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

by Suzette Hollingsworth

  Even as she patted her forehead with her handkerchief, Marvella was gratified to learn that her granddaughter was not deliberately withholding information, merely making it excessively difficult to obtain.

  She was up to that challenge. Alita motioned for her embroidery, and Marvella reluctantly returned it to her.

  “Hmmm,” sounded Marvella. “Valerius Huntington would be the sixth Earl of Ravensdale, would he not?”

  “The fifth, I believe,” replied Alita, not looking up from her sad designs. The girl could make a flower grow out of a rock—but no amount of practice would make her into a seamstress.

  Curious, Marvella watched her. There was some significance to this meeting at the British Consulate, on that she would stake the duchy jewels.

  This gloomy, distracted behavior was not typical of her dear granddaughter. If Alita were married—as she should already be—these travesties one after another would never have occurred. Alita would be expecting a baby by now and be deliriously happy.

  Instead, Alita was moping about longing for the husband she very naturally craved and should already have.

  Eighteen years old and unmarried. The Dowager Duchess of Yarbury lowered her head.

  The saints protect us from the ignorant and shortsighted.

  It irritated Marvella no end that this match had not occurred last year, but finally Alita would be in her hands alone, and there would be no incompetents to interfere with progress. Future generations would have her to thank for the successful match that would no longer be delayed.

  She smiled to herself as she recalled Alita’s threat to bring Oroville and Jane Lovett in her stead.

  The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Alita was her granddaughter after all. The girl knew very well the Duchess of Yarbury would stand for no such thing.

  Marvella had less than no desire to come to Egypt, but leave her favorite granddaughter’s future to be arranged by imbeciles she would not.

  There was one advantage to coming thousands of miles away from Alita's parents. Best to get them out of the picture. Those two had so much education they had lost all sense.

  Marvella could understand a man acquiring an education—he had to supply the funds, after all—but an educated woman? It was a waste of time. Worse. It was a blockade to progress.

  Reflecting upon her daughter and son-in-law, Marvella shook her head. She had more brains than both of them put together. And her daughter had insisted on studying mathematics. Mathematics. Of what use was that? How was mathematics to get one a husband?

  Arranging for William Priestly to accompany them as protector and gentleman escort was a stroke of genius, if she did say so herself. A more perfect husband than Lord Sherwood one could not find.

  Without warning, grief washed over her.

  Oh, how I miss the duke.

  Marvella sighed. She had worshipped and adored Richard. From the moment she met him until the moment he died, he had been everything she wanted and loved in a husband.

  The Dowager Duchess sniffed.

  There is work to be done now. There was no time for wasted days and useless tears. The whole thing had been badly bungled, and now it was up to her to fix it.

  Marvella considered the range of possibilities. She still cherished the hope of an alliance between Alita and Lord Sherwood. She must find out how deep this obvious interest in the earl of Ravensdale went—and if the gentleman was suitable.

  “And what did you speak of with Lord Ravensdale, Alita?” she asked.

  “His work.” Alita replied with much more emotion that his ‘work’ warranted. Good.

  “What does the earl do at the consulate?” Whether or not Lord Ravensdale was worthy of her granddaughter remained to be seen. Even so, it was best to capitalize on every opportunity—and to play each against the other, Marvella thought with a sly smile.

  “I’m not certain. Something to do with translating.”

  “But I thought you said you spoke of his work?” Marvella’s eyebrows rose.

  Perplexing.

  “Yes, we did,” Alita stated quietly, offering no further explanation.

  “And did you like this Lord Ravensdale?” Marvella asked, her voice politely indifferent, attempting to conceal her exacerbation. It was not the facts that mattered, after all. It was how they were arranged.

  “Yes, Grandmamma.” For the first time, Alita looked up, her eyes clear and her countenance present. “Yes, I think I did.”

  As the dowager duchess studied her granddaughter’s expression, the wheels in her mind began to turn full force. It was much easier to promote a match where there was an attraction. And there was an attraction, mark her words, at least on Alita’s side.

  The duchess was quite certain Alita could inspire the gentleman in question to matrimony if that were the girl’s wish.

  Alita was her granddaughter, after all.

  Marvella smiled to herself with satisfaction. The thing is as well as accomplished. Now they must simply proceed through the steps. The only particular still undecided was the groom.

  “You’re not certain about that either?” asked Her Grace nonchalantly, pretending to occupy herself with her own embroidery, which she had picked up from the adjoining table.

  “Yes, I am. It’s just that…” Alita took a moment to consider the question. She seemed unsure of her feelings where Lord Ravensdale was concerned, Marvella reflected. “It’s just that when I first met him, he struck me as…dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” Marvella dropped her embroidery in her lap.

  “Oh, no, Grandmamma! Not that he would hurt me, you understand.” Alita smiled for the first time that evening. “But just that I had never met anyone like him before. And I suppose because he is so different from me, and with such a large presence, you realize, it left me overwrought.” She paused, her needle in midair. “The fear of the unknown, I suppose.”

  Marvella Lawrence smiled with satisfaction.

  That’s all I need to know.

  “Grandmamma, could we please not speak of Lord Ravensdale anymore?” Alita sighed heavily.

  She gazed upon her granddaughter, so like a fairy in a pink tea gown, a fanciful confection of sheer, ruched lace and ruffles from head to toe, ruffles framing her neckline down to her waist.

  Alita was a beautiful, graceful child, everything Marvella liked in a female. She had no doubt of the girl’s ultimate success. These daily activities were mere formalities.

  Now they must simply proceed through the steps. It would be laborious, but work that the Duchess of Yarbury was extremely capable of performing.

  Honestly, these children couldn’t manage anything on their own. She had been able to achieve whatsoever she put her mind to since the time she was fourteen years old.

  “Certainly, child,” replied the dowager duchess. She tapped her fingers for a moment on the blue satin armrest of the couch.

  18

  The Professionals Take Charge

  To say she believed in magic was to stretch the truth, but Marvella certainly believed in her ability to create her world. And even if she had not, she would have died trying.

  Marvella Lawrence was not a woman to accept the hand life dealt her. She was a woman determined to be the dealer.

  It didn’t take too many days before the duchess grew impatient with watching her granddaughter mope about as if there were nothing in Cairo to catch her interest. Egypt wasn’t Marvella’s idea of a grand holiday, but if she didn’t like something, she made something better happen.

  Tapping her fingers on her dressing table as she gazed into the gilded mirror, she was pleased with the image she saw. She could never think of herself as the dowager duchess. Who was that young upstart whom her son was married to anyway? The chit did not deserve the title.

  Marvella reflected that a trip to the pyramids should re-spark Alita’s interest. Everyone spoke of how fascinating they were.

  The duchess rolled her eyes. She would wait to form her own opinion, but she had
every expectation of Alita being revived by the sight. The girl had a taste for ancient objects of no use to anyone.

  Whatever it took to entice her granddaughter back into the world would be worth it. She spritzed her favorite perfume, La Bud Parisienne, along the décolletage of her lavender silk gown.

  Lord William Sherwood should have inspired Alita out of her doldrums, but the child was ridiculously distracted when she should be utilizing everything at her disposal to ensnare that biddable gentleman.

  Honestly! Must I do everything myself? She considered her various lipsticks and chose a crimson red, offsetting her pale blue eyes and blonde-white hair strikingly.

  It was almost never to one’s disadvantage to be striking.

  And certainly not today.

  In the end there was nothing for it but to make a trip to the British Consulate to pay a visit to her old friend Sir Evelyn Baring, who had dined in her house on numerous occasions long before he became a person of such importance. The duke and Sir Evelyn were old cronies, though much of their recent communication had been through letters, since Sir Evelyn had been stationed in India for many years.

  The Dowager Duchess of Yarbury was announced from the waiting room of the Office of the Consul General. Marvella was sincerely touched to see Sir Evelyn’s face light up with her entrance.

  “Duchess, I can’t tell you how delighted I am to see you.” His expression saddened. “I am grieved to hear of Richard’s death. There wasn’t a finer man alive.”

  “Thank you, Evelyn,” Marvella Lawrence stated solemnly. “I would be lying if I didn’t agree with you.”

  He took her hand and squeezed it, holding on before kissing it. There was a moment of shared, unspoken sorrow between them. Sir Evelyn turned for a brief instant before motioning to a gray satin wingback couch and ringing for tea. “Please be seated, Duchess.”

  Egypt’s magnate was well displayed in this plush sitting room furnished in gray raw silk fabrics, mahogany, and purple accents, most notably an elegant Persian rug in blue, lavender, and gray. A masculine room befitting a man whom she understood had unlimited power. A quality she very much liked in a man.

  Or a woman. As long as she was that woman.

  “I am not surprised to learn you have made a great deal of progress in Egypt already, Evelyn,” she reflected.

  “I am in a position to anticipate the strategies of the World Bank and the IMF.” He shrugged. “And I use that knowledge to advantage, with an unwavering insistence on intelligent management, economizing, and frugality.”

  “Frugality I cannot like, but I suppose it is good for some,” she replied with a nod of her chin.

  He chuckled before they conversed happily for some minutes over shared acquaintances, followed by questions about Sir Evelyn’s life in Egypt.

  “Is there anything I can do to make your visit more pleasant while you are here in Cairo, Duchess?” he asked at some point. “Let us not stand on ceremony. I can assure you the country is at my command.”

  “You and your wife must join us for dinner one night.” She smiled warmly. Sir Evelyn was extremely devoted to his wife, Ethel, and Marvella genuinely looked forward to renewing her acquaintance with the Countess of Cromer. It would be difficult to see them without her own dear Richard by her side, but never let it be said that Marvella Lawrence would forego pleasure in favor of gloom.

  “Oh, most certainly we will meet, Duchess, but you will come to my home. I wish to show you some true Egyptian flavor.”

  “Thank you, Evelyn. That would be most enjoyable.” True, and it could only add greatly to Alita’s consequence when the London gossip circuit learned that Miss Alita Stanton had dined with the Egyptian head of state, Marvella thought with smug satisfaction. She resolved to write some letters that afternoon with the appropriate hints. “Though I must say I would welcome a return to some English flavor.”

  “Oh, you prefer English cuisine, Duchess?” He chuckled. “My wife does as well. I don’t think the spices agree with her constitution.”

  “It is settled then to the satisfaction of the ladies.”

  “That is all that matters. But this arrangement is for my pleasure. Surely there must be something I can do for you, Your Grace?”

  “I must admit, Evelyn, there is one small matter of great importance to myself and my family,” stated Marvella demurely.

  “Anything, Duchess,” said Sir Evelyn, clearly having no objection to showing off what was within his power to do, which was just as Marvella had hoped.

  “My granddaughter, Alita, has a strong desire to see the pyramids of Giza, and we need a guide.”

  “Is that all?” He laughed outright. “Most definitely. You cannot go without a guide. I will procure someone suitable.”

  “Can you keep a secret, Evelyn?” She glanced at him mischievously.

  “Of course, Duchess! That’s my job. One could not rise to this level of government without knowing when to close one’s mouth.”

  “Alita has apparently taken a fancy to a Lord Ravensdale. Do you know him?”

  “Know him?” Sir Evelyn smiled slightly with a nod. “Captain Ravensdale holds a position under my employ. Most exceptional person.”

  “Oh? And what is his character?” she asked nonchalantly.

  “His character,” Sir Evelyn mused, a twinkle in his eye, almost as if he were goading her. “Difficult to put into words. One really has to meet him.”

  “Do try, Evelyn.”

  “Very well then.” Sir Evelyn leaned back in his chair. “The only opinion Ravensdale is interested in is his own. His men would follow him to the ends of the earth despite the fact that he is a maniac. He is obstinate, proud, reckless, fanatical, fearless to a fault, indomitable, passionate, heroic, brilliant, vexatious to the extreme, and extraordinary.”

  Marvella felt great satisfaction at this pronouncement. “And is he a suitable young man?”

  “As a guide or as a husband, Duchess?” Sir Evelyn’s lips formed a sly grin.

  Marvella did not reply but, instead, bestowed an angelic smile upon his lordship.

  “As I thought,” Sir Evelyn said with a smile. “As it so happens, Ravensdale is a language expert. He can even read Egyptian hieroglyphics, which is no small matter, I assure you. In addition to being an unusually intelligent young man he is a person of impeccable integrity. I don’t know of a more suitable guide for…er…a tour of the pyramids.” He regarded Marvella with an inquisitive expression. “But you probably knew that, my dear?”

  “No, I didn’t,” replied Marvella truthfully. “You know how the young are. Information was sparse. But can he be spared?” she asked coyly.

  “For you, Duchess, anything.” Sir Evelyn leaned toward her, even as his expression grew pensive. “Up to now, I have seen nothing but Ravensdale’s studies to interest him. I hope we can change all that, Your Grace.” Sir Evelyn had the expression of a man contemplating a desirable hold over a heretofore elusive adversary, Marvella thought, having seen that expression on her late-husband’s face many times when he was wrestling with a political problem.

  “This means so much to me.” She leaned forward. “Thank you, Evelyn.”

  Sir Evelyn rose and called to his secretary. “Randall, will you please send Ravensdale in?”

  The two old friends spoke for some minutes more before Lord Ravensdale arrived. He entered the room swiftly and bowed to Sir Evelyn.

  Oh, my! Not at all what I expected. Marvella almost could not contain herself from shaking her head.

  He wore a tan linen sack suit without tails. Young people today were so inattentive in their dress. His shirt collar was not stiff and high like Sir Evelyn’s. He wore a slim silk cravat tied in the Windsor tie. Most inappropriate. There was no flower in his buttonhole, no watch chain dangling from a vest—indeed, no vest.

  He was decidedly underdressed. His suit was well-tailored but looser than she liked to see on a young man. A suit should fit next to the skin.

  But what was truly dis
concerting was that, though he had no moustache or beard, he had the beginnings of both.

  Positively uncivilized. The earl of Ravensdale looked as if he had been up all night. His hair was almost too long. Far too rugged indeed.

  Yes, he will do nicely.

  The man fairly emanated masculinity, strength, and a sense of purpose. Very handsome, to be sure.

  If he was titled and moneyed and Alita liked him—and that the duchess would stake her life on—who was her grandmamma to object?

  Oh, heavens, forget the money, Alita had plenty of that. If he was titled and Alita liked him, that was enough. The children would be lovely indeed. Too smart, but lovely.

  She sighed heavily. The family kept getting smarter and smarter. Soon they would be ill equipped to do anything of any use to anyone.

  Marvella was picturing the offspring from the union when Sir Evelyn’s voice captured her attention.

  “Valerius,” Sir Evelyn began as he stood, “may I introduce Her Grace the Dowager Duchess of Yarbury, the esteemed Richard Lawrence’s widow, to you?”

  “It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace.” The earl bowed deeply, the pleasure and surprise on his face evident. “I am a great admirer of your late husband’s. Every future generation will benefit from the Duke’s reform efforts.”

  “Captain Valerius Huntington, the 5th Earl of Ravensdale,” Sir Evelyn uttered by way of introduction.

  “Thank you for your kind words, Captain Lord Ravensdale,” she stated solemnly, her approval immediately increasing. She began to like this young man very much in spite of his inattention to appearance, something she generally had difficulty overlooking. “You were acquainted with the duke?”

  “I never had the pleasure. I was at Cambridge, after which I immediately went into the army as a young man,” he stated in low tones. “I was, in fact, on the battlefield when I assumed the peerage. I never had the honor and privilege of assuming my duties in the House of Lords.”

  “The duchess tells me you are, however, acquainted with her granddaughter, Valerius,” stated Sir Evelyn, resting his chin in his hand.