CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Late that evening, the mansion was quieter than it had been for weeks.

The Thompsons had sent the majority of their staff home to Chicago, given that there was not much for them to do until the shareholders voted on the merger in the coming days. As was usually the case when Oliver was out of town, the frenetic level of activity that usually filled the house had slowed considerably. Although the staff was occupied cleaning the residential suites and offices after weeks of hosting so many additional guests, they went about their chores with less of a rush about them.

Grace found herself feeling much less relaxed than she should, however, in spite of the fact that the library was empty save for her.

Realizing she had read the same page in her book twice without comprehending a word written on it, she sighed and closed it. She leaned back on the sofa, her eyes unfocused as she stared into space. Annie and Molly had been put to bed, she had relayed all of Oliver's messages via telegraph to his hotel in Boston, and all was quiet, but she couldn't shake the feeling of unease within her.

Oliver's cousin Margaret had come that morning to collect Emmeline from the mansion. After the Bushes had said their goodbyes and departed the house, Grace had made cheering up Annie, Molly, and Jack her priority for the day. By all accounts, they had had a perfectly lovely day: a swim in the pool, a walk through the park, a visit to the bookstore where Jack had picked out a new comic book and Annie and Molly had eagerly perused all the books they were excited to read after they started their schooling.

But she had felt a heavy weight on her shoulders the entire day, one that did not dissipate in spite of how much enjoyment she had taken from spending time with the children. The morning's argument with Oliver—their first real argument, she realized, since their relationship had begun—had left her feeling deeply unsettled.

Was it unrealistic, as he had said, to expect that she could stay in her job and give Annie and Molly the full attention they needed from their new mother?

It had never occurred to her until now that there could be tension between those two priorities. Her own mother had worked hard for the entirety of Grace's childhood, carting the three Farrell children between home and the pharmacy while she and Douglas labored together to build up the business. Grace had many fond memories of playing with her brothers in the storerooms behind the pharmacy while their parents worked. As the children grew older, they had been expected to help fill orders and stock shelves under their mother's watchful gaze. Although the words "FARRELL AND SON" were emblazoned on the shopfront, her mother had been as instrumental to the business as any of the men, and Grace was immensely proud of the lessons her mother had imparted to her about the value of hard work.

But then, she had to admit, Oliver ran his businesses—and every other aspect of his life—at a faster pace than most people could keep up with.

Before Annie's arrival at the mansion earlier that summer, the daily routine in the Warbucks mansion had been grueling. Oliver was usually awake no later than six in the morning, reading the morning papers and responding to personal correspondence in his suite. She had been expected promptly in the office no later than seven-thirty, at which point he would hand her a long list of to-do items that he had started hours earlier. She then worked until whenever he dismissed her in the evening. Some nights that could be as early as seven o'clock if he was attending a function out of the house, more often it wasn't until nine or ten o'clock. And she knew the light behind the door of his private suite was often lit well into the early hours of the morning.

Annie had thrown their daily routine into complete chaos, of course. Before the Thompsons had traveled from Chicago to finalize the steel merger, Oliver had been working less, delegating more tasks to his executive staff, and slightly loosening the tight grip with which he ran all of his companies and enterprises so that he could take meals with Annie and spend some time with her each day.

But since the merger talks had begun, it felt like their old way of life had finally reasserted control and resumed its normal course. He was back to working long hard hours, never out of reach of a telegram or critical phone call, and always thinking about his work even at times when he wasn't actively working. In spite of having adopted Annie and Molly, the other responsibilities on Oliver's shoulders had not changed. After all, he still ran dozens of companies with tens of thousands of employees and millions of dollars in annual revenue. And he did need a full-time secretary to help him manage it all.

When she thought about it that way, it did indeed seem hard to imagine that she could continue to play the same role she always had while spending as much time with the children as she hoped to.

But was leaving her role entirely the only option? That idea just didn't sit well with her, and she frowned at the thought of suddenly walking away from her career entirely and doing—what, exactly, all day? Nothing? Shopping, planning parties, playing hostess for the wives of New York's social elite? For some people, she supposed, living that sort of care-free socialite life was the stuff of dreams. But it sounded dreadfully dull to her.

In addition, Grace couldn't help but frown at the thought of deferring the daily work she did with Oliver all day to someone else. Would she see him at all if she were no longer his secretary? Would he be holed up in his office all day and night working with another secretary who all of a sudden saw him far more than his own wife did? Was it possible, she suddenly wondered with a jolt, that the amount of time she spent with him would actually decrease after their marriage? Would she have to go to his new secretary and beg for time on his schedule so that they could eat dinner together or take the children to a movie? That was a terrible thought.

And, worst of all, Grace had to admit that she had also felt a twinge of a far uglier emotion when Oliver had raised the notion of replacing her: jealousy.

How could he possibly expect her to appraise and interview candidates to replace her as his right-hand staffer, his gatekeeper, the person who supported his every endeavor and with whom he spent more time than arguably anyone else in the world? She swallowed a lump in her throat. How could he expect her to find someone new for the role that had led her to fall in love with him in the first place?

She was pulled out of the deep pit into which her thoughts had spiraled with a jump and a shock when the door to the library swung open with a creak.

"Oh, good heavens!" It was Michael Thompson. "I'm terribly sorry, Grace. I didn't meant to startle you."

"Oh, it's fine, Michael," she said hurriedly, a hand over her racing heart. "I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn't hear you approaching."

"Well, I'm sorry again for disturbing you. I was just coming in here to look over some of the accounting for the Missouri operations, but …" He trailed off, and she saw he was looking at her with a concerned expression on his face. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she lied, knowing at once that he wouldn't believe her.

He raised his eyebrows.

"I'm fine," she repeated. She placed her book on the coffee table in front of her and rose to her feet. "It's just been a long day, that's all."

Michael nodded slowly, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Might a walk help?"

"A what?"

"A walk," he repeated. "I've very much enjoyed my nightly walks up and down Fifth Avenue since we got here. After long days of arguing over the fiddliest details of the merger with you and Oliver, it's a nice way to clear the mind and relax a bit."

Michael wasn't wrong, Grace mused several minutes later as they stepped through the mansion's front gates and meandered south down Fifth Avenue. Some fresh air might indeed do her good.

Although it was after nine o'clock at night and the glimmering stars hung low in the dark sky, the avenue was still alive and bustling with activity. The heat of the late summer day had cooled considerably since the sun had gone down, making for a pleasant evening that offered a first cool hint of the approaching autumn. On their right, Central Park was cast in a dark shadow, but streetlamps along both sides of the road illuminated a steady stream of cars making their way along the street. Well-clad couples and children strolled up and down the sidewalk enjoying the fine weather, and she could hear the lively sounds of an orchestra, merrily chatting voices, and clinking glasses from within the opulent Stuyvesant mansion as they passed it on the left.

"I find it fascinating that Oliver chooses to spend so much of his time here in the city," Michael commented as they walked.

"Why is that?"

"It's just so loud and crowded. We have a nice brownstone in downtown Chicago, of course, but I find the hustle and bustle of the city tiring. I much prefer our estate farther north on Lake Michigan. There's far more green space, and the lake views all around are spectacular."

Grace smiled. "It sounds lovely. I think in Oliver's case, he finds the city invigorating—when he makes the time to get out and see it."

"He has an estate in the Hudson Valley, though, I thought? Do you get up there much?"

She shook her head. "Not recently, no. We haven't been up there since the girls came to live with us, but I hope we can take them soon after the merger is finished. I think we could all use a bit of a break."

"I'm sure that would be nice for all of you. Especially to have some uninterrupted time with Oliver."

Grace shook her head ruefully. "It would be nice, although we most likely wouldn't get much of that even at the country house. It still has everything he needs to keep the businesses running smoothly even when he's on vacation."

Michael was silent, and when he next spoke his voice was quieter.

"I don't mean to be impertinent, but does that sort of thing have anything to do with your feeling blue this evening? Oliver has certainly been busier than usual lately. I know you haven't seen him much at all, other than while we've all been working."

Grace did not respond for a long moment as they walked, his question bringing another lump to her throat and the sting of tears to the corners of her eyes. Were her feelings really that transparent, even to someone like Michael who barely knew her?

"I'm sorry," Michael said hastily. "I've upset you."

"No, no," Grace said quickly, but she winced as the hitch in her voice gave her away. "I've just …" She sighed deeply. "I suppose I've spent a lot of time recently thinking about how things around here will change after Oliver and I get married, that's all. I'm only just now starting to realize that I may see him less than I always have before. The children will need a lot of time and attention, and I know I can't expect his workload to change significantly."

"Indeed," Michael mused softly. "I can only imagine that after this merger is finished he has some other new endeavor in mind to focus his energies on next." He paused for a moment before speaking again. "You must miss him terribly when he works so much."

"I do," she admitted. "And it never ends. It'll be this merger today, serving on the board for some New Deal initiative tomorrow, and dealing with a new economic crisis in Europe the day after. Sometimes it would be nice to feel as if he loves me and the children as much as he loves his work."

The words were out of her mouth almost before she realized it. Feeling suddenly that she had said too much, she silently resolved to blink her eyes dry and change the subject.

"I'm sorry for bringing this up, Michael. I shouldn't burden you with all of this. It has nothing to do with—"

"Oh, no, Grace," he hurriedly assured her. "I don't mind at all. I can imagine how this would be difficult. Oliver's a busy man. He's got so many competing demands on his attention. It's only natural to feel like, well, like having a family just doesn't fit into the equation. To be completely honest …" He stopped walking and looked at her sympathetically. "I don't think it's fair, the position he's putting you in."

Grace stopped as well. "What do you mean?"

Michael sighed, running a hand through his chestnut hair.

"Grace, I don't know if you know this, but you're an extraordinary woman." Before she could respond, he went on. "You're astonishingly beautiful, if I may be so forthright, brilliant at everything you do, and to beat all of that, you're a genuinely lovely person. It's clear as day that you'd do anything for Oliver and the children. It just isn't fair that he doesn't value that as much as he should!"

She blinked. "Michael, that's very kind, but—"

"In fact, I'd go so far as to say Oliver doesn't deserve you."

She took a step back in stunned surprise at the boldness of his words. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry for speaking so bluntly, Grace, but I just had to say it!" he exclaimed. "You deserve to be with someone who recognizes what they've got in you. Someone who makes all the time in the world for you and prioritizes you first. It's inconceivable to me that Oliver doesn't see that that's what he should be doing!"

She was so shocked at the impertinence of his speech that she couldn't immediately think of an appropriate retort, and he plowed forward.

"Think of the night you invited me to the theater," he insisted. "Is that how the rest of your life with him is going to be? Always wanting more of his time and attention than he's willing to give you?"

"Michael—" she began, but he spoke over her.

"Grace, I've got to say something. I know this isn't a good time, but gosh darnit, there may never be a good time, and I've got to be honest with you." Suddenly, he was clasping both of her hands in his tightly. "I think I'm falling in love with you, Grace. I see how Oliver takes you for granted, and it just makes my blood boil!" He looked earnestly into her eyes. "I know I'm out of line, and I know you're engaged, and I know this is a lot to ask, but Grace—am I too late? Is there any chance that you would consider me?"

Grace opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. What in heaven's name was happening? With a vigorous a shake of her head, she pulled her hands out of his and took a step back.

"No! Michael, what on earth are you talking about? I'm sorry if what I was saying tonight has somehow given you the wrong idea, but—"

"Grace, please, think about it," he pleaded as he reached for her again. "Think about what kind of life and husband you really want!"

"Michael," Grace said firmly, trying to control her shaking voice and taking another step back away from him, "this is certainly flattering, but what you're saying simply won't—"

And then suddenly, before she even realized what was happening, his hands were reaching for her, pulling her toward him, and his lips were on hers. She gasped, struggling against his strong grip holding her firmly, and it was several long seconds before she managed to wrench herself free of his grasp.

"What do you think you're doing?" she cried, pushing him away from her forcefully.

"Grace! Please—" he pleaded, reaching for her again.

Mustering her wits about her, she slapped his face as hard as she could, and her palm connected with his cheek with a loud clap that drew the startled stares of several others walking down the street.

"Don't you dare touch me again!"

Turning on her heels, she stalked back up the avenue as quickly as she could short of breaking into a full run. She didn't turn back to see if Michael was running after her, didn't even stop to look around or back over her shoulder at all until she had pushed past the bewildered security guard at the front gate, stormed through the mansion's front doors, and locked herself away in her suite.