Lions and Lace (46 page)

Retreating, she turned her back on him and with shaking hands poured herself a whiskey.

"What are you doing?"

She took a deep breath. "I thought we should have a toast, Trevor." She turned
around,
facing him, then lifted her glass. "I think it's appropriate, don't you? After all, we've been through a lot together in this marriage, as brief as it's been, and I think we should end it with dignity."

He stared at her, a white-knuckled grip on his blackthorn.

"To you, husband," she began, her wounds shielded from his view. "I've seen you
lie
, cheat, and steal to get ahead. But you've gotten everything you wanted, and I admire—"

Before she knew what he was doing, he violently knocked the glass from her hand. She gasped as it shattered against the marble fireplace.

"Don't mock me," he said through clenched teeth.

"I wasn't!" she shot back, her eyes blazing with fury. She cared not a whit about his feelings when hers were so mortally wounded. "That's right. I was telling the truth. I admire you—"

"And you hate me."

She said nothing, wanting to hurt him just a fraction as badly as he had hurt her.

"Hate
me, then,"
he rasped.
"You
have that
right
after
all I
've
done, but you won't mock me."

"You know all too well how I feel about you." Their gazes met, and she no longer bothered to hide her emotions. She loved him, and if he couldn't see it in the way she looked at him now, by the hurt in her eyes, in the vulnerable way she had held out her heart in her hands for him, he would never see it.

There was a long silence.
Neither seemed to know what to say.
Finally she said, "The ball is at eight. Are you attending? Mara and I need an escort with Eagan gone."

"No," he answered adamantly. "Mara expects an announcement of her engagement, and I won't watch your people hurt her again."

His words stung her. In soft tones she said, "Anson has offered his escort. I'll have him take us."

Quietly he bit out each word. "Stevens is taking you to the Astor ball?"

She was desperate to maintain her composure. "I'd think you'd be grateful."

He turned from her, his face rigid and cold. Cursing, he whispered, "Ah, these sophisticated times. . . ." Then he pushed away from the decanter table, refusing to look at her.

For some irrational reason, his apparent lack of jealousy, of caring, hurt her more than anything he'd done before. Anger froze her unshed tears, and she quickly left, never hearing the sound of his whiskey glass as it shattered against the library wall.

It was truly an auspicious affair when the sexton of Grace Church, the "glorious Brown," consented to play castellan for the arriving guests. The man stood underneath the white canopy at the front of the Astor house, dressed in immaculate tie and tails, supervising the drivers with his silver whistle, ushering in the ladies with his silver tongue.

A light rain misted the sidewalks, graying the city to a ghostly translucence beneath the
gaslamps
. Carriages were lined up all the way down
Thirty-fourth
Street to release their passengers, the Stevens brown coupé among them. It soon pulled up, and Alana alone was helped down. Mara was not with her because the duke had wished to escort her and had called early. Believing them soon to be engaged, Alana allowed Mara to go on without her, and she had waited for Anson.

Anson had disapproved of her Celtic costume at first sight, but his disapproval gave Alana an odd tingle of delight. Her only disappointment was that Trevor had not seen her as the Irish queen Maeve. Perhaps deep down she had thought to gain some acceptance by dressing as a Celt, that if he'd seen her dressed this way, he'd see her in a different light. But he had never emerged from his library, and Anson had arrived to take her to the ball.

In the foyer a footman took her green velvet cape, and Anson nearly scowled when he took in the sight of her gown once more. Nonetheless, he held out his arm and strolled with her into the picture gallery where society had gathered. The crowd was thick, the gallery stuffed with the Four Hundred, who mingled like preening pigeons on a New York rooftop. Handing her champagne from a passing footman, Anson said, "Have you heard the rumor that the duke will announce his engagement to Mara Sheridan? Isn't that absurd? And he's British!"

Irritated, Alana accepted the champagne. "My sister-in-law is a sweet young woman, beautiful and accomplished. Why shouldn't Granville want to marry her?"

"I know what he wants from sweet young Mara, so why would he shame himself by announcing an engagement to her? The one doesn't have to do with the other."

She halted, fury burning on her cheeks. "You mean money?"

Anson looked down at her and said smugly, "No, my dear, he wants the exact thing I want from you—if I could get it without doing the same."

She almost spat, she was so angry. "I always suspected you were a cad, Anson, and now you've just proved it."

"Well, a cad is better than that trash you've been saddled with. And who knows, if you ever do get an annulment, your pedigree may induce me to overlook your dubious virginity and marry you anyway."

"How dare you!" she whispered, pulling away from his arm. They hadn't been at the ball five minutes, and their false accord had already disintegrated.

"Careful, Alana.
You're making a scene." He locked her arm back in his, and no struggling was going to take it from him. "After all the trouble and humiliation you've put me through, tonight you'll behave. The least you can do for me is to act respectable."

"What are you, my keeper?" She dug her nails into the flesh of his upper arm. Finally he let her go rather than risk a scandal.

"Where are you going?" he snapped under his breath. He laughed cruelly. "Are you off to seek out that husband of yours? Oh, I forgot. Wasn't he invited? Or was he with those other
Irishers
that were handling the stables tonight?"

"You couldn't shine my husband's shoes, Anson." She gave him a look of disgust and was just about to walk away when Trevor Byrne Sheridan was announced at the door.

The entire ballroom fluttered nervously, like birds with a predator in their midst. From the doorway Sheridan surveyed the room, appearing austere and unapproachable in black tails and a white barrel-knotted tie. Every person in the room seemed to flinch back, as if to say "I hope that look isn't for me."

But not Alana.
She stood her ground, her gaze violently meeting his, though they were half a room apart. They stood there saying nothing, dueling with glances, until the music seemed to start again and the crowd relaxed, filling the distance between them.

Shaken, Alana looked up and found Granville at her elbow. He asked her to join him in the German cotillion, a dance that took nearly two hours. It was a tradition passed down by Caroline Astor's mother, Mrs.
Schermerhorn
, who thought polkas,
redowas
,
schotisches
too wild. Alana almost fell to her knees in gratitude for the long diversion. She accepted quickly and was fortunate not to spy her husband again in the crowd during the entire dance.

But when dinner was announced, Alana did see Trevor again. Her heart nearly stopped to find him sitting in a parlor in a "comfortable," a plush upholstered armchair, the latest rage from Paris, Joanna
Varick
perched precariously on the arm of the chair, both laughing at something Trevor had just said. Her husband's smile was blinding, and Alana felt her breath catch in her throat when he turned it on her. But when their gazes met, that wonderful smile faded, replaced with a grim expression until he turned his eyes away once more.

Alana could hardly bear to look at them. Joanna
Varick
, with her Teutonic paleness, was a striking contrast to Trevor's dark, menacing good looks. It wounded her to see him having such a grand time. Though she had wanted to gain his acceptance into society, she could see quite clearly it had gone too far. He was hardly ostracized now. If anything, the women fluttered around him like gaily feathered peacocks, curious and excitable, all too willing to embrace him.

With this picture burned into her mind, it suddenly came to Alana that none of the
Sheridans
needed her any longer. It was just a matter of time before Mara was settled with her duke, and Trevor, who scorned this society, was a part of it now, whether he cared about such things or not. Caroline Astor might still be eyeing him with contempt from her gold chair on the dais, but Joanna
Varick's
eyes held something different altogether. The Four Hundred had finally been penetrated by the Irish, and if they let the Irish in, could the
Vanderbilts
be far behind with all their vulgar new money? The change Alana had predicted was happening. She was no longer needed as the bridge to a new society. A new society had been born when she had not been looking.

She glanced at her husband once more. His dark gaze held a gleam of wickedness that any woman would find attractive. Joanna
Varick
certainly did as she touched his arm in a gesture of intimacy. Hopelessness threatened to engulf Alana, but soon Granville was at her side again, asking the honor of her company at dinner.

Dinner consisted of twenty-three courses of such things as
aspic de canvasback,
forequarters of lamb with mint sauce, turtle soup, salmon, asparagus, and
truffled
ice cream, but Alana could hardly touch any of them. Her appetite was severely diminished every time she looked down the long table and saw her husband enjoying himself.

After dinner the ladies soon rejoined the gentlemen, and once more Alana had to endure Joanna
Varick's
attentions to her husband, who seemed to ignore the fact that his wife was in the room. Alana became so miserable finally that she decided to leave, but before she could, a voice stopped her.

"Caroline wants a word with you, darling."

Alana missed the arrow of her husband's stare as she found Anson at her elbow. She had never seriously considered him a prospective husband, but now just seeing
him
made the prospect of losing Trevor that much more excruciating. "I don't want to speak with her, Anson. I'm not well. In fact, I'm going home."

She tried to turn away, but he took her arm. "Come along,
me
darlin
',"
he mimicked.

Unwilling to fight, she let him drag her to the dais to speak with Mrs. Astor.

"How are you tonight, Alice?" the matron asked, falsely solicitous. She lowered her feathered mask, revealing a face much like Marie Antoinette's, complete with white wax makeup and a patch seductively placed to the left of her upper lip. "I was so hoping you would honor me with a visit."

Alana kissed her, knowing full well she was the one supposedly honored by being allowed on the dais with the matron.

Alana was about to make an inane comment about the wonderful ball when from across the room the duke stood upon the threshold to the ballroom, clanging a spoon against his champagne glass.
"Everyone!
I have a very important announcement to make." The duke stared down at Mara, who looked up at him with glowing happy eyes.

Alana held her breath. The announcement of their engagement was going to happen after all. Though she was happy for Mara, she felt time slip helplessly through her fingers.

The duke continued. "I must tell you, first of all, that I will always remember my visit to New York
with
great fondness. You are a most gracious people, who've done nothing but see to my every whim and desire, and for that I am most grateful."
Nigel
then turned to Mrs. Astor on the dais. Every head turned in her direction. "Mrs. Astor, I salute you. You are a renowned hostess, and I will sing your praises to the queen herself."

Everyone clapped, and Mrs. Astor nodded, the flush on her cheeks either false modesty or relief that the duke hadn't lived up to that vile rumor about wanting to marry that Sheridan girl.

"I have another announcement.
One that eclipses this one."

The room sank into utter silence. Those rumors could prove true after all. Mrs. Astor tensed. Alana's gaze shot to Trevor. Judging from his expression, he was surprised.

Nigel gazed down at Mara. Their eyes locked, and he raised his champagne glass. "New York has been doubly kind to me, for not only have I found matchless
friends,
I've found the woman I want to be by my side into eternity. Thank you, New York." He looked through the crowd to where Trevor was sitting. "Before I make my final toast, I must take the time to thank a man, one whom I admire. I toast him because in this wretchedly modern age, he is a man who has shown me that noble passions such as loyalty and devotion to one's family still exist. His sister would not be the girl I know without having grown up in his shadow. And so I thank you, Sheridan." The duke raised his glass to Trevor, who sat in his chair absolutely still, obviously waiting for whatever came next. The duke obliged. "I want to say that at precisely seven o'clock this evening I was wed. Would you all toast the bride, my beautiful wife, the former Miss Mara Sheridan, Her Grace the Duchess of Granville."

The room uttered a gasp, and Alana felt as if she'd just been knifed. She wanted to smile and run to hug Mara, but she felt as if the rug had been pulled from under her feet. She'd expected the engagement. She'd made her promises that when Mara was engaged, she would leave Trevor. Now Mara was married. Everything she loved was soon to be lost forever.

She looked to Trevor to see his reaction. Even from across the room she could see him mouth the words "I'll be damned." She looked at Caroline Astor who was so shocked and
appalled,
she appeared as if she were ready to fall into Anson's arms in a dead faint.

The duke ignored the pandemonium around him. He drank to his bride while Mara simply looked up at him, a becoming blush to her cheeks. Any other girl might have circled the room gloating over her catch, but it was clear Mara had considered none of that when she wed her duke. Her happiness seemed to stem only from the fact that she finally had the man she loved.

"Oh, this ruins everything!" Caroline Astor flung aside the smelling salts proffered by her maids, her anger reviving her. "How dare Granville do such a thing after all I've done for
him!
"

"Why would a duke of the realm consent to marry some immigrant Irish biddy from New York?" Anson muttered, bewildered.

Alana stared at them, disgusted by their words but pitying them too. Their secure little world was changing, leaving them terrified. But they weren't the only ones whose world had changed this night. Alana's had shattered before her eyes. Tomorrow the rift between her and Trevor would be permanent. There wasn't another thread to keep her by his side:
no
baby, no Mara, no social ambitions, and now no time.

From the dais she watched Trevor move through the crowd and begrudgingly shake Nigel's hand. He hugged his sister, and Alana prayed that he would turn and search the crowd for her. She ached for him to come to her, to tell her that time had caught up to both of them and that he indeed loved her and desperately needed her to remain his wife. But the crowds thronged around the duke, and soon she could hardly see Trevor's dark head among the well-wishers. Her heart heavy, she stood numbly at the dais realizing that tomorrow she would pack her bags and go. If she was lucky, her husband might be gracious enough to hold the door for her departure.