by Laurel McKee
As they turned toward the bookshelves, Eliza decided not to mention what was in the rest of their mother's latest letter. One of the tenants at Killinan had been arrested for hiding pikes in his barn, another for allegedly taking the United Irish oath—both capital offenses. Katherine was worried what else might be behind the ordered little kingdom she had painstakingly built on her estate.
Eliza was sending Anna home thinking it was safer than Dublin. But was Will right? Should she send her family to London? Or was anyplace at all really safe?
Chapter 5
Lady Smythson's ball looked to be what in London would be called a "great crush," Eliza thought as she peered out the carriage window. They crept minutely forward toward the great house, which was near the assembly rooms on Rutland Square, hemmed in by other vehicles and by a flock of richly dressed pedestrians who had lost patience with the waiting.
Eliza rested her chin on her gloved hand, in no hurry to follow them. Dublin society was always in a vast hurry to get to their amusements, to dancing, cards, quarrels, flirtations. No more so than of late, when those amusements were life's best distractions. But Eliza felt strangely distant from it all, as if more than window glass separated her from the glittering desperation.
Even Anna seemed subdued. She had been quiet ever since their excursion on St Stephen's Green, retreating to her chamber with her new books as soon as they returned to Henrietta Street Now she sat on the carriage seat next to Eliza, twisting her fan in her ringers.
Eliza caught sight of her own reflection in the window.
Her face was pale in the frame of her fur-lined hood, her eyes wide and shadowed with worry. No wonder Anna was so quiet
She turned back to her sister with a determined smile. 'Tell me, Anna, which of your ardent suitors will you dance with first?"
A faint answering smile touched Anna's lips, but she still twisted her fan around and around. "Whoever asks me, I suppose."
"Even Mr. Andrews, the ever-preaching curate?" Eliza teased. "Or perhaps Lord Simonson, who mashed your slippers to shreds last time?"
"I heard Lord Simonson gave up dancing entirely, much to every young lady's great relief. And this hardly looks like Mr. Andrews's sort of gathering. Too crowded and loud, too fast" Anna paused as the carriage lurched ahead a few feet "What about you, Eliza?"
"Me? I never danced with Mr. Andrews in my life, I frighten him, I think."
"I mean, will you dance with Will Denton, if he's here?"
Eliza felt a sharp pang in the region of her heart at the mention of his name. "Ah, now, he frightens me."
"I doubt anyone frightens you, Eliza! You are so very brave. But I see what you mean."
"Do you?"
"Yes. After seeing him today, so severe and stern, so..."
"Military?" Eliza murmured.
"He was so different from when we knew him at Killinan."
"He is different," Eliza said. And she should not forget that.
"Still, he stopped that man from singing that ghastly song."
"Only because he did not want to have to quell a riot there on St. Stephen's Green."
"Perhaps, but it still should be worth something, I think."
"Worth a dance?"
The carriage finally came to a halt at the front doors, Lady Smythson's whole house blazing with light in welcome. Before the footmen helped them alight, Anna suddenly grasped Eliza's hand. "If he does ask you to dance,. you should say yes. Now, sister, while you still can."
Before Eliza could say anything, Anna leaped down in a flurry of golden curls and pale blue muslin. Eliza followed slowly, going up the steps and into the crowded foyer, where servants waited to take their winter wraps.'
Like most grand Dublin houses, the Smythson structure boasted a severe classical facade of gray stone, unornamented except for a leaded glass fanlight over the door. But inside, all was sweeping grand staircases, polished marble floors, ornate white cakelike plaster work, and shimmering brocade draperies.
"Isn't it strange, Eliza?" Anna said as they joined the long line snaking its bejeweled way up the curving staircase toward the ballroom.
"Isn't what strange?" Eliza answered, thinking all of life was strange, indeed. Especially since Will had' come back into it.
"How well our houses reflect our whole little Dublin world." Anna waved her fan around the glittering, soaring space. "Such austerity and decorum outside, such barbaric emotion and showiness inside."
A loud burst of laughter from above rang out, along with a violent shout, as if to prove her words. It was true enough, Eliza thought They seemed to have all the stuffiness of London, the "elegance and decorum" of their English cousins. But inside...
Inside they were Irish, whether they liked it or not But was Will still Irish inside, too?
The line finally reached the doors of the ballroom, flowing into the vast space like a river of diamonds and satin. Lady Smythson greeted Eliza politely enough, but with caution etched around her eyes thicker than the rice powder she wore. No one would deny a countess an invitation, especially one who was born a Blacknall of Killinan, yet there were always the rumors of Eliza's "unfortunate" friendships and inclinations.
"I think I will just go play a hand or two of whist" Anna said.
"Don't lose too much," Eliza warned.
"I never do! Or at least, not very often." Anna quickly kissed her cheek. "You look very pretty tonight sister. Remember what I said—dance while you can."
Eliza shook her head as her sister skipped away. She knew she did not look "very pretty" in her somber dark blue satin trimmed with black velvet bows and only one strand of pearls at her throat. Not beside Anna or the other young ladies in their bright gowns and ribbons. And she did not intend to dance at all, not with Will or anyone else. But it was nice of her sister to care.
"Champagne, Lady Mount Clare?" a familiar voice said, a lean, sun-browned hand holding a glass of bubbling pale-gold liquid before her.
Eliza slowly took the glass, slowly turning to face Will. "Were you lurking here in wait for me, Major Denton?"
He gave her a smile, charming but cautious, much like Lady Smythson's. What did they all expect? She wondered. That she would hike up her skirts and launch into a jig? Jump onto a chair and shout, "Erin go bragh!"?
That might be enjoyable, if only to see Will's reaction.
"Of course I was," he said cheerfully. "I thought you might be thirsty after your arduous voyage across town."
"I am much obliged," she said, taking a long, fortifying sip. Perhaps it would erase the memory of him marching on the green. "Champagne is always a welcome offering."
"I must remember that. Nothing else about me seems terribly 'welcome' to you, my lady."
"Oh, I wouldn't necessarily say that," Eliza murmured. "I saw you today at St. Stephen's Green. Everyone seemed most impressed with your... strong military bearing."
"That is what we're meant to do. Show everyone our strength, our determination to keep the peace."
"Is that why you stopped that man singing?"
"We won't stand for anyone starting a riot," he said tightly.
"Even an Orangeman?"
"Anyone. We are all Irish, all in this together, we must act as such. For the good of our country."
Eliza studied him over the edge of her glass. His face was set in most determined lines, his blue eyes dark. "Do you really think that? That we are all Irish?"
He gave her a surprised glance. "Of course. Was I not born here, the same as you? My family has been here for over a hundred years. What else would I be?"
Her gaze slid over his red coat. "You have been away a long time. Perhaps you have forgotten."
He leaned closer to her, his eyes intense as he watched her. That warm strength of his seemed to reach out and surround her again, luring her ever closer and closer. "A man never forgets the things most important to him, however long he is parted from them."
Eliza swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry, her heart poun
ding. She gulped down the last of her champagne, remembering Anna's words. Do it now—while you can. But she had other work now, no matter how tempted she was to dance with him, to feel his arms around her again.
"I think I would like a breath of fresh air," she said. "It is very crowded in here."
Indeed, even more people had pushed into the ballroom during the dancing, a great horde seeking punch and lobster patties—and news. The buzz of it was like a flock of frenzied birds, flying around the treetops as the sharp-clawed cats drew near.
"I could use some air myself" Will said. "Let me go with you."
"Are you quite sure you want to be seen in my company?" And Eliza feared she could not trust herself with him.
"A British officer in the company of Lady Democratical, you mean?" He grinned at her teasingly. "Someone needs to keep an eye on you. It might as well be me."
Eliza laughed. "Good fortune with that, Major. I move very quickly."
"Oh yes. I know."
The long, narrow picture gallery, lined with paintings on one side and tall windows on the other, was filled with only a few couples, murmuring quietly together in the shadows. Starlight shimmered through those windows, etched with the cold brightness of winter. It was lovely after the heat and noise of the ballroom, but as Eliza walked along with Will close at her side, she wondered if she was not safer in the crowd after all.
She paused before a landscape, a scene of pastoral idyll with haystacks and pretty shepherds and shepherdesses, and sipped at the last of her champagne. It was warm now, but at least it steadied her nerves.
"You no longer care to dance, then?" Will asked. "I remember when you loved it"
"I fear I am quite out of practice."
"Lord Mount Clare was not fond of a reel, then?"
Eliza laughed. "If it did not involve hunting or shooting, Mount Glare wasn't interested at all. Rest his soul."
"A countryman, was he?"
"To his core. Horses, dogs, and guns were his life."
"He didn't care for books?"
"Not unless it was a treatise on horse breeding. We didn't have a great deal in common, as you see." She smiled up at him. "But we rubbed along well enough. Especially when I was in Dublin and he was in the country."
He smiled at her, too, yet it seemed somehow ... sad. "I've thought of you so often over these years, Eliza. Wondered what you were doing, what your life was like."
"Dull, indeed, compared to yours, I am sure."
"I doubt it Nothing is duller than the life of a regiment on a faraway island."
"Oh yes. Warm sunshine, stretches of sandy shore, fresh, sweet fruit all year round—it sounds dreadful. I, on the other hand, trudged my way along through long Irish winters, with only my books to keep me warm."
Will laughed. 'If you only knew how I dreamed of cold winters sometimes! Dreamed of..."
"Of what?" Eliza asked softly, finding she longed to know his dreams.
"Of home, of course."
"Of course." But whose home? Whose version of Ireland? She drifted toward the window, staring out at the street below, dotted with lights from the house, then at the night sky, stretching on and on, forever it seemed. The moon hung suspended in that purple-black sky, like a perfect luminescent pearl.
"I can see why you would think of home," she said. "Surely there can be no other moon like that in all the world."
"Indeed, there cannot," he said, standing close behind her as they watched the night
"When I was a child, one of my nursemaids told me tales of such a moon," she said. "Such a moon is a sidhe, or faerie moon, and all the woodland faeries come out to dance under its lights."
"It sounds a grand party."
"Yes. After that, I read every Irish tale I could find, stories of the faerie folk, gods, heroes. I was sure that a land that birthed such glorious beings must be the finest on Earth. The one most worth defending and fighting for."
"And nothing has ever changed your mind."
"No." She turned to face him, studying his features, etched in the chalky moonlight. How beautiful he was, just like those heroes of her tales. At times, she felt closer to him than to anyone else in the world. From the time they were young, it seemed they were two halves of the same ancient coin.
"I love Ireland," she went on. "It is a part of me, and I belong to it You say you love it, too."
"Of course I do. I have dedicated my life to protecting it."
Eliza shook her head sadly. Did he truly not see? He gave himself to the forces that would erase Ireland, her true self, forever. Forces that would always subject it to the iron weight of a foreign will and keep her people crushed beneath it
"I fear we shall be forever at odds," she said.
He caught her hand in his, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. His mouth was warm through the thin kid. Eliza swayed toward him, mesmerized by that heat, by the sensual curve of his lips. She caught herself just in time, trying to disentangle her fingers from his.
"We shouldn't do this here," she whispered. "Someone will see."
His hand tightened. "And tell your United Irish friends you were in an intimate tete-a-tete with an officer?"
She pulled away. "And tell Lord Lieutenant Camden you were seen with me."
"Point taken, Lady Mount Clare. Shall I test the ivy outside your window again tonight?"
"I knew I should have told the servants to cut those vines away."
"But you did not. Because you know how useful it is."
"You are just as impossible as ever, William Denton."
"Yes, I know. But don't you like it?" He grinned at her, unrepentant
She did like it—far too much. "I am taking Anna to the theater tomorrow night Mrs. Crosby is performing in Romeo and Juliet Perhaps we shall see you there?"
"Yes, you will see me there. General Hardwick and his wife have invited me to sit in their box, as a matter of fact Now, should we go back to the ballroom? Perhaps we could even attempt a dance."
"But I fear I have given up on dancing. We should go back, though, before Anna has time to lose her allowance again."
"She seems a high-spirited girl."
Eliza laughed as they walked back down the length of the deserted gallery. 'To say the least! My mother thought she was bored in the country and that a time in town would do her some good. I am not sure that has been the case."
"She takes after her sister, then, I think. Full of energy and life."
Eliza glanced at him, surprised. Full of life? Nay, of late she had felt weighed down by seriousness. Until she saw him again.
But there was no time to say anything else. They had returned to the ballroom doors, to all the overly bright sparkle of crystal chandeliers and frantic laughter. Will bowed to her and disappeared back into the crowd.
Eliza rubbed at her bare upper arms, shivering despite the overly warm room.
"Eliza, dear? Are you unwell?" she heard Anna say, and turned to find that she didn't have to seek out her sister after all. Anna's trail of admirers hovered in the background, but she paid them no mind.
Their mother had sent Anna to Dublin not just because she was bored at Killinan, of course, but also in hopes she would find a suitable husband. Perhaps not the duke or prince Anna teased about, but someone who could control her and her "high spirits" and not let her independence fly out of control, as Eliza's had. It seemed that plan would meet with no success, for she cared for none of her respectable suitors.
"I am just a bit tired," Eliza said. "I think it is time we departed."
For once, her sister made no protest at leaving so early. "Of course," she said, going along quietly as they reclaimed their wraps and sent for the carriage.
As they jostled through the empty streets, Eliza gazed out the window, wrapped up in thoughts of Will, just as when they had arrived. She could feel their old bond tightening again. Something in their hearts still called out to each other, a soft, irresistible whisper.
But it was too late. They had chose
n their paths, and they were separate ones, indeed.
"It was good to see you smile again tonight, Eliza," Anna said.
Eliza took her sister's hand. "Have I been so dour of late?"
"Perhaps just a bit. But it is hardly a wonder. Everyone behaves so oddly these days. Yet, Will Denton made you smile."
Was it so obvious, then, that irresistible seed of old happiness she felt when she was with him? She would have to be much more careful in the future.
"It is pleasant to see him again after so long," she admitted.
"Yes. I am sure that is all there is to it."
Was that sarcasm in Anna's voice? Eliza studied her sister's angelic face in the moonlight, but Anna just smiled.
The carriage halted at their own front door, light shining faintly from the fanlight The house seemed quiet, almost deserted. Mr. O'Connor had gone, slipping away from the cellar before dawn to head for France to avoid arrest and plead for French allies. One task accomplished. Yet, another always awaited.
"You go ahead, Anna," Eliza said. "I have a quick errand."
"At this time of night?" her sister cried.
"I shan't be gone long," Eliza answered soothingly.
"But the patrols!"
"They won't bother me, not while I'm in my own carriage."
She could see that her sister wanted to argue, maybe insist on coming along. Finally, Anna nodded and let the footman help her from the carriage. "Be careful, Eliza."
"Of course I will," Eliza said, blowing her a kiss. Once the front door was safely shut and the house quiet again, she told the coachman, "One twenty Green Street, please, John."
Green Street was the site of a respectable-looking coffeehouse. Eliza left the servants with the carriage a few doors down, drawing her cloak's hood close around her face as she hurried past the sparsely filled tables, through the warm coffee- and spice-scented air. The proprietor behind the counter paid her no mind.
She went through a door at the back and up a narrow, creaking flight of stairs. At the top was a landing with one door made of stout wooden planks with sturdy new iron fittings. It smelled of coffee even there—coffee, lilac perfume, and fear.
