Duchess of Sin (5 page)

“And you are only just sixteen. You shouldn’t rush into such things, Caro.”

Caroline laughed as she neatly plaited the now smooth strands of golden hair. “You are scarcely one to lecture me on
caution
, Anna! You never did tell me where you were tonight.”

“I was not with Grant Dunmore.”

“Then who were you with?”

“I went to a party with Jane,” Anna said cautiously. And that was true, as far as it went. Caroline certainly didn’t need
to know about Adair or the Olympian Club.

Anna had the sudden urge to confide in someone about all her confused emotions. Caroline was too young and her mother was
out of the question. If only Eliza were here and not living in Switzerland with her husband, Will. Her older sister certainly
understood ungovernable passion.

But Eliza was not there, and Anna just had to ignore those feelings until they vanished.

“Mama won’t like that,” Caroline said. “She quite disapproves of Lady Cannondale.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell her. And you won’t, either, will you, Caro?”

Caroline tied off the end of the braid, her eyes narrowed in a most ominous manner. “I might not—if you help me with something.”

“Help you with what? I don’t have any pin money left for you to spend at the bookshop.”

“I suppose you lost it all at whist. But I don’t need money.”

Anna was deeply wary now. “What
do
you need?”

“Mama is interviewing drawing tutors for me tomorrow. You are so persuasive with her; surely you could get her to let me stop
all these infernal lessons. Dancing, music, deportment—it’s all such a vast waste of time.”

“Because you mean to skip debutante balls and marry Lord Hartley?”

“Because it gets in the way of my studies. Persuade her to not hire a drawing teacher, and I won’t tell her you were sneaking
out with Lady Cannondale.”

“I’m sure she would not listen to me.”

“And I’m sure she would!” Caroline knelt down beside Anna’s stool, staring up at her with beseeching eyes. “Please, Anna darling,
talk to her for me.”

“Just talk to her?” Anna said doubtfully. “That’s all you want?”

“That is all. Except maybe you could also loan me that gown sometime.…”

I
t was the crowded hour at St. Stephen’s Green. The wide, graveled lanes and walkways, lined with neatly clipped box hedges,
were filled with people on horseback and foot and in fine carriages. Everyone went there every afternoon after Parliament
adjourned and before the evening’s theatres and assemblies opened, to see and be seen. They wanted to hear the latest gossip,
to criticize the fashions of everyone else, and find out the latest in the saga of the Union. The chatter was nearly deafening.

But Anna was bored with it all. She saw it every day, and it never changed. The gossip was always the same; no one ever did
anything truly shocking or exciting. Only the partners changed. And no one different ever showed up at the park.

She perched on her prized mare, Psyche, leading the horse at a sedate pace alongside her mother’s open carriage. Even Psyche
seemed restless today, shifting uneasily as if she wanted to run free. Usually at this time of year, they were home at Killinan
Castle, joining in the hunt and going for morning rides over the rolling countryside. They
could gallop and jump, the wind tearing through their hair as if they were flying.

But there were no free, wild spaces in the city. No dirt lanes or fences to leap over. And Anna’s mother refused to leave
Dublin while everyone else stayed there, waiting for the Union question to be resolved one way or another and indulging in
Christmas festivities. Or perhaps she refused to leave until Anna was married off.

Anna tightened her gloved hands on the reins and forced Psyche to settle down to a slow walk. She studied the faces around
her, friends and acquaintances she had known all her life, and wondered who had been hidden under masks at the Olympian Club.
Who had been there losing all their money at faro, dancing lasciviously with people not their spouses?

It added some interest to the gray, chilly day. But it made her remember her own lascivious dance all too well.

“Anna,” her mother said. “Are you listening to me at all?”

Anna glanced at her mother from under the lacy veil of her riding hat. Katherine Blacknall, Lady Killinan, sat in her fine
carriage, her fur-trimmed dark blue gown and black parasol striking against the pale yellow velvet upholstery. Her ribbon-trimmed
hat was the latest fashion as always. Anna wondered why she could not turn her considerable matchmaking skills from her daughter
to herself. She was still very lovely, with the golden hair Anna had inherited, smooth ivory skin, and large blue eyes. But
Katherine claimed to be very content in her widowhood—and looking forward to grandchildren.

She would have to look to Eliza and Will then, for Anna was not quite finished with her freedom.

Anna smiled at her. “Of course I am listening, Mama. I’m merely a bit tired today.”

Katherine’s eyes narrowed. “Too many late nights, I fear. Perhaps you should stay home more often.”

“And turn down all those kind invitations? Surely we don’t want to offend anyone.”

“Yet these outings seem to achieve nothing,” Katherine murmured. She nodded at a passing carriage, her serene smile masking
the concern in her eyes.

“Of course they achieve something,” Anna said. They brought her sweet, sweet forgetfulness, even if only for a few hours.
When she was dancing, flirting, playing cards, she thought only of that present moment. Yet Society balls were nothing like
the Olympian Club. Now,
there
was real forgetfulness.

Not that she could ever get in there again. She had not heard from Jane all day, and she feared her friend was angry at her
for running away like that. Or worse, thought her an easily shocked ninny.

“Oh, yes?” said Katherine. “And what is that, my dear?”

“They introduce me to eligible
partis,
of course. Isn’t that why we stay in Dublin?”

Katherine laughed ruefully. “It does not seem to matter how many fine young men you meet, Anna, as none suit you.”

“I just want to be happy in my marriage, Mama. As Eliza is with Will, as you were with Papa.”

Her mother’s lips tightened. “And I want that for you, of course. But soon you will have refused every eligible man in Dublin.”

“Then we can go to London, or Milan. Or I could go
stay with Eliza in Switzerland.” That would not be so bad, Anna thought. Eliza’s life had always seemed so exciting, so full
of importance and purpose. Perhaps she could show Anna how to find that purpose, too. Show her how to be useful.

“I hardly think it has come to that yet,” said Katherine. She waved at a carriage full of friends across the way. “Lord and
Lady Connemara have invited us to a country house party for Christmas. The fresh air will surely do you some good—you
have
been looking a bit tired lately, my dear. And they have a fine library, which should keep Caroline occupied. Some days I
am not sure what to do with her. She is too clever for me. She doesn’t enjoy the things other young girls do.”

Anna laughed. “So I am too social, and Caro is not social enough?”

“I did not say that.”

She did not have to. Anna was quite sure all three of her daughters were a disappointment to Katherine, who was so good, kind,
and beautiful that she was called the Angel of Kildare. One daughter was exiled for her political beliefs, her support of
the United Irishmen in the Uprising two years ago. One was wild and wayward. And one cared only to study and marry old men
for their fine libraries.

And that made Anna remember her promise to Caroline. She would speak to their mother about all those hated ladylike lessons,
and Caroline would keep her mouth shut about Anna sneaking out.

“Speaking of Caro, Mama…”

Katherine sighed, as if she knew she would not like what Anna said. “Yes, my dear? What about your sister?”

“She says you are interviewing drawing teachers.”

“As soon as we return home today, as a matter of fact. I have found several that come highly recommended, including one from
France.”

“I think Caro feels drawing lessons would—well, would take up so much time,” Anna said carefully. “What with music, dancing,
and deportment, which she is already studying every day already.”

“And doing very poorly at, I’m sorry to say,” said Katherine. That tightness was back around her lips, but she still smiled
and nodded at all her many friends. “I thought she might at least find drawing useful for copying illustrations from those
old books she’s always poring over.”

“Perhaps if you put it to her that way, instead of presenting it as one more feminine accomplishment. I think she fears you
mean for her to sit and do watercolors of flowers.”

“There is much to be said for feminine accomplishments! Every lady must be graceful and elegant if she is to be noticed, to
take her place in our world. I know Caroline hates me for taking her away from her books, but she must see reality. She must
come out of her dreams and see life as it truly is, not as she wishes it to be. If lessons are needed to accomplish that,
then so be it.”

Her mother sounded uncharacteristically grim, fierce even. Anna looked at her in surprise, but Katherine went on smiling.
“I think—well, I think Caro has her own plans, Mama.”

“A plan, is it? Oh, yes, my girls always have their own plans. But matters do not often turn out as we think they should.”
She suddenly waved her gloved hand. “Look, there is Lady Connemara. I must go and tell her we accept her kind invitation for
Christmas.”

“I…” Anna glanced desperately around the park, searching for some excuse to escape. She was suddenly very confused and strangely
sad, although she did not know why. She glimpsed Jane in the distance, a glimmer of her bright green gown against her distinctive
yellow phaeton.

“I should go say hello to Lady Cannondale, Mama,” Anna said. She waved to her friend, who was surrounded by a flock of admirers,
and Jane waved back.

“Lady Cannondale,” Katherine said coolly. “You seem to spend a great deal of time with her lately, Anna.”

“She is fun,” Anna said. “And I think I can learn a great deal from her.”

“Learn what exactly, my dear? I am not sure…”

“She is respectable, surely! There can be nothing untoward in my friendship with her. She is a countess, like you. Her husband
was a member of Parliament.”

“Like me?” Katherine murmured. “Fine, go speak to her. But be quick. You need to greet Lady Connemara, as well.”

“I will, I promise. I always do my duty.”

As Katherine gestured to the coachman to turn the carriage toward Lady Connemara’s, Anna tugged at Psyche’s reins and led
the mare along another path. The crowd still pressed in close on all sides, a tangle of laughter and empty chatter that sounded
like tinkling glass in the frosty wind. Her head ached from the champagne of the night before, a dull throb behind her eyes
that only added to her restlessness. She still had that wild urge to run away, but as usual, there was no place to run.

At last, she reached Jane’s phaeton, and the throng of admirers parted to make way for her as they called out
jovial greetings. The handsome, dark-eyed Gianni sat by Jane on the carriage seat, his arm protectively near her shoulders.

“Lady Anna! You are looking very well today,” Jane said, giving her a questioning smile.

“I feel well, thank you. Quite looking forward to the Fitzwalters’ ball tomorrow.”

“Are you indeed?” said Lord James Melton, one of Jane’s eager suitors. “Dull as tombs, I would say. Since Lord Fitzwalter
has gone on his penny-pinching ways they serve nothing but vile watered wine and dry cake!”

“A sin indeed,” said Anna, and in a city where lavish hospitality ruled, it was. “But they don’t stint on their orchestra,
and the ballroom at Fitzwalter House is as enormous as ever. The dancing should be quite fine.”

“It will be if
you
will partner with me for the supper dance, Lady Anna,” Lord James said quickly.

“Not fair, Jimmy!” one of his friends protested. “You already engaged Lady Cannondale for the opening quadrille. You will
monopolize all the loveliest ladies.”

Jane laughed. “I am sure there will be plenty of dances to go around! Don’t you agree, Anna?”

“I hope you have each saved one for me,” said a deep, smooth voice, full of wry amusement and the silk of a posh accent.

Anna twisted around in her saddle to see that Grant Dunmore had stopped near their little group. He tipped his hat to her,
and she was reminded of what Caro said.
He is so very handsome.

He was certainly that. Anna thought of a book in her father’s library at Killinan Castle, a volume of Greek myths that called
Apollo the “Ever-Bright.” The golden god of
the sun had nothing at all on Sir Grant Dunmore. He sat easily on his horse: tall, elegantly lazy, his dark green riding jacket
perfectly tailored over his broad shoulders, his cravat tied in a stylishly elaborate loop and fastened with a pearl pin.
His hair, a bit long for the fashion and brushing his collar, was a glossy bronze-brown, his eyes an otherworldly amber color
that seemed to glow in the hazy sunlight.