Five minutes later he had his volunteers, and now his job was no longer solving the mystery of Liam’s birth, but simply to keep him alive.
20
Gwen had become increasingly confident that she wanted Patrick O’Neill to become a part of her life. He was strong and kind and funny. Thoroughly good. He had gone all the way to Pittsburgh just to help her solve the mystery of Liam Malone. The last, lingering vestiges of her resentment over his representation of Mick Malone evaporated in the face of Patrick’s unstinting generosity. What other man would so selflessly give of himself?
She didn’t give a fig about their class differences, but some of her relatives might look down their noses at him. She couldn’t bear it if they treated Patrick shabbily, and that meant she needed to recruit Uncle Oscar’s wife, the Blackstones’ reigning social maven, to her side. Poppy was the most virulent snob in the family, but Gwen would try to soften her.
Poppy had invited a number of the Blackstone ladies to admire her newly decorated nursery. It would be the perfect opportunity for Gwen to announce that after two years of lonely widowhood, she was ready to begin a formal courtship.
Poppy and Oscar lived in a marble monstrosity on Fifth Avenue. Oscar’s daughter from his first marriage lived there as well, but Gwen didn’t expect Natalia to join the party. The animosity between Poppy and Natalia was palpable, but Gwen had always liked Natalia, even though they couldn’t be more different. While Gwen chose a bohemian life among artists and intellectuals, Natalia was a buttoned-down woman who inherited her father’s skills as a business analyst.
A pair of her aunts arrived at the same time as Gwen, and they exchanged greetings outside the house. Gwen reached out to embrace her favorite aunt. Technically, Martha was her great-aunt, the youngest of her grandfather’s five sisters.
“I’m so glad Poppy could lure you away from campus,” Aunt Martha said. “I know you don’t care for the city.”
“I couldn’t resist the chance to see Poppy’s nursery,” Gwen said, feeling only a twinge of jealousy. She’d always wanted children, but Jasper’s disinterest in her made it almost impossible to conceive. Maybe she would soon have children of her own. Patrick would be a wonderful father. Perhaps she was getting ahead of herself, but the longing to have Patrick’s dependable strength and humor in her world was becoming increasingly hard to deny.
Oscar’s home was made of white marble, gilt furniture, and had murals painted on every soaring ceiling. To her surprise, Natalia waited for them in the hallway. It was a Monday, and Natalia had dressed for work in a tailored indigo suit with a nipped-in jacket and wore her dark hair coiled into a sleek chignon.
Gwen kissed Natalia’s cheek in greeting. “I gather I have you to thank for your father’s decision to extend funding on the college for another year.”
“My father’s heart is deeply buried, but I know where to find it.”
Aunt Helen moved in, her pin curls bobbing as she scrutinized Natalia. “I didn’t think you’d want to attend Poppy’s little tea party.”
Natalia smiled tightly. “Father has asked me to make an effort to appease Poppy. I’ll have a little tea, then go to the bank. I’m excited about a new proposal to develop the Russian turpentine industry.”
Was there anything duller than the turpentine industry? It was hard to know if Natalia was genuinely excited about the topic or merely wanted to escape Poppy’s tea party. A little of both, probably.
Natalia led them into the breakfast room, where Poppy was already entertaining the other elderly aunts. Aunt Helen leaned heavily on her cane as she limped toward the tea table, but Poppy interrupted before she could sit.
“No, no, don’t sit,” Poppy said. “We can’t have tea until you’ve seen the nursery. I know you’ve all been bursting with curiosity.”
Aunt Helen exchanged an annoyed glance with her sisters, but they dutifully followed Poppy down the hallways of white marble and gilded mirrors. Gwen expected the baby’s room to have similar princely grandeur, so she was stunned when she stepped inside the nursery. Everything was black, bronze, and scarlet.
The aunts looked baffled, but Poppy brimmed with pride. “It’s Japanese,” she said, running her hands along the black lacquered crib. “This sort of décor is all the rage in Europe. I’ve heard that the Prince of Wales is redesigning his own rooms in the Japanese style.”
The crib, changing table, and rocking chair were all made of black lacquered wood. Hammered bronze covered the chest of drawers sitting in front of a wall painted in deep red tones. Normally Gwen loved the fresh simplicity of the Japanese style, but instead of the soft muted hues usually associated with it, Poppy had opted for the drama of scarlet and black. Panels of rice paper covered the windows, and a folding screen painted with cherry blossoms was the only hint of joyfulness in the child’s nursery.
“It’s very artistic,” Aunt Martha managed to stammer, and the other aunts nodded in vigorous agreement.
“Yes,” Aunt Helen said, clutching her cane as she scrambled for something nice to add. “It’s very, very artistic.”
Gwen leaned over the crib to pick up a doll dressed in a silk kimono. “This is darling,” she said.
She passed the doll to Martha so the kindest of her aunts could enthuse about the beautifully embroidered kimono. Martha murmured polite comments, then passed the doll to Helen, who looked at Poppy in dismay.
“Dearest, I’m afraid I can’t see it very well in this dim light,” she said. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
“Yes, it’s quite dark in here,” Martha said. “Might we go to the breakfast room, where we can admire this charming kimono properly?”
Poppy seemed annoyed that the old ladies didn’t want to linger in the oppressive nursery, but they were already filing out of the room. The mood brightened once everyone was in the sunlit breakfast room, where a proper tea graced the table and the aunts made a suitable fuss about Poppy’s baby, due to arrive in two months.
After ten minutes discussing the baby, Natalia set down her teacup. “It’s eleven o’clock and past time for me to be at the bank.”
Poppy’s expression cooled. “Then, by all means, run along. It’s certainly no surprise where your priorities are.”
Natalia kept a serene expression on her face as she gave each aunt a quick hug in farewell, then departed. An awkward silence filled the room until Aunt Martha filled it.
“I imagine Oscar is so excited about the baby,” she said. “Have you picked a name?”
Poppy nodded. “We have decided on Alexander. I wanted to name him Frederick Samuel after our fathers, but Oscar wanted something entirely new.”
“What if it is a girl?” Aunt Helen asked, and Poppy looked taken aback. Everyone knew Oscar insisted on having a son. If Poppy dared to produce a girl, she would probably find herself expecting again by the next full moon.
“We expect that it will be a boy,” Poppy replied, effectively shutting down the conversation. She cradled her swelling belly, constantly stroking it with slow, deliberate circles. “Of course, Natalia is going to be very jealous. She’s always fancied herself her father’s pride and joy. She won’t like being supplanted by my son, but perhaps it will be for the best. It’s unnatural for a woman of Natalia’s age to still be single.”