He hugged her briefly. “Don’t blame yourself. I wanted this to work, I kept hoping it would, but I’m glad we’ve sorted it out now. That was brave of you, to force the issue. I wouldn’t have pushed you.”

Margaret sat up. “No, but then it would have been there all the time between us, wouldn’t it?”

He sighed. “You’re right, but all the same, it was brave of you.”

It would be the most natural thing in the world for their lips to meet, but what passion they had nurtured between them had dissipated. Margaret moved away, blushing. “Can we remain friends, do you think? I would hate this to come between us.”

Randolph got up. “I don’t want to lose you either. I think I’ll take that walk in Central Park by myself, though, if you don’t mind. I need a little time to adjust.”

“We’ll find a way, won’t we?”

“You bet.”

She heard him call goodbye to Johanna, the newest recruit from Five Points. Standing by the window to watch him descend the steps, Margaret was relieved when he looked up to wave as usual before he headed for Broadway. Turning away, tears stung her eyes and doubts crowded her mind. Would love eventually have blossomed between them, given time? Was she misremembering her feelings for Donald, creating a false ideal that no man could live up to?

It didn’t matter. The point was that she still wasn’t ready to marry. She would have to accept that she might never be ready to marry; and until she was, there could be no more romances. She’d had a narrow escape with Randolph, provided their friendship was not a casualty. She would not risk misleading another man.

“And in the meantime,” Margaret said, scrubbing at her eyes and giving herself a mental shake, “there is the small matter of raising funds to build a Five Points children’s sanctuary.” Had she finally bitten off more than she could chew? Sitting down at her desk, she selected a fresh notebook bound in her favourite turquoise leather. Pulling the inkstand towards her, she dipped a newly sharpened pen and began to write.

Cluckaluck Cluckalot was a very noisy hen. The noisiest hen in the henhouse in fact, and that was saying something. . . .

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-One

New York, 8 August 1870