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Authors: Laurel McKee
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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, unor namented 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
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, unor namented 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
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