Always in My Dreams (44 page)

"Oh."

When he didn't expound, she put down her fork and rested her hands on her hips. "Well? Are you going to tell me, or do I have to read it for myself? I can, you know. I went to school long enough to learn how to do that."

His frown faded completely. He regarded her with some astonishment, realizing for the first time how deeply she had been stung by his comment about not knowing the difference between an adventurer and an adventuress. On that occasion he had told her to go back to school. She certainly hadn't forgotten. "You're welcome to read it," he said, pushing the paper toward her. "I have to get dressed and leave for a while." He saw her surprise. "I didn't think you'd object. You've never indicated that you expected a real honeymoon, and you seem to prefer your own company this morning."

That was plain enough. "Then I won't ask where you're going." She picked up the paper and opened it, studiously ignoring Walker while he prepared to leave.

On the point of going, he inquired, "Shall I ask Mrs. Cavanaugh to take care of the broken mirror?"

Seven years' bad luck, she was thinking. "She's probably already asked one of the maids to see to it."

"Very well. You should consider packing some things. I don't intend that we should spend another night here."

She looked up from the newspaper. "Not spend another night here?" she asked. "But where—"

"We'll discuss it when I get back."

They certainly would. Her sharp glance told him as much.

Walker was unaffected. "I shouldn't be gone more than a few hours."

Skye stared at the paper again. The words blurred in front of her, but she gave every indication that she was immersed in her reading. It wasn't until the door closed that the first tear slipped past her lower lashes.

* * *

Walker's first order of business took him to the telegraph office at Broadway and 34th Street. He sent off a quick message to the station at Baileyboro for Parnell, mentioning the article that had appeared in the
Chronicle.
It would be enough to whet Parnell's interest and confirm in his mind that Walker was still in his employ. The brief message was the only communication Walker had had with Parnell since leaving Baileyboro. He could well imagine that his employer wasn't pleased about that. Parnell must have wondered what was taking so long.

Walker's second stop was the offices of the
Chronicle.
He had to wait almost an hour to see Logan Marshall, but he was in no particular hurry. He spent the time in the busy editing and copy room, observing the frenetic activity of the reporters and press men with interest and amusement. It didn't give him the time to dwell on the difficult morning he'd spent with Skye.

The meeting with Logan was brief, and Walker was able to gather more information about the exposition. The material for the story had been supplied by the sponsors of the event and Walker was given the name of one man in particular to contact.

Everything about Franklin Dover was large except for his voice. His proportions were perfectly suited to his six-foot-six frame, which made it all the more surprising that he was so soft spoken. One anticipated a voice that would echo in his barrel chest and bellow from his lungs. Instead, Walker found himself leaning forward in his chair, straining to hear what Mr. Dover had to say.

"You're quite right, of course," Dover said. "The initial plans for the exposition were made well over a year ago. The idea was to present something for scientists and inventors, a forum for discussion and consideration of new ideas."

"And the response?" Walker asked.

"Overwhelmingly favorable. We're expecting attendees from all over this country and possibly fifty or more from Europe." Franklin Dover sat back in his chair. He might have dwarfed it, but it had been specially made to support him. His dark side whiskers widened an already broad face. He stroked one side with his thumb, his expression thoughtful. "What's your interest in the exhibition?" he asked. "Do you have something you wish to enter?"

Walker shook his head. "No, nothing like that. I expect it would be too late anyway, wouldn't it?"

"The planning committee is still considering some items for inclusion. Only something very noteworthy could be added at this time. There is no altering the lecture series. After all, the exhibition is only a month away."

"Then the list of men scheduled to speak has been confirmed?"

He nodded. His large hands came together in front of him and formed a steeple. His index fingers tapped together. "That's right."

"Including Jonathan Parnell?"

"Everyone." His brows knit slightly. "Are you interested in his topic?"

Walker had introduced himself to Franklin Dover as representing John MacKenzie Worth's interests and those of Northeast Rail. Worth's name had appeared among those who were bankrolling the exhibition. The group of powerful and wealthy men were politely referred to as "contributors," but Walker recognized their concern was self-interest. They were moved to add their money to the kitty by an entrepreneurial gambling spirit, definitely not the same spirit with which they contributed to libraries and the arts. "Jay Mac is interested in Parnell's topic," he said, correcting the impression that the questions were entirely his own.

"As far as I know, Parnell plans to attend. At least, I haven't heard anything to the contrary."

"You've met Mr. Parnell?" asked Walker.

"No. He's something of a recluse. That's why we were pleased to have his confirmation. He must be very excited about his work and quite far along if he's prepared to share his advances." Dover's own excitement could not quite be contained. His pale blue eyes burned with a particular brightness. "I take it representatives from Northeast will be there."

Walker smiled faintly at the question Franklin Dover would not ask directly. "I think you can count on Jay Mac attending."

"That's very good indeed."

Levering out of his chair, Walker extended his hand to Dover. His fingers were engulfed immediately in the other man's large, powerful hand. "Jay Mac wondered if you might have a list of those planning to attend," he lied shamelessly.

"I'm sure I do." He hesitated. "But I'm not—"

"To conduct business," Walker explained. "Jay Mac is hoping to meet with certain individuals there."

Franklin Dover gave in easily. There couldn't be any harm in releasing the list. If it made Jay Mac happy, then there was something to be gained through cooperation. "I'll get it for you."

When Walker left he had a neatly copied list in his pocket. He presented it to Jay Mac at his office at the Worth Building. Jay Mac looked it over carefully, adjusting his spectacles several times during his slow perusal.

"What is it you want to know again?" he asked, lowering the paper a mere fraction so he could see Walker over the edge. "It's hard to see that anyone in industry's been left out."

Walker sighed. That was his first thought when he had seen the list. "I need to know which ones are most likely to have been interested in Parnell's work. Who'd have the most to gain?"

Jay Mac placed the list on top of his desk, then rooted through his middle drawer for a pen. He jabbed it in the inkwell and began checking off names. "Rockefeller. Vanderbilt. William Barnaby. Stanford. Fisk. Gould. Rushton Holiday." He glanced at Walker. "Perhaps you'd rather I checked who's
not
likely to be interested."

"No, sir; you're telling me what I need to know."

Jay Mac continued to work. He said casually, "My daughter suffered no ill effects from her bout of drinking?"

"Not after she was sick."

Jay Mac chuckled. "Serves her right. She was behaving badly, sullen and spoiled."

"She was lonely," Walker said. "Missing her sisters."

Pausing, Jay Mac looked up. "They would have been there if they could have."

"She knows that. As comfort, it went only so far."

"I see." He went back to work. "When are you going to tell her about you?"

"Tonight. I know I haven't been fair to her, but I'll tell her tonight. I have to return to Parnell's. I can't say what he's going to do about the exhibition. I should be there. I
have
to be there."

"Skye won't like that."

"I know." Even before the announcement in the paper, Walker had been thinking about returning to Baileyboro. He knew he was going to have to explain it to Skye. He wondered if she'd want to return with him or if she'd be glad to see him go. "We're going to take a room tonight at the St. Mark," he told Jay Mac.

Jay Mac nodded. "That's probably wise. You have to work things out for yourselves. Does Moira know?"

"I didn't see her this morning." It was an easier explanation than admitting he'd only just decided where he and Skye would go.

"I'll have a suite reserved for you," Jay Mac said. "A wedding gift."

"That's kind of you. We both appreciate it."

He held up a hand as he slid the list across the desk to Walker. "Don't thank me yet. You could be sorry that Skye won't have anywhere to run."

"Skye's not a runner," Walker said. "I've learned that about her." He was surprised that Jay Mac didn't know his daughter better. "Damn the torpedoes. That's Skye."

Jay Mac considered Walker thoughtfully. "You're right," he said after a moment. "I was thinking of her sister. Maggie's gentle, more of a peacemaker... more like her mother. Skye's more..."

"Like you?"

Removing his spectacles, Jay Mac shook his head. "No," he said. "Not like me. Skye's like... Skye. All my daughters are unique, but I can see myself or Moira in each of them, except for Mary Schyler."

"She thinks the talent was tapped by the time it was her turn to be born."

Jay Mac's eyebrows rose. "She told you that?"

Walker nodded. "Almost her exact words." He picked up the list but didn't glance at the checked names. He folded it once and slipped it in his pocket. It was clear he had given Jay Mac something to think about. Now Walker decided to give him the time. "I may not see you this evening," he said. He tapped his pocket. "Thank you. You've been helpful." Jay Mac nodded absently. Walker showed himself to the door.

* * *

Skye had not packed anything. Walker knew he couldn't blame indecision for her lack of cooperation. What to pack wasn't the problem; taking orders was.

Walker found Skye in the library. She was alone, curled in a chair with a blanket over her legs. A heavy book rested partially in her lap and partially on the arm of the chair. Her feathered brows were furrowed in concentration. She was pulling a strand of hair through her lips as she read. The damp tip was dark. Walker stood just inside the door, watching her for several minutes before she sensed his presence.

"You're back," she said. Her tone was without inflection.

Walker thought she might actually go back to reading, but she slipped a leather marker in the book and put it on the table beside her. He recognized the book as the same one she'd been reading at Parnell's. "You took that from the Granville library." It wasn't an accusation, merely a comment.

Skye's guilty conscience made her answer a little defensively. "I plan to return it."

He almost offered to take it back with him, but the timing was wrong. "I've been to your room. I noticed you haven't packed anything."

She tucked the heavy plaid blanket about her legs. "There's nothing wrong with your powers of observation."

"Where's your mother?"

"She's gone to see Mary Francis. Why? Are you going to beat me?" She flinched as he raised his hand, although he only ran it through his hair. He looked as if he was seriously considering how to respond to her question. "I'm sorry," she said after a moment. "I shouldn't have said that."

Walker pushed away from the door and sat down opposite her. His eyes fell to the blanket. "Are you feeling well?"

"I'm fine. No lingering effects from last night. I was chilly, that's all."

He rose, briefly stoked the fire and added wood, then returned to his seat. "Better?"

Skye shrugged. "It was fine before," she said. "There was no need to—"

"Damn it, Skye! I'm not your enemy. Our marriage doesn't have to be a war. Even the simplest exchange is a battle with you, every glance is a skirmish."

She glanced at the clock. "And it's been just a little over twenty-four hours," she said drily. "Can you imagine years of this?"

"No," he said firmly.

Her smile held no warmth. "Neither can I." She got up and tossed Walker the blanket. "I'm going to pack now. I'll go wherever you'd like, Walker, and show you I can be compliant in my own fashion. You should know, however, that I don't intend to share a bed with you."

"You're a trifle late coming to that decision," he said. "It would have been more timely four days ago, when you showed up at the St. Mark wearing a gown and little else." He watched blood suffuse her pale complexion. "Still, I'm not averse to the idea myself." If anything, her color darkened with this announcement. Clearly she hadn't expected him to agree with her. She thought she had established battle lines that he couldn't ignore only to find he was willing to do just that. "We'll leave as soon as your mother returns. Jay Mac is reserving a suite for us at the St. Mark and knows not to expect us this evening."