Chapter 2

Anna walked toward the supper rooms as fast as her corset would allow. Thank goodness they planned to leave New York for the country next week. Her father insisted on attending every ball and party of the season, trying to find her a husband.

But after Stuart …

Her heart clenched painfully. She knew that she should have listened to her father when he raised objections about her engagement to Stuart Maxwell Gordon a year ago. But she had been in love. And too blind to see he cared more for her dowry than for her.

She pushed the thought of her former fiancé firmly out of her mind and reached the foyer to the supper room in time to see her father searching for her, elegant in his black tailcoat and the vest of MacDougall tartan plaid that he insisted on wearing in public. His full head of silver hair matched the clan brooch bearing the MacDougall motto: Buaidh No Bas—Victory or Death—and she smiled at the attractive picture he made.

“There ye be, lassie.” His wide smile replaced the frown. He pulled her gloved hand through his arm and patted it. “I am more than ready to sit,” he said as he loosened his cravat. “Rather warm in here tonight.”

His face looked drawn, or was it the shadows cast by the candlelight? “You’re not feeling well, Papa?” A sudden stab pierced her chest. Her father had never been ill a day that she could remember.

“A wee bit tired. Don’t worry, lassie. I’ve been workin’ too hard—that’s all.”

Anna stepped out of the line queuing for supper and led her father to a small table near the windows. “Sit and rest, Papa. I’ll get your supper.”

He nodded. “Thank you, lass.”

She turned to check on him as she filled a plate with roast squab and beef Wellington. He was gazing out the window toward the New York City skyline, lit up like chains of diamonds. As she fumbled with the dishes, a gloved hand intervened and deftly retrieved a plate before the squab tumbled to the floor.

“Allow me to help you, miss.”

The dark-haired stranger from the dressing room beamed down at her and offered his other arm. She bit her lip and then accepted his help with a gracious nod. “Our table is near the windows, sir.”

He did cut a fine figure in his evening dress, and evidently other ladies thought so, too, as their heads turned as he passed, like hunters following the scent of prey.

As they neared the dining area, he raised an eyebrow. She moved ahead of him and walked to the table where her father sat staring out the window into the night.

“There you go, sir,” he said as he placed the plate before her father. He pulled out a chair for Anna and nodded at her. What did he think he was doing? They hadn’t been properly introduced.

Anna sat in the chair, murmured her thanks, and faced her father. But the young man didn’t leave as any other gentleman would do. Instead, he stood with a ridiculous smile on his face.

“May I introduce myself, sir?” He bowed deeply. “Robert Alexander Radclyfe, son and heir of the ninth Earl of Wentwater, at your service.”

Her father stood and bowed. “Philip Henry MacDougall. I see ye’ve met my daughter, Anna.”

“I haven’t had that honor yet.” He turned to Anna and bowed again. “Delighted to meet you.” He paused. “Miss MacDougall.”

He had almost said “again.” She could tell it had been on the tip of his tongue. And that enigmatic smile—as if they shared a secret. Such impudence couldn’t be tolerated. Anna pasted a frosty smile on her face and inclined her head, ignoring the twinkle in his eye.

“Would ye like to fetch your supper and join us, laddie?” her father asked.

“That would be lovely, Mr. MacDougall. Thank you so much.”

The Englishman left, and Anna scowled at her father. “Really, Papa.”

Her father shrugged. “He’s a verra nice chap. That’s why we’re here, aye? To find ye a husband.”

Anna wrinkled her nose. “You are much more anxious that I, in that department.”

“I’d like to see ye settled before I go the way of all flesh.”

Anna sighed. “Papa, you always say that.”

“Because it’s true.” He hesitated then reached across the table and took her hand. “Anna … sometimes I dinna think I will see seventy—”

“Please, Papa, I don’t want to think about—”

“Here we are.” Mr. Radclyfe seated himself and shook out his napkin. “I shall be quite interested to see whether the beef Wellington on this side of the ocean is as delicious as that served in London.”

Her father released her hand and smiled at him. “Is this your first trip to New York then, laddie?”

“It is.”

“And how do ye find your neighbors across the pond then?”

Mr. Radclyfe studied Anna. “Enchanting.”

Anna resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her father glanced in her direction and ever so slightly raised an eyebrow. Certainly he was wondering why she didn’t enter the conversation, but she had nothing to say to this particular young man, no matter how devastatingly handsome. She smiled prettily instead, kept her mouth shut, and stood. “Please excuse me.”

Both men got to their feet as she swept away. A peek over her shoulder revealed Mr. Radclyfe gazing after her with a puzzled smile on his face. Then he winked.

Anna whipped her head around and exhaled hard. Winking was considered insufferably rude. A gentleman should never wink in the presence of a lady, nor cross his legs, shrug, or laugh immoderately. But then, said a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like her maid, Winifred, a lady should never turn to look back after a man, either, whether in the ballroom or on the street.

A swarm of excited voices swirled over her as she opened the door to the ladies’ refreshing room.

“… the most divine smile!”

“… and his accent. I almost swooned.…”

“… my mother will settle for nothing less than an earl.…”

Anna sighed and pushed her way to the mirror. She didn’t enjoy this social scene. Then she grimaced.

Be honest. You did enjoy it. Until Stuart.

She shook her head irritably as a maid approached with a tray of scent bottles. There was already enough fragrance in the air to perfume all of Central Park. She was turning to leave when she saw an old friend enter the lounge, in diamonds and ice-blue satin.

Anna hastened to meet her with an embrace. “Nora! What a wonderful surprise. I didn’t know you were in New York.”

“My husband said he needed a change of scenery. It was a last-minute thing. But it’s good to be back in New York. Living in England has been a nightmare.”

A pinched look about her friend’s lips alarmed Anna, and her normally rosy complexion had paled. Nora’s eyes brimmed with tears.

“What is it, Nora?”

Nora shook her head. “Everything.” Her lips trembled. “But I can’t speak here,” she whispered, glancing at the giggling young women around them.

“Come with me. We’ll find a place.”

Anna took Nora’s arm and found a quiet corner screened by potted orange trees. Sitting close to her friend, she took her hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Now tell me. Are you ill?”

Nora hunched her shoulders. “I might as well be. I’m so miserable.”

“Are you having … marriage troubles?”

“I suppose you could call it that.” She gave a languid toss of her head, the corners of her lips turning down into an unattractive scowl.

“What’s wrong? Can you tell me?”

Nora twisted her handkerchief into knots. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.” She dabbed at her eyes with the limp hankie. “I never should have married Peter.”

“Why do you say that?”

Nora bit her lip. “I believed my parents—that love would come after the marriage. But it didn’t happen. Peter despises me.”

Anna gasped. “That can’t be true. You are the sweetest girl I know.”

“He cares nothing for me. It was all about the money.”

“Your dowry?”

Nora nodded, and fresh tears cascaded down her wan cheeks. “As soon as he got his hands on it, he didn’t bother with me at all, except for the business of getting an heir. And when I didn’t become pregnant after a year of trying, he began living at one of the other family estates in London. I’m out in that drafty old house on the moors, alone, with a skeleton staff that treat me with condescension and laugh at me behind my back.”

Anna blinked, unable to believe her friend could be in this position. “How awful for you. Can’t your father speak with him?”

“How can I tell my father?” Nora’s red-rimmed eyes stared piteously at Anna. “He’d tell me to do my duty and be a good wife. But I tried, Anna, I tried.” She broke down sobbing.

Anna rubbed her friend’s shaking shoulders, at a loss as to how to comfort her. Nora had become engaged two years ago and then married Peter Marlborough, the Count of Dorset, in a spectacular wedding a few months later. Anna contrasted the beaming bride of that day to the weeping woman in her lap. How had it gone so wrong?

“Where is Peter now?”

Nora sat up and wiped her eyes. “He went down to Newport. Some sailing party.” She lifted her chin. “I haven’t told you the worst of it.” Her lips trembled. “I think he’s … I think he’s meeting another woman. On the yacht.”

“Oh, Nora.” Anna shook her head. “How terrible.” She thought a moment. “I’m surprised he brought you to New York.”

Nora laughed bitterly. “Appearances, darling. It’s all a show.”

“What are your plans then?”

“Probably visit my parents, although I’d rather eat nails. Father’s here with me tonight.”

“We’re going to Longmeadow Monday. Why don’t you come with us?”

The glimmer of a sparkle returned to Nora’s eyes. “That would be marvelous. Like old times. But enough about me.” She tilted her head and scrutinized Anna. “Is there … anyone special in your life?”

Anna shook her head. “Papa is still looking for the right one. But I don’t think it’s possible for a woman in my situation to marry for love.” She had tried it once. Remembering the day of her engagement to Stuart Maxwell Gordon sent a shiver of pain and regret through her chest. She would never make that mistake again.

“You think that because of Stuart?” said Nora.

“I can’t talk about it.” Anna swallowed hard and shook her head. “It’s still too distressing. Soon we’ll be off to Longmeadow, away from all the gossiping harpies.”

Nora sighed. “It’s not fun to be the target of gossip, is it? I’m sure the same thing will happen to me, once word gets around that Peter most likely has a mistress.”

“Then say you’ll come to Longmeadow. You know my father adores you. And we can go to all our old haunts and search for fossils in the riverbed.”

Nora face brightened. “I think we’re too old for that, dear. But I would like to come.”

“Do you want to travel with us?”

“No, I’ll come on the late train Tuesday, in time for dinner. I’ll need to cable Peter first.” She smiled grimly. “I wonder how he’ll enjoy that.” She got to her feet and smoothed the flounces of her ball gown. “Father will be wondering where I am. I must go.”

She kissed Anna’s cheek and left as the notes of a waltz wafted through the air. The Englishman remained at the table when Anna returned, deep in animated discussion with her father. She didn’t know whether to be irritated or pleased.

“Split cane?” Robert Radclyfe stared intently at her father.

“Cane, definitely.” Papa nodded. “Ye canna beat the lightness, nor the strength.”

“Dry? Or wet?”

Papa chuckled. “I’m progressive in my politics and my business, Mr. Radclyfe, but I’m old-fashioned where fishing is concerned. None of those newfangled ‘dry’ lures for me.”

“Perhaps I could persuade you otherwise. Do you know a good fishing spot?”

“Not here, but my country estate in Hyde Park has some excellent ones.”

Oh, no. In the next instant Papa would be inviting the Englishman down for a fortnight visit.

She hastened to the table, and both men rose. “You two look to be in agreeable conversation.” She patted her father’s hand. “But the dancing is beginning, Papa.”

Mr. Radclyfe’s gaze fastened on the silver booklet that hung from a ribbon at her waist. “Might I have the honor of a dance, Miss MacDougall? If your dance card hasn’t already been filled, that is.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Radclyfe,” she said, managing to sound as if she wasn’t sorry at all, “but I haven’t any openings.”

Alex Vanderbilt, dapper in his evening dress, with his blond hair slicked off his forehead, popped up behind Mr. Radclyfe. “My dance, I believe, Miss MacDougall?”

“Yes, indeed.” She took Mr. Vanderbilt’s arm and flitted away.

Alex was an excellent dancer, although most of his other attributes left something to be desired. He’d obviously eaten some pickled onions earlier, and she turned her face away to escape his halitosis, when someone tapped Alex’s shoulder.

“May I cut in, old chap?”

Alex’s mouth opened in a round circle of surprise, and in the next moment Robert Radclyfe had smoothly taken Alex’s place, gazing down at her with an impertinent gleam in his eye.

“You’re quite persistent, aren’t you, Mr. Radclyfe?”

“In some things, yes.” He smiled, and a funny shiver went through her. He was definitely handsome in a roguish way, with that head of dark hair and olive skin. One stray lock curled over his forehead, begging to be smoothed back. She gave herself a mental shake and straightened her shoulders, creating more room between them.

She had thought Alex Vanderbilt a good dancer, but he wasn’t in Mr. Radclyfe’s class. They were attracting attention as he expertly whirled her through the swooping turns of the waltz, one with the music and light as down on his feet. And the way he looked into her face made her feel so faint she had to look away, with her pulse hammering like hummingbird wings.

She was out of breath as the waltz finished. He didn’t release her as quickly as he should have, but instead stood for a brief moment with his hand at her waist. She took as deep a breath as her corset would allow, and the essence of bergamot from his linen filled her nose.

“Thank you, Miss MacDougall. I hope to have the honor of dancing with you again this evening.” He removed his hand from her waist and offered her his arm. “May I escort you to your father?”

She nodded and took his offered arm, thinking she might find an opening on her dance card after all, when the Hungarian orchestra went into the strains of a schottische, and she stopped. “This is my favorite,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

“Then we must dance it, Miss MacDougall.” Mr. Radclyfe led her back to the dance floor, where he partnered her in the steps, turns, and hops of the old German folk dance. “I had the distinct impression earlier that you didn’t care to dance with me, Miss MacDougall.” His hand met hers before the gliding turn.

“You are correct, sir.” She turned in the opposite direction before he captured her hand again.

“Why did you change your mind?”

“Do you know Robert Burns?”

“The Scottish poet? Yes.”

“Aye, then,” she said. “‘Women’s minds, like winter winds, may shift, and turn at that.’”

“Very good, Miss MacDougall. I did perceive the brogue in your father’s speech.”

“He grew up in Scotland and immigrated here as a boy.”

“So you were born here in New York?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Radclyfe gave her a sly wink. “And what a pretty lassie ye are then.”

“Don’t play with me, Mr. Radclyfe. You and I have nothing in common.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure. I love to read as much as you do.”

Anna stiffened. “I trust that you will not bring that up again, sir.”

“Why not? I find it fascinating that you secreted yourself away in a dressing room to read a novel in the middle of a ball.”

“I wasn’t—” She broke off. She didn’t like the fact that she’d been found doing something unladylike. “I don’t wish to discuss it.”

“But you agree it’s a rather mutinous act.”

“I agree to no such thing. I find this conversation outrageous. You know nothing about me, yet you presume to pass judgment. As I said before, we have nothing in common, and I think this dance must end. I generally find these affairs distasteful.”

“Then we do have something in common, as I also usually avoid balls.”

“Then why are you here?” She sniffed. “Wait. Don’t tell me. You’re looking for a wealthy American wife.”

He gulped. “I—”

“I’ve called you out, sir.” She stopped dead in the middle of the ballroom floor, while the dancers surged around them. “I wish to return to my father.”

He sighed and offered his arm. Several times he started to say something then stopped.

It didn’t matter how handsome or charming he was. A year ago she had been down that path, and nothing would compel her to tread it again. She mentally practiced the stinging words with which she would bid him an icy adieu. But she forgot them in a flash as they arrived at the table and she noticed her father’s face. Cold tentacles of fear gripped her throat.

“Papa, what’s wrong?” He had developed a dreadful pallor, and a bluish shadow edged his lips.

“I dinna ken,” he said hoarsely. “A terrible weakness has crept over me.”

Anna took the chair next to him and laid her hand on his forearm. “Are you in pain?”

“No, lassie. Just dreadfully tired.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding, feeling weak herself. “We’re going home at once.”

She turned to ask Mr. Radclyfe to send for their carriage but he had disappeared, just when he might have proved useful. But a moment later, he pushed through the crowd with a silver-haired gentleman who looked vaguely familiar.

“Miss MacDougall, this is Dr. DeVries.”

Anna threw a look of gratitude toward Mr. Radclyfe and stepped aside for the physician, who quickly assessed her father.

Mr. Radclyfe gently touched her shoulder. “I’ll see that your carriage is brought round at once and return to assist you.” He disappeared into the throng.

“Papa, can you walk?”

Dr. DeVries shook his head. “Let him rest.”

A fine sheen of perspiration broke out on her father’s forehead. He groped for his handkerchief and mopped his face.

Anna loosened his cravat and fanned him. His face had lost some of the greenish-gray pallor by the time Mr. Radclyfe returned. With his strong arm around her father’s waist, they negotiated the halls and steps of the opera house to the waiting carriage.

Her father took a deep breath of the cool spring air. “Better already. I think it was too close in there. Sorry I spoiled your fun, lassie.”

“Please, Papa …”

Mr. Radclyfe helped him into the carriage, closed the door, and then turned to her, his breath misty. “Miss MacDougall, please forgive—”

“There’s nothing to forgive. As it’s likely I will never see you again, good night.”

The footman opened the carriage door and assisted her inside. Then her father rolled down the window. “Don’t forget my invitation, Robert. Next week. Hyde Park. I have a few things I can show ye about fly-fishing. Bring a friend if you like.”

Anna’s heart sank. What a kerfuffle. Now she’d have to face him for two weeks or more.

Mr. Radclyfe smiled and looked past her father to meet her eyes. “It will be my pleasure. Looking forward to it.”

Baron DeVille pounced on Rob when he returned to the ballroom. “Where the deuce have you been, Rob? I’ve been hunting for you all evening.”

“I’ve met an interesting girl.”

“It’s about time.” DeVille grinned. “What’s her fortune?”

Rob shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”

“What?” DeVille choked. “Who is she?”

“Anna MacDougall.”

DeVille’s eyes widened. “MacDougall? As in Philip MacDougall?”

Rob nodded.

DeVille put his hand over his heart. “You’ve hit the mother lode, my dear man. Anna MacDougall—she’s worth millions.”

Rob gasped. “Huzzah!”

“He’s the MacDougall in the MacDougall Sewing Machine Company. Singlehandedly revolutionized the industry and cornered the market for twenty-five years. Very shrewd man, that MacDougall. Bought out every smaller company until he was the main manufacturer.”

“My word.” He’d had no idea, and the thought of his need to marry for money had vanished when he had seen Miss MacDougall’s face.

DeVille blinked. “You truly didn’t know who she was?”

Rob shook his head and smiled.

“Who introduced you?”

“No one.”

DeVille groaned. “Don’t keep me in suspense, my good man—how did you meet her?”

“I slipped into a dressing room to avoid that blond in the white velvet. And tucked away at the back, I found a striking redhead in green silk reading a book.”

DeVille rolled his eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t approach her.”

“Unfortunately, I did.”

“You know better.” DeVille frowned. “So what happened?”

“I spoke to her.” Rob shook his head. “She wouldn’t accept my apology or give me her name. So I watched for her and offered my assistance at the supper table, and managed to worm my way into an invitation to visit their country estate.”

DeVille clapped his hands. “Well done.”

Rob shrugged. “Not really. She can’t abide me.”

DeVille pursed his lips, thinking. “I’m trying to remember … I think she was engaged last year. But then it was called off.”

“Do you know why?”

“I think the chap was after her money.”

Rob groaned. “That doesn’t bode well for me then.”

DeVille grinned. “Unless you can make her fall in love with you.”

They reentered the ballroom, and though Rob dutifully danced with a bevy of young ladies eager for his attention, his thoughts kept returning to the girl in the apple-green silk.

The ball ended at one a.m. Before he and Deville left for their hotel, Rob slipped into the dressing room and retrieved the copy of Dorian Gray from its hiding place.