The Destiny Code: The Soldier and the Mystic (Daughters of the Empire Book 1)

by Suzette Hollingsworth

  “Quite true,” agreed Marvella, nodding thoughtfully. “There is always hope. And we are all three highly intelligent and socially adept. Particularly myself.”

  “Yes, Ma-ma.” Alita sniffed, finding her voice. “Yes, you are very right.”

  “The situation is this. It does not take too many jaw-jammers to cast doubt on a girl’s reputation,” stated Lady Elaina. “Above all, one must not appear peculiar, unless it is exceedingly well orchestrated, and one must never be unfashionable.”

  “To be eccentric is reserved for widows and matrons. To be odd is disaster,” agreed Her Grace, staring at Elaina as if she had never known her daughter before this moment.

  And perhaps she had not.

  “But the fact is I’m an outcast—or I will be very soon,” Alita said bravely. “No young man would have me. I’ll die an old maid. I’ll never have a family.”

  “Pish tosh!” exclaimed Marvella, patting her hand. “You charmed many a young man at the ball. You had the good sense to be kind to everyone you encountered—unlike your mother, who alienated all of her beaux…”

  “Kind?” Alita whispered. “That is apparently out of fashion.”

  “Elaina never settled for anything but precisely what she wanted, and there was no talking sense to her,” Marvella continued on her train of thought while studying her daughter reproachfully. “Where Elaina came by her stubbornness I will never know.”

  “It shall remain one of the great unsolved mysteries of all time,” said Lady Elaina as she smoothed her pale blue cashmere gown.

  The duchess wrinkled her brow, as if going over the family tree in her mind’s eye, searching for the culprit.

  “Your grandmamma brings up an excellent point. You may recall that I was outcasted by polite society when I entered nursing school.” Lady Elaina forced herself to keep her countenance serene as she recalled the snubs and uncharitable behavior. “In spite of all I married very well, don’t you think, dear? If all one can hope for is someone who is intelligent, handsome, wealthy, and world-famous—and, not to mention, who one loves with all one’s heart—possibly things are not so bad?”

  “And yet—Alita is of a different cut and would not be satisfied with a mere laborer as you were, my dear.” Marvella’s eyes settled on her granddaughter, pride evident despite the day’s occurrences.

  Alita might be fortunate indeed to win the regard of a mere laborer at this point. But Elaina did not say so. That much honesty did not serve.

  “Oh no, Ma-ma, no. No one could be dearer—or better!—than Papa. Who is a world-class inventor and scientist! I should be honored…I did not mean…it is only that everyone I knew is suddenly removed from my life.” Alita’s lips formed a shaky smile. “It is too much.”

  “Naturally it is,” Marvella agreed. “Although your mother was happy to leave behind her friends, family, and social group, and to cast her parents into grief.”

  “Let us save revisiting my lack of expertise in soliciting marriage proposals from pretentious and cosseted young men for a later time.” Lady Elaina nodded distractedly to her mother’s commentary, motioning with her eyes. “Alita is our only concern for the moment.”

  “Quite right for once, my dear. The past is the past, and Alita’s success is all that matters now.” Marvella’s expression gave evidence of a sudden realization. “Although, to be quite truthful, you received a marriage proposal from a peer—and threw him away. So I wouldn’t say you were inexpert in soliciting an offer.”

  Alita stifled a sob.

  Marvella began to open her mouth, no doubt to clarify the importance of social connections. Lady Elaina was determined to put an end to that. “We can all agree I was indifferent to my presentation to society, but Alita cares very much. Something must be done.”

  “Yes, yes. I see.” Marvella was strangely subdued.

  Elaina knew very well the only way to quiet the duchess was to agree with her, and even that was not always successful.

  “But what can be done?” Alita’s eyes began to fill with tears again, but she bit her lip, attempting to not show her distress, with little success.

  “Alita, I shall tell you what I have rarely told anyone.” Marvella sighed heavily, as if she were struggling with a secret which must be protected at all costs.

  “Yes, Grandmamma?” Alita asked with a sudden interest.

  “I myself was not liked by the other girls at my coming out.”

  “But ... that cannot be ...”

  “Yes, I know it is difficult to believe, but there it is.”

  “Perhaps it was your acerbic and all-knowing manner?” posed Elaina.

  Marvella smiled charmingly. “Oh no, I was delightful—as I am now. You see,” she added in a whisper, as if the words were poison, “I was not in their social class.”

  “Yes, I know, Grandmamma. You were the daughter of a vicar, which is quite respectable.”

  “Respectable, perhaps, but I was not one of them. Now I am above them all, of course,” she added modestly.

  “But why didn’t they like you, Grandmamma?”

  “It is astonishing, isn’t it?”

  “No doubt because you were too shy,” Lady Elaina suggested.

  “I don’t think that was it,” Marvella considered, shaking her head. “But too sweet perhaps. Certainly I went out of my way to be exceedingly friendly to everyone. I think I know better than to sit in a corner.”

  “Why, then, Grandmamma?”

  “Naturally I cannot know the thoughts of others, I can only venture a guess.”

  “Not knowing has never stopped you from asserting your opinion before, Ma-ma.”

  “Naturally. Most of the upper class have had all their common sense educated out of them.”

  “Then why do you think the other young ladies did not like you, Grandmamma?”

  “I suspect it was because I was so much more beautiful than the other girls,” she shook her head sadly, as if feeling sorry for the privileged debutantes. “Don’t stare at me so, Elaina. It was your idea to speak the truth.”

  “Indeed,” replied Lady Elaina. “The truth shall set us free.”

  “But they had to come up with another reason to dislike me rather than admit the truth,” added Marvella.

  “What was the reason they presented?” Alita asked quietly but with a decided interest. The similarities in their situations must be evident to all.

  “My gowns.” Her voice resumed its normal pitch, her expression haughty. “I wore dresses created by my sister Jane. No one living before or since has a better eye for fashion than Jane. And yet the other young ladies had the audacity, the effrontery”—she choked on her words—“to comment that my gowns were not sewn by any of the modistes in their employ.”

  “How ridiculous. Why should anyone care who the seamstress was if the gowns were lovely?” Alita asked with indignation. Her mind was clearly off her own troubles at least.

  “They laughed at me outright. And why? Never mind that my gowns were more modish than theirs and actually came into mainstream fashion some years later. I was ahead of them all.”

  “But that wasn’t the point,” Elaina suggested.

  “Or possibly it was,” Marvella mused.

  “What was the point then, Grandmamma?”

  “They desired a reason to look down on me. So they fabricated one. Their snobbery was based on a lie.”

  “Yes ...” Alita nodded in understanding. “The lie that your dresses were not fashionable or pretty.”

  “Don’t you see, Alita? The same thing is happening here, same tactic different story.” Marvella’s eyes narrowed. “These insecure parvenus need an excuse to thwart the competition—so they created one.”

  Same tactic, different story. Lady Elaina stared at her mother in shock, astonished at her comprehension.

  “How could it be more important than friendship?” Alita murmured.

  London flew by outside the carriage window as the seconds ticked by, marked by the glistening of t
he large diamonds on the dowager duchess’s chest. Alita stared at her grandmother with interest. “And what happened?”

  Marvella smirked. “Your grandmamma showed them all, that’s what happened, my girl. I did not need the little vipers’ approval. I usurped them and made the greatest catch of the season, Richard Lawrence, His Grace the Duke of Yarbury.” Her lips trembled as she reflected upon her late, dear husband.

  “But how lonely you must have been without your friends…” Alita murmured.

  “Lonely? Of course not. I had Richard.” The duchess added with a raise of the chin, “As well as an entire staff to manage.”

  “Mother, do you not see that Alita is of a different temperament? She does not have your competitive nature, though it would certainly come in useful in this circumstance,” Elaina said. “Alita has always been well accepted by other young ladies, and her friends are important to her.”

  “It appears that she did not choose her friends well,” pronounced Her Grace.

  “Perhaps not. But the relevant point is that it does not further Alita’s cause for her to be distressed or on the outskirts of society.” Lady Elaina added, resolute, “We must contrive a way to ensure Alita’s happiness.”

  “Yes,” Marvella agreed. “And I have a plan. I have been formulating it while you have prattled on.”

  “Do tell?” Elaina raised her eyebrows disdainfully but she felt hopeful. The duchess might be trying, but she had a firm grasp on social success.

  “It will be necessary for Alita to embark on a fashionable trip. The gossip will die away, Alita will return more appealing than ever—imbued with a touch of mystery—and the latest malicious gossip directed at someone else will be in the wind.”

  “Precisely so,” agreed Lady Elaina with conviction. “All in time for Alita’s second season.”

  “To be sure.” Marvella nodded resolutely. “She must go to Paris or Venice or some other locale equally in vogue.”

  It occurred to Alita that her mother and grandmother were in a rare state of unity, rapidly devising a plan for her future while the object of their plotting sat quietly between them.

  “She will need a chaperone,” Lady Elaina pronounced. “A person of unquestionable reputation and standing, someone who will lend countenance to her every action. Someone with whom it would make sense that Alita should suddenly up and away.”

  “I shall attend her. No one shall dare speak ill of my granddaughter or do her a wrong turn while I still breathe air.”

  Alita feared for anyone who should get in the duchess’ way, which had the effect of reducing her fears for herself. She might be distraught, but how fortunate there was someone wishing to help her out of a mess of her own making.

  “Nothing could be better for Alita than to be accompanied by the Dowager Duchess of Yarbury.” Lady Elaina smiled as if this was precisely the outcome she had hoped for. She smoothed her pale blue cashmere neo-Greek costume, the gold embroidery of a Greek key pattern catching the light.

  Only her mother could wear a dress of such unusual design to advantage. Even the transparent sleeves of white pineapple silk seemed to shimmer in the moonlight.

  “I myself cannot ignore my responsibilities,” Lady Elaina added, “but now that you don’t have the duke to care for, Mother, it will do you good to apply your considerable and unique talents to someone who desperately needs them.”

  Alita perceived immediately the wisdom in the plan, although leaving London and her home was the last thing in the world that appealed to her.

  “Very good,” stated Marvella smugly as she settled into her velvet cushion. “Where shall we go? Paris? Venice? Switzerland?” Marvella reached for a petit four among the sachets and appointments, left in the carriage by the servants.

  With the question of location, Alita became aware of an odor not belonging amongst the scents of lavender, perfume, and confections—a decidedly masculine scent of leather and musk and…raw energy.

  Impossible. This could not be.

  She always initiated the contact.

  What is happening to me? She had not attempted to reach anyone, and yet someone was searching for her. Of that Alita was certain.

  In an instant, an involuntary trance gripped Alita in its throes. No! I don’t wish to go! She fought slipping away.

  Hadn’t she suffered enough for one day? The last thing she wanted was to enter another trance. Before today she had never been claimed by a dream state.

  And that vision had ruined her life.

  She struggled to resist it. She had always been in control. Now twice in the course of a day she was overcome by something beyond her own will.

  She was having some success fighting the vision when, once again, she saw the Black Panther.

  As if he is hunting me.

  My first encounter with this beast is the reason I am in this terrible predicament, Alita reminded herself as she fought the vision.

  In an instant her resistance was transformed into something exquisite, tantalizing and intoxicating. She was overwhelmed with the smells, delicious and exotic, of cinnamon and honey, dates and frying bananas, mint tea, saffron, jasmine, olives and cheeses, garlic and cucumbers, frankincense and sweet cicely, and the smell of red amber and hot earth saturated with the waters of a mighty river.

  And masculine scent.

  It was dazzling, an extravagant outpouring of hospitality and sensual delights, both caressing her with promise and igniting her curiosity.

  And then came the masculine scent which made her skin tingle. Alita shivered. She saw images of flying carpets and magical lamps, silken sheets, and golden sunrises.

  The force of the invitation was even greater than her considerable reservations, and she felt herself moving towards him.

  As much as she was grieved by the outcome of her initial vision did she yearn to know the state of the Black Panther’s affairs. Timidly she searched for this incredible man whom she had seen only in animal form. Curious, Alita strove to view his human form, to no avail.

  She felt his presence coming closer even before she saw him. He was a huge predator, his muscles highly developed, his senses keen, and his cunning evident as he prowled in the moonlight. He had lost interest in sustenance and did nothing but roam, traveling as much as sixty miles a night in a tortured state.

  Instantly he looked up, his silver-blue eyes revealing he knew he was being watched. There was a large mahogany tree before him, and the deep, dark red tones seemed the perfect setting against his sleek, black hair.

  He turned suddenly, expecting death in the next instant, looking forward to relief at the same time he instinctively fought to live.

  Alita gasped as she realized his heart ached for death. He was the most magnificent creature she had ever encountered. How could one so amazing not wish to exist? He rejected life at the same time his survival instincts embraced it ferociously.

  His image, his character, and the state of his emotions hit Alita like a bolt of lightning. The Black Panther’s power and skill frightened her in its magnitude. His intelligence astonished her.

  She had never before encountered such bravery, and the strength of it seemed to fill all of London as her spirit intertwined with his. The Black Panther’s ability to focus through the most terrifying and disturbing of experiences was steadfast.

  With the magnitude of the Black Panther’s qualities, the characteristic which struck her with the greatest impact was his grief.

  His anguish overwhelmed her. And yet, she could not but respect the depth of his convictions.

  In an instant Alita felt remorse and shame for her own pain, for wallowing in the fact that she had been outcast by the highest echelon of society. This man had made true sacrifices, had forfeited everything he might have personally wished for in obeying his country’s commands, and he was suffering deeply. She had had her lollipop taken away and was standing in the middle of a candy store crying, while he, this worthy, magnificent creature, had had his heart ripped out and was lyin
g in a pool of blood in the desert.

  Alita had never been more shaken by any experience or person in her life. She had entered into the minds and feelings of many people, and none before had overtaken her, become her.

  How did he reach me? Is he aware of the contact on a conscious level? And why had no one else in her life been able to initiate a similar communication with her?

  Alita had stumbled upon the Black Panther accidentally in searching for Colin, but something incredible and entirely unknown to her had been initiated as a result of that happenchance meeting.

  In the past she had only observed others. But now something was happening to her.

  Why? Amidst the war and predictable sights, she had seen something—someone—she never expected to see. His was a spirit far different from others she had known—stronger, steelier, and yet, somehow, more compassionate as well.

  The Black Panther was a powerful being—but without the heart to use his power. Society had presented him with a path, which he had rejected, but no other direction was known to him.

  I can see another path. Shocked with the realization, Alita turned the possibilities around in her mind. Another path, a better path, began to form vaguely in her mind, unclear and yet persistent.

  She knew this unusual man had a great, untapped potential. No one of his acquaintance perceived it. Amazingly enough, neither does he.

  Alita gasped as she realized with a sudden clarity the Black Panther considered himself to have little of value to contribute to the world.

  The Black Panther is the most underutilized person I have ever encountered.

  Suddenly she saw what she thought to be a vision of the future. She knew not how, as one vision faded into another. Alita looked above the man’s head, still in panther form in her mind’s eye, and there were tongues over his head, cool, soothing water and tongues. She saw people of different nationalities encircling him and bowing to one another in a sign of friendship and trust.