Lions and Lace

by Meagan Mckinney

  “We leave at noon. Let Mara show you where to change your gown. Shall I summon your maid?” he asked with false solicitation.

  “Yes,” she whispered angrily, and began to stand. He stopped her.

  “My bride hasn’t had a toast yet.”

  “That isn’t necessary,” she quipped.

  “I insist.”

  She sat down and saw Sheridan glance at his brother. Eagan rose and lifted his glass. The entire room went silent as he spoke.

  “An Irish marriage is renowned for being a long one.” He solemnly turned to Alana and raised his glass higher. “I predict this one shall endure for eternity. To the bride!”

  Everyone, no matter how reluctantly, said, “To the bride!” and sipped champagne. Alana only grew more pale. She’d just been pummeled with another curse, another lie. Again she wanted to put her hands over her ears and run away.

  Sheridan stood; the crowd hushed. He raised his glass and looked at her. His gaze held her so tightly, she felt as if she were the only one in the room. “Where I come from in Ireland, they’ve had many a famine, and we’ve a toast to the bride that loosely translated says ‘May she always have potatoes.’” In a deep, compelling voice, he looked at her and said, “To my bride, Alana. Go mbeidh fatai aice go brach.” He raised his glass higher and scandalously added, “Erin go bragh!”

  There was a split second of disapproving silence before William Astor raised his glass. As if to taunt his wife, he said loudly, “Erin go bragh! God bless you, Alana!”

  Everyone followed in the toast, even a sour-faced Mrs. Astor, and the room again buzzed with talk.

  Alana stood and tried her best to smile. She was moved by his toast, moved by the history and the pain that was behind it. Sheridan had had the character not to mock her with pretty words, yet she was unnerved by his foreign Gaelic tongue, as she could see most in the room were.

  Slowly she lifted her glass to the crowd and looked across the sea of faces. It was her wedding day, yet there were none in the room she considered friends. Didier sat at the table with the Astors, a false beaming smile upon his face, handsomely paid for, no doubt, by her husband. Caroline Astor nearly spewed venom from her eyes, though her expression was one of dignified serenity. So many faces were familiar, yet those who loved her were not there. With tears suddenly springing to her eyes, she hastily lifted her glass to the sea of faces and drank. She didn’t look at Sheridan. Mara helped her with her train, and she went upstairs, thankful for the blessed respite from all the prying eyes, including her new husband’s.

  “What do you think of my bride, Eagan?” Sheridan asked in the quiet of the library while Alana was upstairs changing into her traveling suit. The guests still drank in the ballroom, waiting to send off the bride and groom before they too could take their leave. Sheridan had slipped off his frock coat and stood before the fire in his shirt, his black brocade vest and his gray striped trousers. Relaxed with his brother, he didn’t use his walking stick, resting it against a velvet ottoman.

  “Having seen her, I understand a few things now.” Eagan sipped his brandy with the casual air of one who always has a glass in his hand.

  “Like what?”

  Eagan grinned like an urchin running from the whip. “Like why you insisted upon marrying her within a week. She’s bloody beautiful.”

  A cynical smile touched Trevor’s lips. “Aye, Knickerbocker cold, but Knickerbocker beautiful.”

  “She’s any kind of beautiful, and don’t deny it. You haven’t taken your eyes off her since she walked down that aisle.”

  The muscles in Sheridan’s jaw tensed. “You are mistaken in that.”

  Eagan sipped again, unperturbed by his brother’s mercurial mood. “I’m actually jealous of you, Trevor. Your wife has the face of an angel, and if you look lower …”

  Sheridan’s head snapped up. He shot Eagan a glance that made the words die on his brother’s lips. Turning back to the fire, he said, “Don’t be too jealous of me tonight. I wager it won’t be quite what you imagine.”

  “On the contrary, my imagination is limited. I’m the untalented one in the family, remember?” Eagan finally smiled again. “Why are you going to Newport with her? Why don’t you sail to Alexandria? Egypt’s becoming quite popular, you know. All that sailing time and that long ride down the Nile, if you grasp my meaning.”

  “Newport will suffice.”

  Eagan conceded that with an understanding nod. “So when will you return?”

  “Two weeks.” Trevor hesitated with his next words as if he were already expecting what was to follow. “And I’m going to bring Mara with us. She’ll come up later with the rest of the servants.”

  Eagan choked on his brandy. He gave his brother a disbelieving stare. “You are joking. You’re going to take Mara on your honeymoon?”

  “I want her to get to know my bride.”

  “Shouldn’t you get to know your bride?”

  Sheridan’s gaze flickered to the fire, unable to meet his brother’s eyes. “I’ll have time for that.”

  Eagan’s stare grew more hostile. “What are you playing us for, Trevor? Do you think we’re fools? What are you up to?”

  Sheridan didn’t answer.

  Eagan took a long drink from his glass. Coolly he said, “I see now. You don’t love this girl. You’re using her for Mara’s sake. You should have let me in on this.” He smirked. “But of course you wouldn’t consult me on something this important. Oh, it’s all right for me to pick out the wine or have a philosophical conversation on Euclid’s Elements, but to have a hand in anything of real importance—”

  “That’s not true,” Trevor snapped. “You’re the one with the university. But what have you to do with my choosing a wife?”

  “I would have talked you out of something this crazy.” Eagan shook his head. “What does the woman you just married think of all of this? Does my sister-in-law have any regard for you, or have you forced her into this? Does she think we’re all just a bunch of stupid micks like the rest of them out there?”

  “I don’t know what she thinks of us, and I really don’t care.” Trevor’s expression hardened.

  “Does she even know, then? Or does she actually think you have some regard for her?”

  “Alana knows.”

  “Mara?” Eagan asked.

  “How do you explain an arrangement like this to Mara?”

  Eagan snorted in contempt. “Don’t you think she’s got brains in her head? She’ll figure something’s not right. She’s got to suspect already, with you dragging her along on your honeymoon.”

  “Well, I’ll never tell her, and neither will Alana.” Trevor looked at him and waited.

  Eagan shook his head in disgust. “I won’t tell her, Brother, if that’s what you want. But Mara’ll find out sooner or later, and when she does, don’t be surprised if she doesn’t handle it well.”

  “She won’t ever know.”

  “How can you do this?” Eagan’s voice was full of disbelief. “How could you marry that woman and say those vows and not accept her as your wife?”

  “We won’t live as man and wife, and when Mara has her place in society as she deserves, Alana and I will get an annulment.”

  “An annulment,” Eagan scoffed. “I give you a week before you get beneath that woman’s petticoats.”

  “The devil bite your tongue!” Trevor lashed out in Gaelic.

  Eagan smiled, seeing he was getting to him. “So you’re worried. As you ought to be. You married her, Trevor. She’s your wife now, not an opponent on the exchange. You won’t extricate yourself from this one easily.”

  “She’ll not be livin’ with me as me wife!”

  Sheridan’s brogue was out in full now, and Eagan judiciously decided it was time to retreat. “Fine. If that’s part of your bargain, you live by it.” He took another sip from his glass. “But I see one big problem. If you don’t treat that beautiful woman like a wife, what will you do if a man comes along who wants to?”
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  Sheridan didn’t answer. He jammed his arms into his frock coat and snatched up his walking stick. He gave Eagan a murderous look before slamming out of the room.

  “Your hair is so pretty. It’s just the color of butter. I wish I had such pretty tresses.” Mara stroked the brush through Alana’s hair while Alana sat at Mara’s lace-festooned dressing table. The maids bustled in the background, packing away the bridal gown and laying out her traveling cloak.

  Surrendering to the relaxing pull of the bristles through her scalp, Alana closed her eyes and said, “You mustn’t wish for that, Mara. You just might get them. And believe me, with my hair, you wouldn’t have turned all those heads at the reception. Your coloring is ever so much more stunning.”

  “Those people really only want ladies who look like you.”

  Mara’s voice was so wistful and brave, it was like a knife turning in Alana’s gut. She opened her eyes and looked at Mara in the mirror. Her gaze fell again on the girl’s gown, and she knew she would have to ask Mara about the short dresses in the not-so-distant future. At sixteen, a girl didn’t usually go about in short dresses. Alana had known some Southern girls who’d come up from Atlanta, and much to Mrs. Astor’s disapproval, they’d been in long dresses at fourteen.

  “Mara,” she said gently, “you mustn’t believe such things, because they’re not true. You’re a lovely young woman, and any man would be proud to have you on his arm.”

  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 thinks 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, Schönberg, 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 fascina
ting 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.