Duncan shook his head once, as if to say, Whatever it is, do not make a scene.
The little kernel of hope in her chest popped. Why on earth had she thought anyone would help? Her parents had instructed her time and time again to fit in. Not to offend or be impolite. Be someone else, Florence. Wasn’t that really what they meant?
When her casino opened, she wouldn’t have to worry about all of this nonsense. She’d support herself, without the need for a father or husband to dole out pin money each month.
Ages ago she’d considered causing a scandal to ruin herself, therefore ending the need to attend any of these events. Two things had stopped her. First, a scandal would hurt her mother and sisters. Neither Mamie nor Justine was married yet and Florence hated the idea of ruining their prospects. Second, Florence needed the women of society to patronize her casino once it was finished. If she offended all of them by flouting their conventions now, she hadn’t a prayer of getting some of them in the casino later.
“I’m quite serious,” Connors was saying. “You are different than the other girls your age. I see a spark in you that they lack. I’ve always admired that in a woman.”
She took two swallows of wine, nearly gulping the contents of her glass. “Thank you.”
“You’ve turned down three proposals, haven’t you? I cannot blame you. Men your age are nothing but boys. Silly and immature. Perhaps that’s why you haven’t found someone yet. Perhaps you’d prefer someone older instead.”
A heavy leg pressed against hers and Florence didn’t wait to hear any more. She pushed back from the table and stood. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said to no one in particular and hurried into the corridor. When she was alone she leaned against the far wall and put a hand on her chest, hoping to ease her racing heart. Connors was her father’s age. The idea of marrying him caused her stomach to turn over.
And had he touched his leg to hers intentionally?
“Florence.”
Her head snapped up at that familiar voice. “Daddy, what are you doing out here?”
Duncan approached, his frown fully in place. “I was about to ask you the same thing. You bolted from the dinner table as if you were ill.”
“I’m fine. I just needed a moment.”
He shoved the sides of his dinner jacket apart and put his hands on his hips. “Why?”
“It’s nothing.”
“I should hope it’s something after you just put yourself at the center of everyone’s attention. Again.”
She hadn’t done anything but excuse herself and come into the hall. How on earth could that disappoint her father so fiercely? Anger slid across her skin, radiating from deep inside. She was tired of being a disappointment, of feeling so wrong all the time, especially when it was undeserved. Daddy wished to know what happened? Fine, she would tell him. “Mr. Connors made me uncomfortable. I wanted to get away from him.”
Brows knitted, her father rocked back on his heels. “Connors? I’ve known him forever. What on earth would he say to make you uncomfortable?”
“I don’t know—”
“Tell me exactly, Florence. None of your dancing around a topic this time.”
Another barb. She mentally brushed it aside. “That he admired me, that I’m different from the other girls my age. That perhaps I’d prefer an older husband, one more mature.”
“And?” her father prompted when she stopped.
“And that he’s been watching me.”
“That’s it?”
Her father’s expression was stern and forbidding yet she forged ahead. “His leg brushed mine under the table.”
“Which could have been an accident.”
She blew out a long breath. “Combined with what he said?”
“Let me understand. He complimented you, made an observation about the possibility of an older man for you—a possibility I happen to agree with—and accidentally brushed your leg under the table. Because of this, you caused a scene by bolting from the table.”
“I did not cause a scene, Daddy.”
“Don’t argue with me, young lady. It’s always the same with you. You’re not happy unless you’re causing a stir or the center of everyone’s attention.”
Florence pressed her lips together and folded her arms across her chest. He wouldn’t listen to her anyway, he never did, so why bother trying to explain herself? No one cared how she truly felt on the inside.
“Now, get back in there and sit down,” her father ordered. “I expect you to be quiet and polite for the remainder of dinner. Ignore Connors if what he says bothers you. He’s harmless, and I won’t have you snubbing our friends.”
She lifted her chin, impotent fury burning so brightly in her chest that she couldn’t speak.
“Do you understand me?” he asked in his sternest voice, one she’d heard a thousand times.
“Yes, Daddy.”
She marched past him and headed to the dining room. From behind her, she heard him mutter, “I swear, that girl’ll be the death of us all.”
Clay picked up his fists and continued smacking the heavy bag hanging from the ceiling. Jab, punch, hook, repeat. Sweat poured off his forehead, down his bare chest. His lungs struggled to pull in air but he kept going.
The casino was half-full tonight. A decent crowd, from his early calculations. The plans for the east side casino had been to his liking, which meant the architect would file them with the city to get the permits. Things were moving forward. Thriving.
Still, he felt restless. Unsettled. He knew why; he just didn’t want to admit it. But the truth kept staring him in the face.
She hadn’t returned in two days. He told himself it was for the best, but he couldn’t help thinking about her. Wondering what she was doing. Probably attending some fancy dinner party where a young buck groped her thigh under the table.
He hit the bag so hard pain radiated up his arm and into his shoulder.
No doubt she fended off suitors everywhere she went. A woman like her, beautiful and vivacious, would attract attention at every turn. I am not innocent. Christ, why would she tell a man like him such information?
“Here you are.”
Anna strolled into the cellar, her skirts rustling as her heels clacked on the hard floor. How had he missed her coming down the stairs?
She’s got you distracted. Get your head right, Madden.
“I’m busy.”
“Sorry to interrupt, but I had to see you right away. Jack told me I could find you here.”
He wrapped his arms around the heavy bag and leaned against it, his chest bellowing to bring in enough air. “Oh?”
Anna perched on top of a wooden crate. “Do you remember Charity? William Coogan, from the police commission, is a regular of hers.”
Ah, one of the few commissioners not on Clay’s payroll—but only because Coogan was already on Mulligan’s payroll. Mulligan ran everything in town that Clay didn’t. “I know him.”
“He told Charity tonight that the Bronze House would soon have a new owner.”
Clay made an exasperated noise. “That’s ridiculous.”
“You aren’t selling, are you?”
“If I intended to sell, don’t you think you’d know about it?”