Alana’s statement caught everyone off guard. Suddenly Mara laughed, and Alana would have laughed too, but she feared Trevor might break her hand.
“Fine, but don’t either of you forget that the impossible is my trademark.” He spoke to both girls, but it was obvious he directed the warning solely to Alana. She stiffened to pull away. He only gripped harder.
A mischievous smile touched Mara’s lips. “But tell me, Brother dearest. When may I expect a niece or nephew?”
Trevor looked at Mara as if she had just asked him to jump over the moon.
Alana might have blushed, but she suddenly remembered the interminable dinner at that long table and decided it was her turn to torment. She dug her fingernails into his callused palm and gave him her softest, most alluring smile. “Yes, my love,” she said wickedly, “I’ve been wondering that myself. Do tell us.”
He gave her a sideways glance that would have quelled an entire army. Squeezing her hand tighter, he said, “That’s up to you, sweet wife. Whenever you desire a babe, let me know, and I’ll make sure you have one.”
If she had any doubt about his sincerity, one look into those eyes told her otherwise. Turning away from his sister’s gaze, he gave her such a hot, openly lustful, punishing look, it took the breath from her lungs.
She removed her nails from his palm and reluctantly conceded defeat. Thinking he’d let go, she was stunned to find his grip closed like a shackle. Her gaze slammed into his, and they looked at each other for a long burning moment while neither of them backed down.
“Shall I play some romantic music?” Mara looked at their linked hands approvingly. “I know. We need a waltz. I’ll play one for you, Trevor.” She breezed to the ebony Steinway in the corner and began to play from memory. The exquisite notes seemed to float from the girl’s well-trained fingertips.
“‘Blue Danube,’” Alana whispered, recognizing the Strauss waltz. She peeked at Trevor. There was pride in his eyes as he watched his beautiful, accomplished sister play. But while the music swelled, something flickered in those eyes, something very like sadness. When she saw how he clutched that gold-tipped cane, she suddenly knew why. It was a tragedy that her husband liked waltzes. He would never dance to one.
The music mellowed him, for as Mara continued to play, Alana looked down and found his thumb gently stroking her knuckles. The gesture was absent-minded at best, but the gentleness of that touch, especially in contrast to his strength, sent a warm shiver through her body. It shouldn’t be happening, but she enjoyed sitting, listening to Mara’s music, feeling his hand wrapped protectively over her own. She wondered if there would be many evenings like this. If there were, she thought as she looked up at her husband, she might be in danger of caring for this man too deeply.
The tender moment ended. Mara finished her piece, and the silence must have made Trevor conscious of what he was doing, for he ripped his hand away.
Alana looked at Mara, a sadness of her own in her eyes; she was made painfully aware of how cold her palm was without his. “That was lovely,” she said, desperate to retrieve some normalcy in the situation.
Mara shook her head. “If Eagan were here, he could sing, and then we’d have a truly fine evening. You must hear him, Alana. He has such a handsome voice.”
“I’d love that. As soon as we return to New York, we’ll have to ask him.” Alana smiled, and Mara returned it. Alana was struck by how pretty the girl was, and when she looked down at Mara’s short dress, a gray silk poplin, she made a mental note to speak to her about her dresses tomorrow.
Mara stood. “Well, it’s been a long day for me, and I know you two must be anxious to be alone.”
His sister’s comment seemed to snap Trevor from his pensive mood. He looked up sharply. “Before you retire, hooligan, I want you to know I’m planning a trip on the Colleen tomorrow.”
“What—what is the Colleen?” Alana asked, groping for any conversation that would keep Mara from leaving them alone.
“Oh, you must see her,” Mara exclaimed in a reverent voice. “The Colleen is Trevor’s yacht. She’s won trophies and everything. Sailing her is beyond anything—it’s like waltzing on clouds.”
Alana glanced at Trevor. Mara’s choice of words was inadvertently insightful. Trevor Sheridan couldn’t waltz, so he sailed, and no doubt sailed the best and the biggest yacht to make up for any other deficiencies, imaginary or not.
“When shall we go, Trevor?” Mara asked.
“Tomorrow morning. First thing.”
“I can’t wait. I love you both!” The girl quickly said her farewells and left the library.
Trevor stood, and Alana rose, inexplicably sorry to see the evening over so quickly. “Let me see you to your room,” he offered in a perfunctory manner.
“No. Please. If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay here a moment longer.” She walked to the cheery fire and warmed her cold hands. Fenian Court’s library, as she had discovered, was one of the best rooms in the house. Here there was no gilding, no “Louis” influence at all. Heavy masculine design predominated, with English wainscotting, and leather chairs around the fire, the perimeter of the room lined with screened bookcases of walnut. The only concession to opulence was the custom-loomed carpeting in a deep forest-green. The room reminded her of Trevor’s bedroom.
“I hope you’ll be good to Mara and see out this arrangement.”
Trevor’s statement fell on her like a dead weight. She turned from the fire and locked stares with him. “Your sister is a sweet child. Why wouldn’t I be good to her?”
“Perhaps in defiance of me.”
She took a fortifying breath. She was never going to convince this man she was human, that she could feel empathy and pain just like those he loved. “Believe it or not,” she said coolly, “I’m going to do everything I can for her, in spite of you.”
“Good.” His eyes gave her a slow, ominous perusal. “Because you must know I won’t allow you—or anybody—to hurt her again.”
She stared at him and with aching clarity remembered that debut. But Mara was not the only one hurt that ill-fated night. She herself had paid a dear price for that social shunning, and the irony was that she was probably the only one who would have attended it. Yet now that debut ball seemed a lifetime ago. Disheartened, she said, “I’ve never hurt your sister. I know you’ll never believe that, despite telling your sister otherwise.”
“I think it’s important that she think well of you.” His voice lowered in a threat. “I want her to trust you, if I dare.”
“How can you expect her to trust me when you won’t?”
“Except for the matter of how you treat my sister, it’s not necessary that I trust you.”
A lump came to her throat. She could hardly say what she felt she must. “I’m your wife. You’re my husband. Is that bond not worthy of trust?”
“In a true marriage, yes.”
She looked away to the fire, unable to meet his gaze. She couldn’t understand why his words hurt her so. All he said was correct. But ever since she’d been thrown at him, her emotions had ceased to follow logic. “I’m surprised you aren’t relishing the task of defaming my character to her.” She gave a dark laugh. “In fact, it seems at odds with your previous behavior that you should be so anxious that Mara and I be friends.”
Sheridan appeared hesitant to explain. When he did, his words were cautions and few. “Mara has rarely known much female companionship. She’s never had a mother. Our mother died upon her birth. I believe it would do her good to have some womanly guidance.… But only from a sympathetic source,” he added, the accusation all but said.
She took a deep breath, her emotions almost out of control. In a shaky voice, she said, “Contrary to your beliefs, I’m not some marble-hearted creature who cannot be kind unless forced to be. Mara has my every sympathy. Why, she’s the exact same age as my sis—” She stopped with a sharp intake of breath.
“Your sister?” he finished, noting her reaction.
“Wait.” His tone stopped her more than the word. As if he realized he had overstepped his bounds, he came to her side and said simply, “Promise me you will never hurt Mara. If you make that promise, I’ll believe you.”
“I won’t hurt your sister, I promise you,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly filling with irrational tears.
He searched her face a moment. Then, appearing satisfied, he pulled back and walked stiffly to the fireplace. She started to leave, but his voice stopped her once more. “I meant to tell you, Alana—an invitation from the Varicks arrived today. They’re having a ball tomorrow at Maisonsur-Mer.”
“Then rejoice. Your plan is working.”
“Yes,” he answered, not hiding his bitterness. “We Sheridans would never have been able to procure an invitation from that family before my marriage to you.”
A deep melancholy seeped into her heart at those words. Their marriage was rolling right along the agreed path. But the calculation depressed her. It left no room for anything else. The bishop’s words came back to haunt her, and she thought about her marriage vows. For some wild reason, her impulse was to treat this marriage with the gravity God and the law proclaimed it was due. But every time she entertained that thought, he came along and drove it into her heart that this was a business transaction. And nothing more.
But that kiss on the train had been something more. And there had been something more in his room that night when she could have sworn he wanted to kiss her again. Yet if she knew anything about this man, he was ready to die for his convictions. And his convictions about her obviously told him that because of her privileged past, she was not capable of caring for another and therefore unworthy of his regard.
“Well, I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, so …” She turned to leave.
“One last thing. I want you to do something for me.”
She paused. “And what is that?”
He didn’t answer her immediately, clearly unsure of how to begin. “I want—I want you to speak to Mara about her inappropriate dress.”
Alana had been thinking the same thing. She almost pointed that out to him, but she kept her mouth closed.
He said, “You know why she’s wearing those short dresses, don’t you?”
She nodded, hating the pain she heard in his voice, hating the unmistakable accusation. “I know,” she whispered.
With that understanding past them, he dismissed her. “All right. You can go.” He suddenly gave a sarcastic laugh, clearly noting her anxiety to be gone from him. “In fact, run if you must.”
His words cut her like a knife. She stiffened. Then, unable to help herself, she did run, all the miles to her lonely suite of rooms.
Engagement
… thus keeping out the “new people” whom New York was beginning to dread and yet be drawn to.…
—Edith Wharton,
The Age of Innocence
15
It was a beautiful day, blue-skied and breezy, a perfect morning for a sail.
Alana shoved aside the heavy draperies and threw open the casement windows, breathing deeply of the sea air. An unexpected moment of optimism hit her, and she smiled, for a second believing that perhaps, just perhaps, all was not lost. If she, Mara, and Trevor had a few good days in Newport, even just sailing around on the Colleen, then maybe Trevor and she might find a common ground. For reasons she couldn’t quite articulate yet, Alana suddenly felt the strange desire to make the vows they had spoken in church not such lies after all.
“What should I wear to sail, Margaret?” she asked when she turned from the windows.
“White linen, definitely,” Margaret announced.
“All right. Get out a white linen gown—and perhaps that blue straw bonnet—you know, the tiny one with the polka-dot ribbon?”
“Yes, Mrs. Sheridan.”
Alana turned back to the windows, the draperies swaying with the brisk sea breeze. In the distance, at the end of Fenian Court’s docks, the Colleen had been taken from the boathouse and now rocked with a dozen deckhands who were preparing her to sail.
Excitedly, she pictured herself at the bow, the breeze freeing her hair and whipping at her skirts. She imagined Trevor next to her pointing out some of the landmarks of the coast while Mara and she laughed at their attempts to keep their hats on in the wind. It would be a wonderful day. More important, it would give her the chance to enter that sacred ground the Sheridan family was built upon and be included.
Margaret handed her the white linen dress. She couldn’t get it on fast enough.
“Is she ready?” Trevor asked his first mate when he walked to the end of the docks and surveyed his prize. The Colleen was indeed beautiful, 150 feet of polished brass and teakwood. She was renowned for being the fastest yacht on the eastern seaboard, and if anyone doubted it, they had only to peek inside the Colleen’s trophy room.
“Trevor!” Mara called from the bow, pretty in a short pink linen gown piped with navy-blue ribbon. “Do you want me to have a servant fetch Alana? She hasn’t arrived yet!”
The first mate assured Trevor they were ready to sail. Trevor nodded and walked up the gangway.
Mara ran to meet him. “Should I send for her?” she asked.
Trevor gazed grimly toward the house. “Did she tell you she was coming along?”
“I just assumed she was. Didn’t she mention this morning whether she wanted to go?”
He didn’t look at her. “She didn’t mention it.”
“Oh. Well, perhaps she was too tired.” Mara’s face fell.
Trevor didn’t answer. He just stood staring at the house, deep in thought.
“Was she still sleeping when you left, then?”
“I don’t know, Mara. Because she’s my wife doesn’t mean I can read her mind,” he snapped.
“I didn’t ask whether you could read her mind,” she said quietly. “I asked whether she was still sleeping when you came down here.”
“I don’t know.” He gave a curt defiant nod to the first mate, who had signaled him. “Look,” he conceded testily, “you’ve got to understand, Mara. Your sister-in-law comes from a very different world. Ladies like her don’t necessarily want to go yachting, with sea spray making their gowns limp and the wind spoiling the arrangement of their hair.”
“But Alana’s not like that.” Mara grew solemn. “Is she?”
Again Trevor looked at the house. “I announced our sail last night. The only reason she’s not down here”—his voice grew dispassionate—“is because she doesn’t want to be down here.” He nodded to the first mate and said, “Cast off.” In ten minutes they were well into Rhode Island Sound.
Anticipation sent Alana almost running out the French doors and down Fenian Court’s sweep of lawn to the crest of the hill where she could see the docks. Holding on to the tiny straw hat perched artfully on her head, she scanned the docks searching for the enormous yacht that had been there only minutes before. It was gone.
Her smile faded as she held her hand to her eyes to scan the sea. Out in the sound, unmistakably, was the Colleen, cutting through the blue waves like a glorious white phantom.
Her heart sank.
The hand that had shielded her eyes lowered to her lips. They had left without her. She felt something tighten in her throat, and she desperately denied how she was feeling. Her mind told her there were a million reasons for their leaving without her if she only took the time to think about it. But no matter how rational she tried to be, there was no avoiding the reason that hurt her the most. They’d simply sailed off without giving her a thought. They had not wanted her.
But Mara wouldn’t have done this. Last night she’d made a point to include her. It was Trevor. He was the one to exclude her. Alana felt a coldness in her
heart when she wondered how long she would have to pay for failing to attend Mara’s debut. Trevor had done this to make her hurt as Mara had.
Her shoulders slumped at the thought. Trevor wanted her as an ornament on his arm to further his sister’s social aspirations. He wanted her womanly advice for Mara. But he didn’t want her to be part of his family. She was to do her duty, and he was to live his life, and never the twain should meet.
Tears threatened her eyes, but she swallowed her hurt like a bitter pill. Trevor had set boundaries for their marriage, and perhaps it was just as well. In the end, when the annulment came, it would make things more comfortable. She wouldn’t have to worry about becoming too fond of his family, and more to the point, she wouldn’t have to worry about becoming too fond of him. For a brief second, guilt had weakened her into almost wanting to believe in those marriage vows, no matter how false they had been. But no longer. Let him treat her as if she possessed no feelings, and she would show him that she didn’t. She would be cool, dutiful, and polite. Nothing more.
Yet as she looked out at the exhilarating form of the Colleen skimming the high waters of the sound, her eyes glittered with unshed tears. She pictured Trevor, relaxed and happy, perhaps standing at the bow letting the salt wind bite at his hair, and the pain stabbed her as never before. Her husband didn’t want to share such pleasures with her. She had married a man with a heart of stone. He wanted business and only business, her needs be damned.
Unable to stop them, she let tears roll hot and bitter down her cheeks. They’d barely been married, and already Trevor had wounded another place in her heart, not even giving her time to scar.
Dejected, she left the bluff, putting what armor she had into place to protect her from further blows. The next time, she vowed, brushing away her tears with a violence she hadn’t known she possessed, next time, she wouldn’t let herself care enough for him to hurt her again. If he thought he’d married an ice maiden, he was in for a surprise. He didn’t know what cold was.
Lions and Lace Page 19