Why was it, whenever I tried to shape my own destiny, I was considered to be acting recklessly? Was that the fate of the unmarried woman? I had to believe it was so. “Well, then, I am desperate! And if that makes me reckless, so be it! I’m desperately in love, I’m desperate to get away from here—I’m twenty-four, Mamma! Twenty-four! I should be married, I should have a home of my own, but I’ve been kept out of sight, put up on a shelf. And Leo found me there, and rescued me! I know something about the world, too—give me some credit, at least. I’ve taken measures to protect myself.” I thought of Mr. Ruskin, that last horrible day in his drawing room, and I shuddered.
“Alice.” My mother’s face softened; her eyes shone with what I could almost believe was understanding. I remembered that long-ago winter before Albert came, when she had asked for me, and only me, to keep her company; I had seen that same expression in her eyes then. Although never since. “Alice, I do wish for you to be happy. I wish for you to have your own family, your own home like Ina, like Edith will soon. I merely wish that you and Leopold—tell me this, Alice. Do you truly think he’ll keep quiet? Do you truly think he’ll stand by and not say a word, while you plan to marry another man, particularly a prince?” Her mouth twisted up, as if she couldn’t bear to even think of him, and I knew she was referring to Mr. Dodgson now.
“I think he’ll want me to be happy,” I answered defiantly, speaking what was in my heart, for it was what I truly wished for him.
“You do?” Mamma raised an eyebrow. “Then you’re a bigger fool than I took you for.”
The words stung, like a slap across my face—had she called me ugly, I wouldn’t have minded, but I realized I had long set a great store in the fact that Mamma thought me sensible—but I would not let her see my pain. “I’ll join you in the carriage in a moment, Mamma. I must find Sophie first.” Without meeting her gaze, I brushed past her and headed to my room.
Before I reached the door, I heard her say, once, “Alice.” It was not a command; it was more like a prayer. A mother’s prayer? I wondered. I could not know, for I had never once heard my mother ask God for anything. I ignored her and entered my room, shutting the door behind me.
I found Sophie sitting like an obedient child at my dressing table; I told her to hand me my wrap and gloves, and to try, for pity’s sake, not to crush my nosegay on the drive to the ball. Then I ran to the mirror for one more look—had I ever stared at myself more than I had this evening? Holding my reflection in my gaze, I forced myself to shake off the effects of Mamma’s words; I slowed my breathing down, felt my cheeks lose some of their heat, blinked my eyes so the tears would not fall. I tried to recapture the giddy joy I had felt in Edith’s room; but I knew I would not recover it except in Leo’s arms.
Suddenly I could wait for him no longer; I ran from the room, Sophie struggling behind, and flew down the stairs, scarcely bothering to wrap my shoulders in my cloak. Joining Rhoda, Aubrey Harcourt—looking very pale and morose without Edith—and my parents in the carriage, I leaned forward as we rumbled away, as if I could will the horses to fly. Mercifully, the journey was short. In no time we drew up to the entrance of the new Corn Exchange behind the Town Hall, where the Oxford Commemoration Ball of 1876 was being held.
I had to fight off the urge—truly, it pulsed through me like a fever—to run out of the carriage, calling Leo’s name.
Instead, I demurely walked down the steps, the folds of my dress gathered in my clenched hands, and followed my parents into the building, waiting to be announced, one more time, as “Miss Alice Liddell, daughter of the Dean and Mrs. Liddell.”
“YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS, I believe many young ladies are staring at you, hoping against hope that you will sign their program for even one turn about the floor.”
“Are they? I have no idea, for I cannot look at anyone but you.”
“You will tire of that someday, you know,” I teased, not believing my own words. “You will look back upon the days when you could have danced with any number of young ladies with longing, and possibly regret.”
“I believe you’re talking of yourself, after all! Now, ’fess up, Alice: You want to dance with one of those hopping young undergraduates—see that pack of them, over in the corner, the ones who look as if they’ve borrowed their fathers’ waistcoats?—instead of poor me. You’re the one who fears regrets, not I!”
“Oh dear, you’ve found me out! I can’t hide anything from you!”
Laughing, Leo spun me about—not quite in step with the orchestra—until I grew dizzy, but I didn’t mind. Looking up into his smiling face—finally he was filling out, so that his cheekbones weren’t so prominent—I surrendered myself to his sure, confident embrace as he guided me across the crowded dance floor. It was such a relief to have him steer me about so; tonight, I didn’t want to think, I didn’t want to worry. I wanted only to laugh, and smile, and dance, and, yes—perhaps even flirt. But most of all, I wanted to love, and be loved.
And in his arms, feeling the burning imprint of his hand upon my waist even through the hard shell of my corset, I found not only the joy I had sought earlier but the realization, without a doubt, that I was.
The Corn Exchange—normally a huge, drafty place with soaring ceilings, broad exposed beams, sawdust-covered wood floors—had been transformed. Tonight the floors had been scrubbed and polished to a sheen with beeswax; the cavernous walls were hung with velvet maroon drapes, great gilded brackets holding dripping candelabras, and bouquets of flowers tucked into swaths of lace and cord. A very welcome addition was an enormous stack of ice blocks near the back, which did help cool the room from the heat of the candles and the warmth of the dancers.
While my gown was, naturally, one of the most elegant, there was no shortage of finery on display. The young ladies wore gowns of the lightest material—whispery muslin, delicate lace, rustling tarlatan, gauzy tulle—in colors of the gayest spring, bustles lower this season, more trailing than bunched; the men were elegantly slim in their close-fitting black trousers, skimming dress coats to match, showing broad expanses of white shirtfront studded with diamonds or gold. Naturally, everyone wore white kid gloves.
The ballroom was a feast for the senses: a rainbow of colors swirling, merging, parting; the beguiling music of the orchestra, the low, mellow instruments keeping time while the melody swirled about courtesy of the violins; the honey-sweet aroma of burning beeswax combined with the hothouse fragrance of a thousand flowers all mixed together. And hovering above it all was the rise and fall of ballroom conversation; teasing, taunting, laughing, occasional serious undertones of earnest lovemaking.
“I do love balls.” I sighed, content to be simply one fair maiden among many tonight.
“That is the least profound idea I have ever heard come from your delectable mouth, and I love you for it.” Leo laughed indulgently, even paternally—and I allowed him to do so with a bashful, very maidenlike smile.
“Am I too serious for you at times? Would you prefer it if I only chatted about gloves and bows and parasols instead of books and art and ideas?”
“Not at all! I’ve spent far too much time in the company of such perfect ladies—”
“So I’m not a perfect lady?” Arching my back, I pulled slightly away, feigning outrage with a pout.
“No, no—oh dear!” He began to laugh, helplessly, his slim shoulders shaking with mirth. “This is one of those conversations which I will never survive. Suffice it to say you’re perfect in every way, and I don’t want you to change one whit. There—am I forgiven?”
“I suppose so.” I tried very hard not to smile, but I couldn’t help it. He looked so appealingly confused, like a small boy; still, when he gazed at me with that sparkle in his eye, I knew I was his equal in every way, and that he admired me for it.
The music came to an end with a violin flourish; the dancers applauded, and Leo bowed while I curtsied. Somehow we had ended up in the center of the ballroom, all eyes upon us, and I decided that, after all, I did
not want to be one among many. I wanted to be the sole prize upon the arm of Prince Leopold, admired, studied, envied. Holding my chin high and proud, feeling my cheeks blaze, knowing my eyes sparkled, I rejoiced that I was the talk of the ball. I had known notoriety, of course, but this was different; this was intoxicating, and I’m afraid I rather encouraged it by laughing just a little louder than usual, touching Leo’s arm, as he led me off the dance floor, just a little more often than necessary. Tonight, I did not care who saw me.
“Alice, my dear Alice! Let me look at you!”
Suppressing a small sigh, I turned around to face my elder sister, just arrived from Scotland. She was attired in a silver blue taffeta gown, with rows of tiny pink silk rosebuds sewn vertically up the front of the bodice in an artistic attempt to draw the eye upward, not out, although there was no way to obscure the obvious; Ina had grown stout. There was no other word for it; my sister had grown stout and matronly after the arrival of her first child.
Her husband, William Skene, was a tall, thin man, kindly, with an air of endless patience. I was fond of my scholarly brother-in-law. He was a man very much like Papa—living in his head most of the time, although he had a certain hard practicality about him, too. My sister was a woman quite like my mother. They were a perfect match; dreamlike men always ben-efitted from energetic women.
“You look wonderful, darling.” I embraced my sister. “What a lovely frock! Wherever did you find that silvery shade of gray? It almost matches your eyes!”
“London, of course; we can find nothing up in Edinburgh. I told William I simply had to dart down to London before the ball.”
“I’m sure you did,” I said with a quick smile, remembering many, many times when Ina had bossed me about in the same way. “It was worth it; the dress is beautiful.”
“Mrs. Skene, it’s a pleasure.” Leo bowed to her, taking Ina’s plump hand, lifting it to his lips. She blushed, curtsied, and began to fan herself furiously, one of her teasing smiles upon her lips, although the effect wasn’t quite the same as it had been when she was fourteen.
“Your Royal Highness, how lovely it is to see you again. I’m very happy to observe that you’ve recovered fully from your illness.”
“Thank you. Of course, I had a great incentive to do so.” Smiling, Leo took possession of my left hand, tucking it under his arm. Ina’s eyebrows shot up, her mouth pursed, and I saw her exchange a look with Mamma, who was standing in the doorway to the small anteroom that had been furnished for the Prince’s private party.
Catching Ina’s look, Mamma came rushing forward, practically dragging Rhoda by the arm. “Sir,” Mamma said with a worried smile. “I do hope you won’t mind dancing with dear Rhoda—she has an unexpected opening on her dance card, and she was so hoping for a polka.”
“I’m afraid I’m rather booked,” Leo said, glancing at my dance card, dangling from my wrist.
“But surely Alice won’t mind sitting this out, in order to give her sister the pleasure of just one dance?” Mamma continued to smile, more ferociously than before; she looked at me, her eyebrows nearly to her hairline. I felt the blood simmer in my veins, but I would not give way to my anger at her meddling.
“Of course,” I said, through gritted teeth. “I don’t mind in the least. Do go on.”
Poor Rhoda—who obviously was not pleased to be used in such a way, as she had remained scowling at the floor through the entire exchange—curtsied as Leo bowed, then they repaired to the dance floor just as the orchestra started back up.
“That was very subtle, Mamma,” I said, turning to meet her disapproving gaze. “What’s next? Are you going to throw Ina at him, to keep us apart?”
“Alice, of course I can’t dance,” Ina huffed—even as she looked longingly at the dancers swirling about to the music. “I’m married now.”
“I was being sarcastic, Ina.”
“Alice, I’m merely acting in the Prince’s best interest,” Mamma replied smoothly. “It is unchivalrous of him to dance so often with just one partner. We wouldn’t want word of his poor manners to get back to the Queen.”
“Even if Leo danced by himself in the middle of the floor, no one could accuse him of poor manners. The truth is, I don’t believe you would mind at all if that sole partner wasn’t me.”
Mamma did not answer; she simply made a grand, sweeping turn and rejoined Papa and all their friends greedily partaking of Leo’s hospitality, as his private room was furnished with superior refreshments.
“Don’t vex Mamma so, Alice,” Ina murmured, patting the perfectly round sausagelike curls tickling the back of her neck—their chestnut brown not quite matching the rest of her hair, although I refrained from pointing this out. “You’re awfully impertinent these days.”
“I? Impertinent?” I looked at my sister, my deceptively placid paragon of a sister. Her gray eyes returned my gaze unblinkingly.
“I daresay the Prince’s attentions have gone to your head, Alice.”
“I wonder that there is only one person in this family who wants to see me happy. Dear Edith, I do wish she were here tonight!”
“So do I,” said an unwelcome voice at my elbow; suddenly the cloying scent of cheap perfume filled my nostrils. Turning reluctantly—my limbs suddenly blanketed with dread—I came face-to-face with Mr. Ruskin.
I had not seen him since that nightmarish last afternoon. Observing the way his eyes glittered dangerously beneath his white, thundering brows, I knew he was remembering that day, too. While, to my great relief, he looked as usual—his clothes were neat, his abundant whiskers freshly groomed—I still feared for his reason. What name would he call me tonight? I had never known him to attend a ball before, as he declared them a ridiculous waste of money and time; what had brought him to this one?
“Mr. Ruskin.” Ina curtsied.
“My dear Ina. Now, if only Edith were here, I could behold the lovely Liddell girls all over again. Ina, Alice, Edith—such pearls you are, still.”
Ina—hardly a pearl; more like an oyster—simpered and blushed. I could not find it within me to flirt and carry on, as I once would have done; I had too much to fear of him. Too much to lose.
“Alice, my dear, you are simply a vision.” He glanced at me, up and down—and I felt naked, vulnerable beneath his cold, boldly needful gaze.
“Thank you.” Despite the heat of the room, I shivered.
“You and the Prince make such a lovely pair.”
“We do?”
“Yes—you’re like a flower on his arm. A lovely flower.”
I could not reply; my heart was beating too rapidly against my tight stays.
“A rose, I would say.” He leaned toward me, so that his breath was tickling my neck. “You look like a beautiful—rose.” He whispered this last; placing his hand upon my arm, he stroked it, up and down, lightly, as if I were a blossom, opening to his touch.
“I—that is, I must—Prince Leopold!” For he was suddenly beside me, having led a flushed Rhoda off the dance floor; I hadn’t even noticed the music had stopped.
Laughing, gasping, I reached for his gloved hand; he took mine, pulling me to him, and I felt safe once more.
“Mr. Ruskin!” Leo shook his hand with apparent delight, surprising familiarity.
“Sir.” Ruskin bowed.
“I must tell you, once again, how grateful I am for your—assistance in that matter.” Leo’s smile was wide and genuine; his eyes danced with the delight of a happy secret as he looked at me, then back at Mr. Ruskin.
“It is my pleasure. I am only too happy to provide what little help I can. I only wish it is of value to you, after all.”
“I have great hopes that it will be. Great hopes.”
“What secrets are you two keeping from me?” I tried to make my voice light, my face untroubled, but I could not ignore the heavy stone of dread settling in the pit of my stomach. I did not enjoy knowing that both Leo and I were engaged in some sort of secret dealings with John Ruskin, of all people.
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“Ah, but that is not for you to know just yet!” Leo reached down and studied the dance card dangling, by a slim gold thread, from my wrist. “Hmmm. I wonder, who is this ‘Prince Leopold’ fellow?” And before I could say anything more to Mr. Ruskin, Leo had swept me up and back out on the dance floor with so much speed—he was turning me about in such tight circles I was dizzy—I could scarcely catch my breath.
“Leo! What on earth? The orchestra has barely started!”
“I could wait to have you in my arms no longer, I’m afraid!” His face was red, his eyes blazing with suppressed emotion; all I could do was follow him, allow him to propel me across the dance floor—bumping into other couples, stepping on trains, not even stopping to apologize—until somehow, we were all the way to the opposite side, and he was leading me through a small door.
He finally stopped then, and I could catch my breath for a moment and try to put myself back together; my dress was crumpled, and I knew the lace on my bustle must be in tatters. Finding ourselves suddenly alone, the music muffled on the other side of the door, Leo and I simply looked at each other and laughed. It was as if we shared a secret or had gotten away with some amazing deception, like two naughty children.
“Alone at last, my darling!”
“Leo, you take my breath away!”
Without warning, he swooped down and kissed me on the lips, grabbed my hand, and started pulling me down a passage.
I had held Leo’s hand many times; I had felt his arm about me, looked into his eyes. But never before had I been so aware of his confidence, his sureness, his boldness. For I felt something different in the way he touched me, shepherding me down the hall past servants who flattened themselves against the walls as we hurried by; I felt the possession of a lover—perhaps a husband?—and my heart thrilled, every nerve strained and tensed, for I longed to submit, to be possessed.
“Sir, I do not jest—you leave me, quite literally, breathless!” I laughed, but I was serious, for he was walking so very fast I could hardly keep up, despite the firm grip he had on my hand.
Alice I Have Been: A Novel Page 20