Lions and Lace (45 page)

Parting is all we know of heaven,

and
all we need of hell.

                       
—Emily Dickinson

Alana's monthly time came the day before the Astor ball. Margaret didn't understand why her mistress burst into tears when she instructed her to fetch the cloths, but the little maid knew something was wrong. Margaret had gone through a similar experience, for she and Kevin had prayed for a child every day of their marriage. But Mrs. Sheridan certainly hadn't been married long enough to worry about being barren. Helpless, Margaret nodded at her mistress's request and left for the laundry.

Chastising herself, Alana wiped her tears, thinking of all the things she had to do for tomorrow's ball and remembering her vow not to cry. She refused to wallow in her depression. She and Trevor had hardly seen each other in the past few days. There had been no confessions of love from him, and now there was no possibility of a child between them, her last hope of keeping them together.

Placing the armor back around her heart, she went into her dressing room and surveyed her costume. Of all the designs she could have asked her seamstress to make, she'd picked the most defiant. She was going as Maeve, the legendary Queen of Connacht. Her gown was green satin with shamrock embroidery on the hem, and the costume was topped by a crown of emeralds. Mara had helped her with the design. Mara was going as the fabled pirate queen Grace O'Malley. She would be gowned in emerald velvet and wielding a sword.

Margaret returned and helped her with her toilet. That completed, the maid delivered the message that Eagan wanted a word with her in the palm court. Alana rushed downstairs, wondering what could be the trouble, but when she saw
Caitlín
, she knew the news was good.
Caitlín
was dressed in a costly gray brocade traveling dress, a gown that far exceeded a servant's pay. On her finger was a diamond wedding band.

Alana didn't need the announcement. "When did you do it?" she gasped, her face opening with a grin.

Eagan chuckled. He looked a bit paler than usual. "This morning," he replied. "We wanted to stop by with the news before we left on our honeymoon. We're going to Ireland to tell
Caitlín's
mother."

He's scared to death, Alana thought as she kissed him. She also thought he looked happier than she'd ever seen him. So there was justice somewhere in the world. "Wonderful! Wonderful!" Alana kissed
Caitlín
and held her hand. "Your mother will love
Shivhan
. You must be beside yourself waiting to show her off." She smiled at the babe in her mother's arms.
Shivhan
was dressed in a fine pink linen gown and looked every inch the spoiled little miss.

"
T
'
ank
you for all your help, Alana.
Your visits below-stairs meant everything to me. Eagan was right about you." Caitlin impulsively hugged her.

Alana laughed. "Pooh, what was a visit or two? I was just jealous of your babe, that's all. I'd love to have a child as sweet and beautiful as
Shivhan
."

Upon hearing that statement, Eagan suddenly turned quiet. Alana stared at him, her pain glittering in her eyes. Eagan knew. Suddenly it took all her will not to cry.

Eagan kissed his wife and asked her to wait for him in the library.
Caitlín
and Alana said their final farewells, and Alana was alone with Eagan.

"Have you told Mara and Trevor about your marriage?" Alana asked, wanting to gloss over her troubles.

"Yes, they know. I just spoke to them." Eagan finally spoke his mind. "What's going on between you two? There were two or three times I thought your marriage was going to last. Now it's all busted apart."

Alana didn't cry. She couldn't allow herself that anymore. It was time to fight. "I'm afraid Trevor will never accept me, Eagan."

"But why not?"

Just three little words, and suddenly those forbidden tears were pooling in her eyes.
"Because I'm not Irish."
She gave a black little laugh, "I must be the only person in this whole city of a million who wishes she were."

He rubbed her arms. "He just can't take you off that pedestal, can
he.
"

"He's the master of every situation. He's done what he wants."

"I don't think so. Not this time."

Alana shook her head. "Eagan, if he cared for me, there would be one hint, one tiny piece of evidence that would prove his feelings. If anything, he's always gone out of his way to make sure I know I'm an outcast."

"He thinks about you all the time." He ran a hand through his hair. "No one can say you didn't try, Alana."

She nodded. "But I can't stay here and play at marriage alone. He must meet me halfway." She looked up at him and gave him a brave smile. "You'll always be dear to me, Eagan. Now don't leave your bride and daughter waiting. Have a delightful trip, and I'll
come
visit just as soon as I know where I'll be living."

Eagan sighed. "I wish it were otherwise."

She laughed and cried at the same time. "I do too."

The Croton Reservoir stood on the west side of Fifth Avenue between Fortieth and Forty-second Streets. Atop its enormous walls was a promenade favored by society. They could stroll, see and be seen, and take in the sweeping view of the ever-changing city skyline not yet dominated by buildings other than church spires.

Alana went there to get away from the chateau, to think, to clear her head and force herself to contemplate what seemed inevitable: She was never going to have Trevor Sheridan.

Their marriage was definitely going to end as soon as Mara and Nigel announced their engagement. With her emotions caught in Trevor's web, she wished fervently that they had never met. It was unbearable to watch something she'd nurtured and hoped for die a premature death. Living with only a memory was a hollow future indeed.

She stopped at the northwest corner and stared at the countryside past Sixtieth Street. In her depression, she was hardly aware of the man who stood next to her.

"Why, Mrs. Sheridan! What brings you up here with only your groom for company?"

Alana glanced over, surprised to see Anson. "Hello, Anson," she said, turning back to the promenade railing without really acknowledging him.

"What a chilly reception."

She looked at him. He looked dashing in a gray morning coat and ruby cravat. She wondered why he was still bothering with her when any other lady would love his company. "I'd have thought you'd be the one giving me the cold reception," she commented. "I heard about your row with Trevor."

Anson laughed. She didn't quite trust it.

"Don't be angry with me, Alana. Your husband's the one who started that fight. I was there for a simple visit, and he turned it into a boxing match."

"He's not
that
much of a hothead."

"But look what he has to protect. Can you blame him?"

He was paying her a compliment, but her suspicions were raised because she didn't know why he was doing so.

"Are you attending the Astor ball?"

She nodded.

He smiled. "May I escort you? I see Sheridan hasn't attended too many functions of late."

She looked at him incredulously. He just couldn't leave well enough alone. "You know that would only irritate him."

Anger
tautened
his face, though he did a valiant job hiding it. "That's precisely it, my little Irish rose. He threw me out of that house like a drunken sailor ejected from a barroom. I think I have the right to irritate him a little . . . and enjoy your company, of course." He smiled. He was so transparent, she almost laughed. That last comment was clearly thrown in as an afterthought.

"You shouldn't be placing me in such a position, Anson," she reprimanded, looking again over the railing.

"I've never seen you so glum, Alana. What is it? Did you marry the wrong man?"

She steeled herself and didn't answer.

"May I escort you to Caroline Astor's ball? It's almost certain your husband won't be attending, with his obvious dislike of Granville. It's a crime that you of all women should go unescorted."

She released a deep sigh. "If my husband isn't attending, I'll send you a note, and you may escort me. Will that suffice?"

"Fine!
Fine!"

"But I know you're only doing this to anger Trevor." What she didn't say—her greatest fear—was that it wouldn't work, that
Trevor
wouldn't care if she attended the ball with Anson.

"I'll wait for your note" was all he said.

The detectives still filtered in and out of the mansion, and Alana prayed every night that one might find a clue that would locate Christal. They were also on the trail of Didier. Christal had told her not to; it was dangerous and there were no accusations she could fling at him that she could substantiate—yet. But she wanted to know where he was. She was terribly disappointed to find that he too had disappeared.

Alana had only to deal with the silent dark figure that was still her husband. She and Trevor had hardly said a word to each other for days. She ached to be near him, to experience those warm moments they'd had in bed, but the ball was in his court. She'd bared her soul. There was nothing left for her to say. The only solace she had was that it was easy to be cold and uncommunicative if the conversations weren't long. And recently they hadn't been.

But now it was time to talk. Mara was becoming distraught about Trevor's disapproval of Nigel, and as the Astor ball neared, she begged Alana to speak to him.

When she knocked, Trevor was again in his cups in the library, a habit these days. Alana thought it just as well. If she had to approach such a beast, perhaps it was safer while the beast was inebriated.

"Who's there?" he growled at her from across the room.

"I knocked. There was no answer," she said coolly as she opened the large library door.

"What is it?"

His tone set her back on her heels, but she chose to ignore it. "I wanted to talk to you about Mara. Nigel and she plan to be married, you know—despite your attempts to ignore the fact."

Trevor stared at her as if he didn't quite trust her visit. "They won't be married," he answered smugly. "I'll cut her off if she does. Granville's bluffing."

"I don't think he's bluffing."

"He is. He won't announce that marriage, I'll bet on it."

"Mara wants your approval."

"I don't want to hurt her, but this is the only way. When he doesn't announce their engagement, she'll see I was right."

"You could be wrong."

He stared at her, anger in his eyes.

"Your lack of faith in her judgment disturbs her greatly. I almost think she's willing to give up Nigel just to please you."

"Then she should."

"I said
almost.
" Alana gave him a chilly smile. "Your sister has a mind of her own. I suspect she'll marry her beloved whether you like it or not."

"He won't marry her if she's penniless."

"What if he does?"

"Then I'll recant what I said about cutting Mara off." He leaned forward, nearly sloshing the whiskey in his glass. "But he'll drop her. Mark my words. The bastard's
only going
after her for her money."

"Well, for once, you're not being a hypocrite. You finally admit there's no possibility that one can love another for the person inside, but only for the assets that can be brought into a marriage." Each word dripped acid.

He watched her, his eyes brilliant with anger and guilt. "What you fail to understand, Alana, is my decision that our marriage cannot be based on love. It's based on right and wrong. It was wrong of me to use you the way I did. It's up to me to correct the wrongs and see that you're better off for this—deviation in the course of your life."

She laughed. "Is that how you describe our marriage
? 'A deviation'?"
She almost wept, the hurt drove so deeply into her heart. And she was furious. He wouldn't allow himself to love her because he was too obsessed with their stations in life. He'd built a wall around himself, and there was no allowing her in.