To his amazement, he realized he cared about Lucy as his wife.

"You have nothing to worry about," he stated, shaken by the realization, "because there will be no more of your organizing under my roof."

"We'll just see about that." Holding her rolled-up banners like a stack of battle lances, she spun around and marched out of the room.

Lucy was a prisoner, trapped like a rodent. There was no other way to look at it. On the table in her bedroom lay a newspaper opened to an account of her wedding in the
Chicago Tribune.
"Mr. Randolph Higgins, President of the Union Trust Bank, was married to Miss Lucille Hathaway, daughter of the late Colonel Hiram and Viola Sherman Hathaway..." The article went on, but she could barely bring herself to read it.

She was accustomed to committing social blunders and inspiring gossip. And in a perverse way, she enjoyed being the subject of scandal. When she shocked people by hosting a rally or by getting arrested for voting, that meant she was pushing aside antiquated ways. Her reputation and her career depended on

stepping outside the social norm. But deep down, it had always bothered her when people scorned her.

After the fiasco today, she realized that her husband's career depended upon his avoiding scandal and exhibiting unimpeachable behavior.

Lucy put aside the paper and pressed her fingers to her temples. Dear Lord, she thought, what have I done? Rand had accomplished the one thing she'd dedicated her life to avoiding. He'd taken her freedom from her. She couldn't stay here another instant.

As she paced her room, her gaze fell on a pair of carpetbags, and panic seized her. Could she simply walk away, as the governess had? She thought of Maggie and her heart constricted, but what sort of mother would she be if she were a miserable prisoner under the thumb of an autocratic husband?

This was all her own doing. She was the one who had insisted on taking the path of honor, bringing Maggie together with the father she didn't know. Lucy had known there would be consequences, and she should have been better prepared for them.

Now she must do what she should have done in the first place. She must take her fight to the courts, even though she'd been advised that her cause was hopeless. If it took every last penny she had, she would win Maggie back again.

With chin held high, she began to pack the carpetbags.

"I very much doubt," said a stern voice from the doorway, "that he explained the reason for his reluctance to allow subversive activities in his home."

Lucy froze. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face Rand's grandmother.

"I won't pretend ignorance," Grace said. "It's quite clear that you're leaving because Randolph has forbidden you to do your organizing here."

"It's unreasonable. I cannot live like this."

Leaning on her cane, Grace crossed the room and sat in a gilt chair upholstered in rose-colored damask. "Why do you suppose he disapproves of your suffrage work?"

Lucy tightened her grip on the handle of the bag. "Like all men, he's uncomfortable admitting a woman can be his equal."

"'You're oversimplifying the situation." "What do you mean?"

"You might claim your rights as an individual, but you have a blind spot when it comes to your husband. It's not your fault, you married in haste, but now you must ask yourself, what do you really know about him?"

Lucy had picked up the box containing her favorite pen and inkwell, but the question made her pause. This was her husband's grandmother, someone who had known him all his life. She rubbed her thumb over the lid of the olivewood box. "Only what little he's chosen to share."

"I thought so." Behind the round, steel-rimmed spectacles, Grace's eyes clouded with nostalgia. "He was a beautiful boy, always the best at sports and his studies. His father was so proud of him. He grew into a man whose looks exceeded his fortune, and believe you me, he used those looks to advantage."

Recalling their first meeting five years ago, Lucy pictured the arrogant, flirtatious ladies' man, so handsome that when he had walked through the salon of the hotel, people had stopped their conversations simply to stare. She was forced to remember her helpless attraction to him. "He did," she said quietly.

"As you might imagine, he had his choice of brides, and was smart enough to choose one with a handsome dowry. I believe they would have settled into quite a conventional and pleasant life, except that a disaster occurred."

"The fire." Lucy would forever recall that night with mixed emotions. "I lost my beloved father that night, Grace. But I gained a precious daughter."

"Until recently, your husband knew only loss. Now he has regained his daughter and found a new wife." Her bulb-knuckled hands, in their lace mitts, closed over the head of her cane. "But there is one thing he can never recover."

Diana,
thought Lucy. The beauty he'd picked from the dozens who wanted him.

"His looks," Grace stated, taking Lucy completely by surprise.

"I don't understand. Are you saying the change in his appearance has caused him to disapprove of suffrage work?"

"Don't pretend to be daft—I know you're not." The cane thumped the floor with impatience. "He disapproves because he fears it will break apart his family

—again. My grandson used to have all the self-confidence in the world, but that changed after the fire. A man can be as vain as a woman. In this I agree with your equality talk. And Randolph certainly did have his pride. I arrived in Chicago eight months after the fire. This house was nearly finished, and Diana wouldn't even step inside, even though he'd built it for her. There was not a single mirror in the place, and all the curtains remained shut. He lived like a beast in a cave, hating the sunlight, hating the stares, hating everything. But most of all, hating himself." The old lady's voice broke, but she held Lucy's gaze. "In time, he rejoined the world again, finding his place at the bank. He uses gruffness to cover his true sentiments. That creature in the dark is still there, inside him, I think."