“She enchanted with her beauty?” Imani asked, becoming intrigued.
“No,” stated Val without hesitation.
“She was not pretty?” Jendayi asked, her eyes glued to him.
“She was beautiful,” he replied softly. “But she enchanted with her stories.”
“Hmmm.” Imani nodded. “Yes, it is so.”
“Oh,” Jendayi murmured inquisitively. “Will you read this book to us, Hunter?”
“Yes,” he replied solemnly.
Rashid groaned. “Why? We already know what happens.”
“Please stay for some bean stew with falafel, Valerius.” Imani took Val by the hand, everyone vying for his attention, it seemed. “Thanks to you, our table is always full.”
God, it hurt.
But Val was not one to attempt to escape from his own pain. He had come by it through the consequences of his own actions, it belonged to him, and, by God, he would feel it. He would either feel it until it subsided or he would claim it as his own and live with it.
To try to make it go away was the coward’s way out. He was a lot of things—an idiot, a misfit, a traitor, and a bore.
But he was no coward.
“I would love to stay for dinner, Imani,” Val replied. “Your cooking is second to none. First, however, I will repair the porch.”
31
The Spell is Cast
Val presented himself to the Shepheard’s maître d'hôtel on Thursday evening as directed, whether of his own will or by design he was unsure.
And then he saw her. Suddenly he didn’t care about the distinction anymore. Alita Stanton was exquisite by anyone’s standards, but she shown to particular advantage in the candlelight, her wheat-blonde hair and emerald jeweled eyes shimmering as they caught the light.
“Sir, if you please.” Shepheard’s head waiter indicated the allotted time for gaping had expired. He led the way to a reserved table in a prime location near the fountain.
As Val weaved in between marble columns, he found it difficult to take his eyes off the beauty, already seated and smiling warmly at something which was said.
Alita Stanton did not display the manners of someone attempting to bring attention to herself. And yet she held center stage in a room filled with dazzling women adorned with no expense spared.
As he grew closer, his eyes moved to the revealing neckline of a stunning emerald-green silk gown. Fashion was not a subject he had particularly followed—until now. If this was the current style in London he was glad of it.
And if her purpose is to entice, she has succeeded. To see those beautifully formed, creamy white breasts revealed was not helping his resolve to remain detached.
What Botticelli, Boya, or Leonardo da Vinci would have given for the honor of painting her in the nude…
Umph! Val stumbled into an elderly gentlemen, who recaptured his balance in time to glare disapprovingly through a monocle.
“I beg your pardon, sir.” Val apologized profusely and began his quest in earnest again.
Bloody hell! I successfully navigated the Sahara Desert in an extremely dangerous military campaign, and now I can’t walk across Shepheard’s dining room without injuring myself and anyone in my path.
This is what comes of not ending this ridiculous dalliance with Miss Alita Stanton. He had known from the beginning that terminating the association was the only way.
I might as well engage in a flirtation with a gypsy or a witch doctor. Or possibly the local hospital had some mental patients of interest to him.
Becoming enamored with an opera singer would show more wisdom—and be strongly preferable. The expectations and the rules of decorum were less ambiguous to all parties from the outset.
An opera singer wouldn’t speak a lot of bloody nonsense about his grand potential either. She wouldn’t allow herself to sink that low.
Even actors had some pride. “Good evening.”
Finally Val found himself within several feet of the table, feeling a true sense of accomplishment.
Soon forgotten. His breath caught in his chest when Alita looked up and smiled at him. “Captain Lord Ravensdale, we’re delighted to see you.”
“I see you have difficulty being on time, Ravensdale,” the duchess murmured.
“My apologies. I had business to complete with Lord Cromer, your Grace.”
Even Miss Stanton’s charming smile of recognition annoyed him. It was the first time she had observed him, and he had noticed her from the moment they were in the same room together.
As if he had never seen a heavenly vision before.
Her sparkling eyes rested on him for a moment. Val wondered if this was the closest he would ever be to paradise.
He wished he might be a bit closer at the same time every instinct told him to turn and run.
Why the devil am I still here?
Admonishing himself to be aware of his surroundings, ordinarily second nature to him from his military training, Val shook his head in self-reproach. If he weren’t careful, he would dislodge a waiter or, worse yet, initiate the domino effect.
Possibly Egypt would fall.
Oh, wait. I have already assisted with that outcome. One rich culture annihilated, five continents to go, and my life’s work is complete.
“Miss Alita. Your Grace,” Val articulated, “I hope you are well this evening.”
“Quite,” Marvella quipped. “May I present William Priestly, the earl of Sherwood, to you? Val Huntington, the earl of Ravensdale, Captain of the Princess Royals.” Val noted the sparkling white teeth and fashionably trimmed blonde coiffure and nodded as agreeably as he could muster.
“Captain.” William nodded.
“And what was your business with Evelyn?” Marvella asked with raised eyebrows, almost in unison with William Priestly’s, as Val moved to be seated.
“I was detained longer than expected. It is not always possible to extricate oneself. I am employed during the day, and for that I apologize,” he replied offhandedly.
“Why don’t you sell out?” Marvella asked. “Surely you are needed on your family estate and should assume your duties there. I see no reason why you should gad about like a common laborer.”
Ah yes, the idle life of the rich and titled. He smiled warmly at the duchess, quite striking herself in a pale blue satin damask gown, a white wrap, and diamonds. “Your chum Lord Cromer has been quite adamant I should stay, I’m afraid he hasn’t given me much choice.” He bowed his chin. “I would have thought you would be pleased to know I was serving my country, your Grace.”
He glanced at Sherwood. Rather than admiring my reflection.
“Grandmamma, Lord Ravensdale has very strong principles and would not be happy with an unproductive life,” Alita said, almost as if she were reading his mind.
I wish she would stop doing that. Val looked at her in surprise.
“Hmph! If this is happiness before us, I would advise giving misery a try.”
“I am sorry to be late,” Val interjected. “But the two most beautiful ladies in the room could not be wanting for attention in my absence.”
The duchess smiled, and it appeared he had charmed away her disapproval.
“I couldn’t be in more agreement,” Sherwood said. “It is pointless to look at anyone else in the room, is it not?”
Alita cast Sherwood a warm smile, and Val found he wished to punch the fellow.
For his part, Lord Sherwood’s eyes expressed an interest in the easy terms Val stood on with the duchess. Sherwood’s concerned eyes then moved to rest on Alita, which felt like an affront to Val. He wished they might have stayed with the dowager.
Something was definitely different about Miss Alita Stanton.
In that dress, she doesn’t look so much the young innocent anymore.
Val didn’t believe she ever was innocent, but now her outfit matched his initial impression. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Sherwood. How many liberties had he taken with Miss Stanton?
I
t isn’t my business. I don’t want anything further to do with the siren, so what difference does it make?
Once seated and no longer a threat to his continued existence or to the free world, Val allowed his gaze to linger on Alita.
He wished he hadn’t. His mouth went dry. Her eyes shone when she looked at him, like a stunning emerald lodged in a snowscape. She wore a pearl choker and pearl earrings, further accenting her plunging neckline. Her coiffure consisted of countless ringlets dotted with pearls cascading down her neck in an elegant but undisciplined collection of wheat-colored curls.
One could almost feast on the ambiance alone. Val swallowed hard and forced himself to study his surroundings, as was his usual regimen.
Marble columns, lights along every golden archway, a domed ceiling, rich crimson upholstery, delicately exquisite china, rounded mahogany furniture, and lovely women in lace and rustling silk.
On this evening there was an added dimension to the magnificence. It seemed the mirrors and crystal reflected every nuance, every gesture, and every emotion. As if an echo was attached to every word and expression.
“So you’re a military man. Are you a frequent visitor to Shepheard’s, Captain?” William Priestly asked, probably wondering why a resident of Cairo had so much difficulty traversing the dining room.
It was a fair question.
“I have dined many times in Shepheard’s,” Val replied simply.
“I expect your company has never been lovelier,” Sherwood offered.
“Never,” Val stated in a low undertone, glancing at Alita.
Alita blushed, and Marvella smiled with satisfaction.
Amidst this feeling of being in a fantasy world, a characteristic of being in Miss Stanton’s presence in general, there was an unpalatable element to the evening. Val eyed William Priestly with dislike, who appeared to reciprocate the sentiment though he was too bloody polite to express it.
Val had made a career out of understanding his opponent, and Sherwood was a quick study: an actor whose primary role was the elegant gentleman, a frippery fellow who played it safe, ensuring his own comfort and success first and foremost. Likeable but with a limited—and predictable—repertoire.
Even Sherwood’s clothing irritated him. The Princess Royals captain knew he himself turned more than a few heads in his military attire, but Sherwood had transformed evening dress into an art form with recherché accessories and a sumptuous coiffure of delightful complexity rivaling any feminine haute couture masterpiece.
I am thankful simply to find the time to shave.
Sherwood wore the typical black evening dress consisting of a swallow-tail black coat, a low-cut white vest, a white cravat, and white gloves. To this the dandy added a white rose in his lapel, satin stripes down the sides of his pants, and a gold watch chain.
No doubt Sherwood had little bunny rabbits and lavender pansies embroidered on his handkerchiefs in complementary colors. And if he didn’t, it wasn’t because he didn’t want them.
Lord, is that a sapphire ring surrounded by diamonds on his finger? And the same setting positioned perfectly on his elegantly tied cravat? Sherwood’s jewelry would have done the queen proud.
Val rolled his eyes in distaste. For himself, his only jewelry was silver cuff links, a pearl tie clip, and a family ring.
“Nice ring, Sherwood,” Val noted. “Family heirloom?”
William shook his head. “Oh, no. I recently purchased it.”
“Ah,” replied Val.
Even taking into account Miss Alita’s elaborate hairstyle, Sherwood had probably taken longer to dress than she had.
That was just not natural. There were better things to do with one’s time, and the dandy’s attire was proof he didn’t know what those things were.
Miss Alita seems to approve of the fellow, Val observed with distaste. Possibly she liked such attention to fashion in a man.
Val felt a moment of self-consciousness, though he knew his only deviation from acceptability was his hair. While Sherwood’s hair was perfectly cut and his facial hair shaped with precision, Val’s hair was slightly overlong, considered rakish in some circles.
So be it.
While there was some discomfort as the two gentlemen eyed each other with rivalry and disapproval, the duchess smiled as if things were going just as they ought.
Val knew he had a worthy adversary in the duchess. A master of strategy and a tactical genius.
“Oh, the scents here are divine! I think I shall never tire of the bouquet—nor forget it,” Alita remarked in her lilting, melodic voice as the duck a’ l’orange was brought to the table. Everyone was served, and the party’s spirits cheered somewhat as the citrus aroma filled the surrounding air.
“I shall never be able to forget it either—however much I might try.” Marvella nodded in agreement as she eyed with suspicion a dish of roasted potatoes, eggplant, onions, and feta cheese.
“May I ask, Miss Stanton, are you enjoying your tour of Egypt?” Val interjected in between the presentation of one dish after another of olives, bread, and garlic hummus. “I take it this is a first trip for all.”
“And, God willing, the last,” Marvella said.
“I hope not.” Alita sighed even as she partook of a salad of cucumbers, tomatoes, and balsamic vinegar, clearly savoring her dinner.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Alita,” Lord Sherwood posed. “It has been a charming trip far surpassing my expectations. But you would wish to come…back?”
“I had never thought I would. But now…” she stole a glance at Val which made him catch his breath in his throat. “…Someday. Egypt will forever be a part of my heart. And one must revisit one’s heart.”
“I’m pleased to know Egypt has found favor with you in the end, Miss Alita,” Val said.
“Oh, yes. Even melancholy is satisfying in such an intoxicating setting, like a morbid poem beautifully written,” Alita said.
Val raised his eyebrows. “You think Egypt is morbid? Or are you referring to me?”
Her eyes twinkled, as if they shared a secret joke.
“Indeed it is,” chimed in the duchess. “Alita has always displayed a gift for clarity. She gets that from me.”
“I do not think any such thing.” Alita giggled, looking quite coquettish, as she leaned forward, the silk sheen of her gown and the curve of her bosom catching the candlelight.
“Then how shall you describe this land?” Lord Sherwood asked.
“Egypt is…too many things for words. I was never one to long for travel, and this journey to a magical land has taught me the world is so much grander than I once thought. And smaller, in it’s own way. I actually received a letter from my mother today.”
“And how long was the letter in arriving, Miss Stanton?” asked William politely.
“She wrote it from the hospital the day after we left.”
“Burn the letter, Alita!” Marvella grimaced at the mention of the hospital. “There might be germs on it. A nurse, for goodness sake.”
“Grandmamma!” admonished Alita. “I am most proud of Ma-ma.”
“Indeed,” stated William. “Nursing is now considered a respectable profession for women—among many.”
“Aside from the fact that Lady Elaina is performing a great service to society, which is considerably more important than her perceived respectability, a subjective notion at best,” Val interjected as he dipped his bread in hummus.
“There is no respectable profession for a woman outside of the home, perceived or otherwise.” Marvella pursed her lips. “Fustian nonsense. Next you’ll be telling me being an opera singer is a respectable profession for a woman.”
William stifled laughter at the outrageous suggestion.
“Don’t ever let me hear you speak of professions for women, Miss.” Marvella turned her harsh eyes on her granddaughter.
Val noted with disappointment that Alita smiled very sweetly at her grandmother as if one could be assured of her acquiescence.
> “Be thankful your maids and cooks hold a different view, your Grace.” Val observed.
“Quite different.” Marvella moistened her scarlet-red lips, her pale blue eyes all the more striking in contrast.
“And I see no shame in creating beautiful music,” Val added.
“From what I understand, that is not all they create.”
“It would no doubt be better for those ladies if they were afforded the luxury of being able to stay home with their families,” Alita considered.
“And now you see young ladies on bicycles. Bicycles.” Marvella’s feathers appeared to be ruffled now, and she was gaining momentum. She picked up her fan and fanned herself frantically. “Next, men will be managing the house and tending to the children while women are off on their…bicycles. It is beyond anything the liberty young women are given today. It will be the downfall of civilization, I can assure you.”
“Grandmamma, I see no reason why a woman cannot ride a bicycle and still maintain her home and her virtue,” suggested Alita, running her fingers along her pearl choker, an action he found disturbingly enticing.
“Well, if you think that, Miss, you have never tried to ride one,” stated Marvella emphatically. Without a pause, she continued with the evils of sporting events for women. “And badminton! I have actually seen young ladies playing badminton.”
“You can’t be serious, Duchess,” interjected Val, opening his eyes wide.
“I am.” She shook her head in dismay at the state of the world. Suddenly a thought seemed to occur to her and she stared pointedly at Alita. “Never let me see you playing badminton,” she commanded. “That would be the last breath I take.”
“I assure you I shall not,” stated Alita consolingly. “It looks very foolish and unladylike to my way of thinking.”
“Could there be any more important criteria?” asked Val rhetorically.
“Don’t you agree, William?” Alita bestowed her prettiest smile on Sherwood, one of her wheat-colored curls seeming to bob as she turned her head.
The Destiny Code: The Soldier and the Mystic Page 27
