Introductions were made. Alita nodded, but she heard very little that transpired. She was too preoccupied with the terrifying thought that this handsome stranger had come to take Charlise away.
What will I do? Stand here in the middle of the room alone? Just a moment ago she had begged Charlise to save herself and to leave, and now that it was happening it was the last thing Alita wanted.
“Would you care to dance?” the Greek god asked as he turned toward her and held out his hand.
Alita’s eyes flew wide open as she checked the impulse to turn and look behind her.
Charlise nudged her, looking straight ahead.
“Or, if you prefer, may I procure some punch for you, Miss Stanton?”
How does he know my name? And why is he talking to me?
The young Adonis smiled down at her even as he seemed unconcerned by her stupefaction and inability to communicate in the language of her birth. “Or perhaps a stroll would be refreshing?”
And who is he?
She opened her mouth to speak, but sadly, no words came forth.
“The three of us might care to take a turn about the room?” The strikingly handsome gentleman was in possession of an orator’s golden tenor voice. Receiving not so much as a one-syllable response from her, he turned to Charlise in the hopeful expectation of an elementary command of the language, a skill he had clearly eliminated as a possibility in her case.
And rightly so.
Curiously, his tone was concerned—anyone might have seen Charlise comforting her—but he was not embarrassed or ill at ease, nor did he appear anxious to disengage himself.
That was unfortunate.
“Three? What about me?” Oliver demanded, the mutual friend who had performed the introductions.
“Oliver, do you see Miss Penelope standing next to the punch table? I find her repeatedly glancing your way,” the Greek god commented.
“She is?” asked Oliver hopefully, surveying his surroundings. He seemed only too happy for the respite from the uneasy situation in which he had involuntarily found himself.
“Charmed.” Oliver bowed and departed for the punch table.
“I apologize, ladies,” the blonde gentleman said with a slight nod of his chin. “It did not seem you were keen on too much company, and I certainly did not wish to forfeit my blessed position, however undeserved.”
“Thank you, sir…” Somehow Alita found her voice. She hoped that didn’t prove to be a mistake.
“And what is your pleasure, Miss Stanton?”
“I am so sorry, I don’t recollect…I didn’t quite catch…” She was at a loss to know how to ask for his name, which surely had already been given.
“Lord Sherwood has asked if you would like to dance?” Charlise emphasized, her tone more a command than a question.
Lord Sherwood. William Priestly. William’s father is Phillip Priestly, now Lord Maidenstone, the 3rd Marquis of Maidenstone. So William is the heir apparent, not yet inherited, his father being alive, but William takes the courtesy title of his father’s second title which is the earldom. Thus William is Lord Sherwood, the earl of Sherwood.
Alita uttered a sigh of relief as the thoughts whirled round in her mind involuntarily. At least my retrieval system is operating, if not my vocal chords and my heretofore command of language.
Charlise squeezed Alita’s hand a bit too tightly, as if to say, ‘Look alive, dear girl, this could be the pivotal moment of your entire life!’ Charlise waved her head toward the dance floor, unnoticed by Lord Sherwood as his eyes were now fixated upon Alita.
“D-dancing would be most enjoyable, my lord.” Alita exerted considerable effort in regaining her composure.
He appeared relieved. “I am delighted, Miss Stanton.” He held out his arm with a slight bow, but then caught himself. “Miss Noel, I hope I may claim a dance with you later this evening?” He reluctantly pulled himself out of his reverie and bowed to Charlise, his expression one of warm civility more than of flirtation and interest, Alita reflected with surprise.
“Thank you, Lord Sherwood. That would be most charming.” Charlise curtseyed very becomingly.
“But I have erred terribly and sent away your prospective partner,” William said. “We cannot leave you alone on the dance floor.”
“Do not fret in the least about me,” Charlise said.
“Certainly we will see you to the punch table before our dance,” William said, catching the eye of another of his friends and motioning to him.
Once Alita and William were on the dance floor, she said with a sudden boldness, “Thank you for your kindness, Lord Sherwood. You surely saw me all teary-eyed and taken pity on me. I must confess to being quite moved by your goodness.”
“Ordinarily I would not be so forward, Miss Stanton, but since you introduce the subject, I must admit that my actions have nothing to do with altruism. I think I may safely say I have never seen a more beautiful young lady. A white rose amongst a field of bold wildflowers comes to mind.”
“In this state?” she protested. Where she had been frozen she was now unable to hold her tongue. “I thank you, but you astonish me, sir ...”
He chuckled. “Your tears do little to conceal your beauty, Miss Stanton, so appealing in your lack of pretension.” He added somberly, “It is frankly refreshing in this world of superficialities and facades. I find you quite modest and genuine.”
Modest, perhaps. But of all the things she was, she was not genuine. She felt her lips form a trembling smile. “I thank you for the compliment, Lord Sherwood, but is it not premature? We have only just met.”
A sudden reserve overtook his expression. “In the purest sense, yes. In another sense, no.”
She searched his deep blue eyes, but the music had begun, making an in-depth conversation more difficult. They enjoyed two dances, and she was grateful for the reprieve from her grief. It was heavenly to be dancing the waltz while held in the arms of such a handsome, solicitous, grown man.
Feeling in better spirits, she suppressed the knowledge that it was only a matter of minutes before her friends passed on the distorted story to all the young ladies and matrons in attendance at Buckingham Palace.
While she was powerless to do anything about it. Any type of gossip, true or not, spread quickly.
Alita resolved to enjoy herself as best she could. She had been waiting all her life for this day, and as long as someone amiable was attentive to her, she would not dispel the pleasure.
“Would you care for some refreshment, Miss Stanton?”
William was clearly not in a rush to leave her. Nothing in her world made sense today. She nodded her agreement.
“I confess I was most desirous of meeting you today, Miss Stanton,” he said upon returning with punch for both of them.
“I don’t understand, Lord Sherwood. You can’t have known anything about me before this evening.”
“To the contrary, I have watched for news of your presentation in anticipation of meeting you.”
Though she had never met William before this evening, suddenly she recalled where she had heard his name. Generally the name of every eligible bachelor was committed to a debutante’s memory, but she had oscillated between omniscience and being in a fog today. “Out of curiosity, Lord Sherwood?”
“Why, yes, initially.” He appeared impressed. “It appears my secret is out.”
“I believe so, unless you have more than one secret.”
“I’m sure I do.” He smiled and his blue eyes were irresistible as he put one hand on his heart. “Which one have you guessed, Miss Stanton?”
“My mother was once betrothed to your father. Is this the association you allude to, my lord?”
In spite of her grave upset, Alita was shocked she had momentarily forgotten. In her defense, she had never put the face to the name until now. Taking some pleasure in gazing upon the face now, Alita wondered if the father were half as handsome as the son.
She felt her lips curve into a misch
ievous smile. Her mother had done well to have been pursued by both her wonderful father and by Phillip Priestly, now the Marquis of Maidenstone. She did not wish pain upon anyone, but this was the nature of courtship. And to have memories such as this…
Gazing into expressive blue eyes framed by sun-streaked hair, she began to think she could care less about titles. It was the first time in her life she had had such a blasphemous thought.
The full impact of her mother’s defiant nonconformity became real to Alita for the first time. Lady Elaina had broken her engagement to a peer of the realm, which was in and of itself outrageous. To make matters worse, as the daughter of a duke, she had entered a trade position. Nursing.
The irony was lamentable. Lady Elaina had not cared a whit for society and had won every round. I want acceptance so very badly and have made a mess of everything.
“I thought initially you were pretending not to know who I was,” William said.
Oh no. I am merely a half-wit. “Not at all, my lord. Though it can certainly be detrimental to not feign ignorance when one is female.” The truth of that statement was painfully clear to her at the moment.
“Don’t you think it is intriguing to picture our parents dancing here some twenty-five years ago just as we are?” William asked. She felt his hand brush hers, creating an enticing sensation.
“The same and different.” She didn’t know why she couldn’t hold her tongue. It was as if her life was destroyed anyway, suddenly freeing her to be herself and to speak her thoughts.
And I can’t seem to stop. Was it something about this man?
Perhaps if the earth were to open up and swallow her whole, then maybe she would manage to cease prattling on. Maybe. “That is to say…to think that thousands of events have transpired and yet, here we stand again, some reflection of our parents.”
“And our parents’ feelings.” He added, seeming to have trouble keeping his eyes from hers, even as he cleared his throat. “May I be blunt with you, Miss Stanton?”
“Everyone is, I see no reason why you should be the exception, my lord.” Alita felt her face freeze into an acceptable expression. It is me who is not afforded that luxury.
“I had always heard that, if the parents are agreeably predisposed toward each other, that is to say, if they have an affinity for each other, often the children will as well.” He looked away momentarily. “My father said your mother’s authenticity enthralled him. Now that I have met you, I understand completely.”
“Yes, but he did not marry her, did he?” Alita’s heart warmed to this gentleman, even as she took a sip of her punch, some of her natural playfulness returning.
William showed himself to be a gentleman in not pointing out that Lady Elaina had broken the engagement.
“Of that, I am glad. I like you very well as you are, Miss Stanton.”
“Perhaps you protect your own existence, my lord?” Alita laughed for the first time since her arrival, leaning back into her chair. “You are some six years older than myself, made achievable by the broken engagement.”
“It worked out for the best, if I may say so.” Lord Sherwood gazed attentively at Alita, his square jaw-line adding to the firmness in his expression.
Intervening, another young gentleman came forward and begged a dance from Alita. Unable to be rude, she graciously accepted but thanked Lord Sherwood before rising from her chair and departing, bestowing upon him a warm expression of gratitude, which seemed to catch his breath for an instant.
She danced several more dances. When she went to the punch table and attempted once again to speak with her girlfriends, she was snubbed. Some of the young men had begun to bestow odd glances upon her as well.
As Alita felt herself being sucked into the feelings of her reproachers, she mustered everything at her command to imagine herself as separate, to avoid viewing herself through their eyes.
All that matters to me will soon to be gone.
Wrapping her arms around her waist, she suddenly saw this for what it was. Her predicament might be grave, but the intent of her giggling girlfriends was ridiculously oblivious. Simple ignorance. Desperation. A lack of feeling for others. Playing out the scripts of their lives. And, most of all, an inability to see her for who she was.
But then, she had been guilty of that as well. She had always rejected and misrepresented herself. So how was she any different from her “friends”?
Alita could excuse herself for attempting to keep her gifts a secret. That was a necessity of survival. But she had never truly wanted them either. With all her heart, she wished to be normal, never more so than today.
“Darling, is everything all right?” Joining her at the punch table, Lady Elaina asked attentively after the welfare of each of the girls in Alita’s vicinity in her most gracious manner, illustrating proper decorum as she left little doubt about her very clear disapproval of their behavior toward her daughter.
After some brief but meaningful exchanges between Lady Elaina and her mother, the Dowager Duchess of Yarbury paid her respects as well, complimenting the girls while impressing her own importance upon them. Indeed, no one was less receptive at receiving a cut than Marvella Yarbury.
Alita imitated the pattern illustrated for her and did the same. Behavior she had been unable to muster for herself Alita now mimicked. There was a strength in the combined energies which was far greater than the sum of the parts. Alita fed off that strength, her family standing by her when she most needed their support.
Alita turned to squeeze Charlise’s hand and gave her a parting hug and kiss on the cheek. “I won’t forget,” she whispered. I will repay you some day.
All three generations of women regally departed from the ballroom, a vision of grace and beauty gliding slowly from view.
9
The Vision
“Alita, might one inquire what just occurred? In Buckingham Palace no less?” Without further aplomb, the dowager duchess quizzed her granddaughter.
The three ladies situated themselves in the lavish side-curtain rockaway white carriage with white velvet interior, elegantly adorned with royal-blue satin pillows. The tassels on the pillows bounced as the carriage commenced movement, the lamplight creating a rhythmic flash of purple-blue tones as it streamed through the etched windows onto the tassels.
“She has told everyone,” Alita sobbed through muffled gasps.
“She has told everyone what? And who is she?” Marvella demanded with raised eyebrows.
“I told Kristine—Miss Tutt—of a dream I had, and now she has told everyone.”
“In the first place, that girl was much too busy preening and making a spectacle of herself to have had time for speech.” Marvella sniffed. “And what does a dream matter? How absurd. Everyone has dreams.”
Lady Elaina said nothing but watched the proceedings attentively.
“Yes, but Kristine was very upset at the time, and she, well, she was predisposed to interpret my words in an incorrect light,” Alita managed, noticeably struggling to gain control of herself.
“What a little hussy!” pronounced Marvella with finality. Her Grace would deny such remarks with her last dying breath, but in the presence of family the duchess had always spoken her mind.
“You do not blame me?” Alita was clearly surprised that her grandmother should side with her over society. Tears welled up in her eyes in gratitude. “But, Grandmamma, I failed. I should never have told Kristine. It was a terrible lapse of judgment. It was as if I was not in control of my tongue ...”
“You come by it honestly, my dear,” Lady Elaina said, glancing at her mother. “You wouldn’t be the first in this family with such an affliction.”
“I knew it from the moment I saw that Jezebel!” Marvella ignored the remark, her fury directed elsewhere. “This only confirms my suspicions.”
“But, Grandmamma, honestly, I was indiscreet. I meant well, of course, but…”
The condemning looks, the snubs, the turned backs, and the whispers. I
t all begins to make sense.
“The little vipers!” The words sputtered forth from Lady Elaina’s lips. As her mind raced, she began to piece the scene together.
But why? Why would Alita’s childhood friends believe the story?
Because it is true.
Clearly some inkling of Alita’s secret—her hidden gifts—had been leaked in the form of a dream, a dream dramatic enough it fueled a malicious distortion.
Inexcusable. That Alita’s girlfriends had embraced the fabrication and turned against her was the only pertinent information.
“Oh, Ma-ma! It hurts so much. My friends…”
“Could you expect anything else from a girl who wears rubies to her first ball?” demanded the Duchess.
“It is of no moment,” pronounced Lady Elaina. “We have all had our say, and now we shall not waste another breath on those girls—I shall not call them young ladies—unfaithful friends that they are.”
“What shall we waste our breath on if not that, I should like to know?” the duchess inquired.
“How we may best reintroduce Alita into society and make her a smashing success, of course. Her season is now ruined.”
“I knew it! Of course it is.” Alita burst into sobs. “How could it be otherwise?”
“Let us assess the situation honestly,” Lady Elaina was determined not to break down herself as her precious daughter sat tortured with grief beside her. “It is my policy to face the truth head-on. It might be more painful in the beginning, but it is one’s only hope for a good outcome.”
“There is no hope,” Alita said, resigned.
“Never speak those words in my presence again, Alita Jane Stanton,” Lady Elaina commanded, raising her voice to the point that both Alita and the dowager duchess opened their eyes wide, their jaws momentarily frozen.
“No more crying,” Lady Elaina commanded. “Maintain your calm always. You may cry in the privacy of your room when you don’t have three very capable women in the same carriage. For now, let us put those minds to good use.”
The Destiny Code: The Soldier and the Mystic Page 8