Page 3 of The Gilded Heiress

an energetic bunch in tight quarters.

Molly met me at the door. One of the fifteen-year-old twins, she was the quirkiest of my sisters. She was obsessed with old

copies of the National Police Gazette she’d found, and she idolized the female criminals and thugs mentioned in the pages.

Currently, she was pretending to be Gallus Mag, a fierce woman who kept the peace—as well as the ears of unruly patrons—at a dockside saloon in New York City.

“Hand over your entry fee or I’ll cut you,” she said, blocking my entrance.

“Move it, Gallus.”

I tried to edge by, but she wasn’t having it. Darting around me, she slapped her hand on my chest. “Two cents or you’ll be

sorry.”

Shaking my head, I reached into my pocket and found two coins. “There. May I come in now?”

Molly took the money and stepped aside. “Yes, but mind your manners or I’ll be forced to toss you.”

I stripped off my coat and hung it by the door. The comforting sights and smells of home assaulted me and my shoulders relaxed.

This was the only place in Boston where I could be myself.

Three of my sisters were in the front room of our tiny place, each of them with sewing on their lap. My mother took in mending

and laundry from the neighborhood to supplement what I earned. We were determined to keep the Hardy girls out of the factories

and brothels. It hadn’t been easy.

Hattie, the middle child at nineteen, paused in her stitching to look me up and down. “What’s with the fancy suit again today?”

“None of your concern,” I said back. “Where’s Flora?” At twenty-two, Flora was the wildest of the bunch. I didn’t like that

she wasn’t here.

No one spoke, so I glared at Carolyn. She could never lie to me, a trait I exploited whenever I needed to know what was going

on.

Carolyn sighed. “She went out about an hour ago.”

“Where?”

“She didn’t say,” Molly/Gallus answered.

I arched a brow at Carolyn. I could see her brown eyes were conflicted. “Do you know?”

She shook her head. “I suspect, but I don’t know for sure.”

Christ, I didn’t have the energy for this today. Grabbing an apple off the table, I tilted my head toward the door. “Caro, with me.”

Wrinkling her nose, Carolyn put down her mending and followed me out the front door. We stood on the stoop, with her avoiding

my eye. I took a bite of my apple. “Tell me where?”

“Leo—”

“Now, Caro. I don’t have time for this.”

She huffed and studied her shoes. “There’s this man she’s been seeing. He’s filling her head full of stuff, dreams of a better

life.”

Anger and panic flared behind my sternum. I’d dreaded something like this happening for the last few years. “What man? Give

me a name.”

“I don’t know his name,” Carolyn said. “But he hangs out with the McLaughlin boys.”

Shit. The McLaughlins were one of the Southie street gangs. Flora was out of her depth. “Does Ma know?”

“No. Flora said she was going to see a friend.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way. Thanks, kid.” I ruffled the hair on the top of her head and she shoved me away.

“Leo, stop it. You can’t do that to me anymore. I’m a lady now.”

“A lady, huh? You might be twenty, but you’ll always be a kid to me.” I reached for the doorknob. “Not a word of this to anyone.

I’ll talk to Flora when she comes home.”

We went back inside and I headed for the kitchen. My mother was kneading bread on the counter. Tess, the other twin, was chopping

potatoes nearby. I strolled over and kissed my mother’s cheek. “Afternoon, ladies.”

She looked me up and down as I leaned against the far wall, then her expression softened. “You look so handsome. Just like

your father.”

I didn’t want to hear about Steven Hardy. He died a long time ago, a brokenhearted drunk, and I was too busy trying to keep

us all afloat to miss him. “How was your day?”

“Fine. And yours?”

“Awful. Got run out of Post Office Square today.” Her eyebrows knitted, so I rushed to add, “Don’t worry. I’ll make up for

it tomorrow.”

“Good, because the man was here about the rent again today. We’re three months behind and he said he can’t carry us anymore.”

“I’ll talk to him.” Add it to my list of things to do.

“What will you tell him?”

“Ma, please. I’ll handle it. We’ll give him what we were saving for the electric and make up the rest later.”

My mother looked over at Tess. “Sweetie, give me a moment with your brother.”

Thanks to a lifetime of respiratory issues, Tess wasn’t much of a talker. She merely nodded at the request and left the kitchen.

When we were alone, my mother asked, “Where is Flora?”

“Out with a friend, I’m told. Why?”

“She’s out more and more during the day.” She flipped the dough over and continued kneading. “I’m worried it’s a man.”

“I’ll speak to her. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.” It was definitely something to worry about.

“Thank you. She doesn’t listen to me. Never did, even as a baby. I feel as though I failed with that one.”

“Ma, don’t beat yourself up over it. You had your hands full with all of us, living in a tiny one-bedroom apartment on the

west side of Manhattan.”

“Those were the good times,” my mother said, working the dough with her knobby knuckles. Every year her hands grew stiffer

and more painful. “I miss the days when your father worked for the Pendeltons.”

The Pendeltons.

My fingers strangled the apple in my hand as bitterness clogged my throat.

For twenty years my father worked for the richest family in the country—the last eight as their head gardener—yet they cast him off one day like he had typhoid.

Sacked without warning two years after the Pendelton baby went missing.

No one would hire him after that, not without a reference, so we moved to Boston, where my father proceeded to drown his sorrows in a bottle of whiskey.

The Pendeltons ruined my father’s life and my family’s future. I’d never forgive it. And someday, I’d find a way to even the

score.

“You know how I feel about them,” I said, taking another bite of apple.

“It wasn’t all bad. And you should pity them. They never did find their kidnapped little girl.”

“Well, I don’t pity them. Not after what they did to Papa.”

She sighed heavily and shook her head. “Try to remember the good times in life, Leo. You’ll be happier that way. Like how

much you loved trailing your father around on that estate.”

It was true. To a ten-year-old boy the Pendeltons appeared to have the perfect life. What was it like to be born so rich?

I was especially fascinated by Mrs. Pendelton, who always seemed happy and smiling—

Wait a moment.

The singer from the square, the one with the gorgeous smile? That smile, if memory served, reminded me a bit of Mrs. Pendelton.

Combined with the blond hair and her stiff demeanor? Put the girl in a fancy gown and she could pass for a relative...

Pass for a daughter , perhaps?

I paused, midchew. The idea was pure madness, which was likely why it appealed to me. And it wasn’t so far-fetched. No one

would know what this long-lost daughter looks like as a grown woman.

The wheels in my brain started turning.

She needed some polish. And there was the issue of getting her to New York and in front of the Pendeltons, not to mention

clothes and traveling money. But she wanted to sing professionally, which meant—

A tiny piece of dough hit my chest. “Leo!” my mother asked. “What are you dreaming up?”

“Did you throw food at me?”

“When you ignored me? Yes, I did. I was asking if you plan to go out and find Flora, but you didn’t hear me.”

“Is there still a reward for the missing Pendelton daughter?”

“Yes, last I heard. It’s never been claimed, though many have tried. Why?”

Many may have tried, but none of them were me . I knew the family, the estate better than any other huckster. “Nothing. Just an idea.”

Molly poked her head inside the kitchen. “There’s a policeman knocking on the door. Should we answer it?”

“NO!” my mother and I both said at the same time.

“Jesus Christ, calm down. That’s why I came to tell you.”

My mother began wiping her hands on a towel. “Do not use that language in this house, Molly Hardy.”

“I’m Gallus Mag,” Molly complained.

“I don’t care who you are. No blasphemy in this family.”

Molly grumbled as she left the kitchen. My mother tried to tame her hair, which was a bit sweaty from her kneading. “Dare

I ask why an officer is at the door again?”

“Don’t answer it. He’ll go away eventually.”

“Leo, I’ll not have an officer loitering on our stoop. Better for me to tell him you aren’t here and then he’ll go away.”

She untied her apron and placed it on the counter. “But afterward you will tell me why he’s here, young man.”

“It’s nothing to worry about. They don’t have anything on me.” Not enough to prove, anyway.

“I hope not. I can’t lose you, too.”

My mother didn’t approve of how I earned a living, but she tolerated it. We didn’t have much of a choice, considering our

situation. An honest job wouldn’t pay enough. At least my line of work let me keep my own hours and the profits were decent.

She walked out of the kitchen and went to the front door. I edged into the hall, close to the door but out of sight. Thankfully, my sisters were quiet in the front room. No doubt they were listening in as well.

The latch clicked as my mother opened the door. “Hello? May I help you?”

“I’m looking for a Mr. Leo Hardy. He live here?”

Yep, it was O’Toole all right.

“That is my son, but he doesn’t reside here any longer.”

Bless my mother. I grinned at the ceiling.

“You sure? This was the last known address we had for him.”

“I believe I would know if my son lived under my roof, Officer. Might I inquire as to what this is regarding?”

“It’s regarding the chase he led me on today out in Post Office Square.”

“You must be mistaken, Officer. My son has a job with a newspaper over on Boylston.”

O’Toole snorted. “Ma’am, I hate to be the one to tell ya, but your boy is nothing but a—”

“If you have come here,” my mother said, cutting him off, “to besmirch the reputation of my son, you are wasting your time.

He’s a good man. Now, if that is all, there is bread I am kneading.”

O’Toole grumbled something under his breath, but I couldn’t make it out.

“If I see him, I will pass that message along,” my mother said. “I wish you a pleasant evening, Officer.”

The door closed and I exhaled. Fucking O’Toole.

My mother walked by me on her way to the kitchen. She didn’t say anything, so I trailed after her. “Nicely done. I couldn’t

have lied better myself.”

“It’s not a point of pride, Leo. You know I don’t like lying.”

“Regardless, you were brilliant.” I leaned against the counter and watched her set to work on the dough again. “What did he

say at the end under his breath?”

“He said to tell you he’s not finished with you.”

I crossed my arms across my chest and studied the faded wallpaper on the other side of the room. O’Toole was a problem, but

not my most pressing at the moment. As usual, money was my dilemma. Maybe this Pendelton heiress scheme was worth considering...

The more I thought about the idea, the more I liked it. God knew the Pendeltons deserved the swindle—I’d been dreaming of

revenge for years—and they could well afford it. The money was a drop in the bucket to people like them. The real baby was

long gone, but this girl was close enough to pass—at least close enough for me to collect a reward and disappear.

If I pulled this off, my mother and sisters would be set for life. No more kneading dough, sewing, or laundry. They could

dine on lobster and tenderloin every night, move to a big house up on Beacon Hill. Find decent husbands who weren’t in Southie

gangs.

By the time the Pendeltons realized they’d been swindled, I’d be off in Paris or Rome. Somewhere no one could find me—not

even the Boston police.

First, I’d need to convince this young woman to trust me enough to travel to New York. A theatrical manager scheme might work.

I could pull in a few favors, get her enough meetings to prove I was legit, then take her off to Broadway. It didn’t have

to be perfect, merely plausible.

If I knew one thing, it was that people saw what they wanted to see. Present them with a shiny enough bauble and they never

noticed it was glass. The Pendeltons would never know the difference and all my problems would be solved.

I could almost smell the stacks of cash.