Lions and Lace (17 page)

Mara glanced at her, her beautiful blue eyes filled with undisclosed hurt. "Thank you for saying so, Alana," she answered quietly. Then, with the impulsiveness of youth, she wrapped her arms around Alana and said, "Oh, I was so happy when Trevor told me you were to be his wife! When we met in the park, I liked you, and now
I
see you're as wonderful as I thought you'd be. And only someone wonderful could ever marry dear Trevor!"

Mara hugged her, and Alana felt paralyzed with emotion. She wanted to share in Mara's joy, but that was impossible when the girl was being duped. Anger burned within her at Trevor's deception, even to his beloved sister. She stroked Mara's dark head and said haltingly, "You're generous to say that, Mara, especially when you have every reason to hate me. I didn't show up at your debut, you know."

Mara smiled. "Oh no, Trevor told me why you didn't come. I was so sorry to hear how wicked your uncle has been to you. I wouldn't have invited you if I'd known he would lock you in your bedroom."

Alana stared at
Mara,
doing her best to mask her disbelief. "Your brother told you that?"

Mara nodded grimly. "He didn't want me ever to think bad things about you. But I wouldn't have, even if you hadn't wanted to come to my debut. If he wanted to marry you, I would have loved you like a sister,
which
, really, you are now, aren't you?"

Alana again felt tears moisten her eyes. She couldn't believe how trusting Mara was, or how guileless. It pained her all over again that the Four Hundred had hurt this girl so badly. Without thinking about it, Alana hugged Mara, suddenly wanting very much to be her sister. "I did want to be at your party," she whispered. "Always believe that."

"I know," Mara answered. "Trevor told me so."

They broke apart, and Alana laughed as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. She couldn't believe Sheridan had told Mara what he had. It was the truth, but she knew very well he thought it a lie. He was definitely a perplexing man.

"Mrs. Sheridan? It's almost noon," one of
Mara
's maids said softly, holding Alana's blue velvet traveling cape on her arm.

Hurriedly, Alana pinned her hair into a sleek chignon at the back of her neck. She stood and appraised herself in the
mirror. Her traveling suit was appropriately somber yet rich. It was a midnight-blue brocade with just a whisper of a bustle and train. The skirt opened up to reveal an underskirt of gold taffeta pleating with gold cording and tassels adorning the shoulders in the popular military style. She was pleased. Now all she needed was a sword and a shield, and she would finally be ready to face her nemesis.

She kissed Mara on the cheek. "Your brother cares for you dearly. More than you may ever know."

Mara smiled and clasped her hand. "I've needed a friend in this men's club my brother dunks is a home. I'm so glad he's fallen in love with you."

The words made Alana cringe inside. Woodenly, she nodded and departed for her bridegroom's side.

Alana descended the grand staircase as the guests spilled out into the huge marble foyer. Halfway down, she stopped and let Mara pass her. When all the unwed females had taken their places at the bottom of the stair, Alana turned and tossed the bouquet. There were cries and exclamations while the orange blossoms sailed through the air, and Alana prayed Mara would be the one to catch it. But she missed her mark entirely, including all the unwed females, for to everyone's disappointment, the bouquet flew across all the outstretched hands to a gentleman lounging in the door to the library. Alana turned around to see Eagan reach out and catch the bouquet just in time to keep his drink from being spilled.

There were some soft moans of despair,
then
laughter as Eagan waved the thing mockingly at the bride. "Is this good luck or bad?" he called to her.

She smiled.
"For an eligible bachelor, most definitely bad luck.
This means you'll be married within the year."

Eagan juggled the bouquet as if it were a hot coal.

"Oh no you don't!"
she shouted to him above the laughter. "You have to keep it now. It's your cross to bear."

Eagan balanced the thing in his hand. His smile looked
more like a grimace.
"But marriage!
The good Lord
help
me! I never thought my cross would be this heavy!"

She laughed and was just about to begin her descent again when her gaze was riveted to the front door. Sheridan stood by himself, his face hard and humorless, his eyes dark and directed restlessly at her. Her smile dimmed.
His
gaze made her catch her breath. "Neither did
I
, Eagan," she whispered to herself as she descended the staircase.

Amid a shower of rice and rose petals, Sheridan led her to the white-swathed carriage that was to take them to the new Grand Central Depot at
Forty-second
Street. For the benefit of the cheering crowd, she gave her uncle a cursory farewell and waved to those familiar faces
who
were old acquaintances of the Van
Alens
. Eagan paused at the carriage and gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek.

Her
last good-bye was to the
Astors
. William kissed her soundly, and she and Mrs. Astor embraced because society expected it. But getting in a last blow, the matriarch parted from her and in a voice that was only loud enough for the Sheridan brothers to hear, she said succinctly, "I'll never forgive you for doing this, Alice."

Alana felt her anger rise like mercury in July. It was bad enough that the matron's comment was intended to offend her husband, but Eagan, a brother-in-law she hardly knew, was a target as well. That made her furious. Unable to stop
herself
, Alana retorted confidently, "I beg to differ, Mrs. Astor. You forgave Caroline Slidell Perry, and she married a Jew. Now what
was
August Belmont's name back in Germany? Oh yes, Schonberg, wasn't it?"

After that dressing down, Alana took Trevor's hand and ascended the carriage. When Alana looked back, Caroline Astor stared after them, tight-lipped with fury. Eagan only added fuel to the fire. Left standing next to
Mrs.
Astor, he mutely offered the stunned matron his orange-blossom bouquet for solace. When Mrs. Astor didn't respond, Eagan nodded understandingly,
then
thrust his drink at her instead, as if to say "You certainly need this more than I."

While Alana watched, Caroline Astor finally looked at him and with an enormous "
hrrumph
" that Alana thought she could hear over the cheering crowds, Mrs. Astor took her husband's arm and departed. Eagan began to laugh, and if Alana hadn't known better, she would have thought William Astor's shoulders were shaking as he led his wife away. "Why did you do that?"

Alana whipped around and faced her husband. The confines of the carriage were diminished by half when those unusually colored fascinating eyes were trained on her. Thinking of what was ahead brought a new attack of nerves. They had a day's train ride to Newport. The thought of spending that much time alone with Sheridan, alone with that dark piercing stare, caused a shiver to run down her spine. "She deserved it," she answered quickly, looking away.

"The witch well deserved it. But I'm left to wonder why you of all people were the one to speak up."

The steely sarcasm in his tone set her teeth on edge. No matter what she did, he wouldn't think well of her. She was a Knickerbocker, so she was anathema. She retorted, "Because you're Irish doesn't make you a villain, and because Caroline Astor is a snob doesn't make her a witch."

"That woman is the sole reason behind Mara's failed debut. Hanging's too good for her."

She shifted on her seat to face him. It amazed her how angry he could make her.
As quick as the strike of a match.
"How can you say such a vile thing? Caroline Astor may not be the most perfect person, but she's not evil incarnate. She loves children, did you know that? She's funded I don't know how many asylums to house the abandoned wretches you Irish have left on the streets. Why, I've seen tears in her eyes for those pitiful creatures. That's the woman you just wanted hanged."

"If there were ever tears in that woman's eyes, they were crocodile tears. And if she contributes to an orphan's care—
well, I say a guilty conscience can move mountains." His jaw tautened.

She locked gazes with him. "
It's
women like Mrs. Astor who've seen to it that your children of Erin suffer a little less. You owe her better than that."

"If given a just and equal chance, we Irish could take care of our own," he growled ominously. "And it's people like Caroline Astor who keep us down."

"Perhaps.
But some of your plight's your own doing. It's not all Mrs. Astor's."

"You offend and defend that woman in the same breath. So is she sinner or saint?" he scoffed angrily.

"She's both, just like we are."

"Speak for yourself."

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't consider you, above all, a saint, sir."

He leaned back on the burgundy velvet squabs and rolled the gold head of his walking stick in his fingers. Tersely he said, "Neither do
I
. So beware."

The gist of what he said hit her like a boxing glove. Her mouth parted in surprise, but she had no retort. What could she say to a man who had just proclaimed himself a sinner only? She sat back, uneasy, and watched him like a trapped rabbit. Relieved to find that unsettling gaze directed to the outside, where the omnibuses spilled out
of
Vanderbilt Avenue onto
Forty-second
Street, she breathed a sigh of relief and looked out the window at Commodore Vanderbilt's folly.

The locals dubbed it "The Grand Swindle Depot" because it was so poorly planned that pedestrians were forced to find their way through a massive tangle of switching tracks, locomotives, and cross streets at the risk of life and limb. In spite of the criticism, it was still a handsome sight.
NEW-YORK & HARLEM R.R.
blazed across the three towers
of
the terminal on
Forty-second
Street, and the building's Second-Empire-style architecture was considered by some the best in New
York.

They pulled up to the carriage entrance and disembarked. Trevor showed a pass to one of the attendants, and they were then quickly escorted through the terminal to their platform. The trains awaited beneath steel-and-glass vaults behind the depot. It was easily the largest covered space in the country, and though she'd been there several times before, Grand Central never failed to impress her with its enormity.

At first Alana thought this trip would be much like the ones she'd taken on other excursions to Newport. But as she held on to her husband's arm, she could see it was destined to be quite different. They were traveling on one of the Vanderbilt lines, yet not in a private compartment, as Alana usually went, but in Sheridan's private Pullman car that was just now being hitched to the rest of the train. As Trevor oversaw the loading of their luggage and servants into adjoining cars, a polite elderly porter helped Alana up the steps of the gold and green Pullman. Once inside, she was aghast at the luxury. Deep maroon watered silk draped the span of windows across each side, tied at intervals with heavy gold cording. Velvet of the same deep purple-red hue covered the tufted sofas, arranged as if in a parlor. The woodwork was polished mahogany and brass, the black, gold, and green needlepoint carpeting tailor-made for the Pullman, its border incorporating Irish motifs such as the harp and the shamrock and the Connacht shield that proclaimed the home province of the
Sheridans
. In the corner sat an ornate but friendly pot-bellied stove stoked up for the journey to Rhode Island.

Alana needed no encouragement to sit by the stove. The Pullman wasn't cold, it had been too well-prepared for that, but the enormous wealth it boasted seemed to chill her to the bone. She looked around and thought of Sheridan's massive mansion on Fifth Avenue. His home in Newport was supposedly as awe-inspiring, designed by Hunt entirely in marble. She again thought of her dream, and if before
she'd felt suffocated by her wealthy background, now she was drowning in it.

Her husband entered the car and made
himself
comfortable on one of the sofas at the opposite end of the stove. It took another ten minutes for the train to lurch to a start, and during that time neither spoke a word. At the wedding she had felt his eyes upon her constantly. Now, in these close quarters, he treated her as if she were invisible.