“I tire of this conversation,” Sherwood said. “Shall we depart, Miss Alita? You seem to be tired.”
“I am quite well, thank you, William.” She sniffed.
“Sherwood, can you provide Miss Alita with a handkerchief? I seem to have misplaced mine.” In truth, Val knew exactly where his handkerchief was but thought Sherwood’s handkerchief with the bunnies on it might be of more comfort to the young lady.
“I do not see that I have gained anything by accessing these uncomfortable feelings,” she said, taking the handkerchief.
“Certainly not,” Sherwood agreed.
The duchess took a sip of tea, studying her granddaughter with admiration. “Actually you have gained a great deal, my dear. You have absolutely entranced both the gentlemen on this evening. I would never have expected anything of the sort from philosophy. Generally a boring subject.”
“Precisely my point,” Val said. “No one here knows who you are, do they, Miss Stanton? I myself am completely in the dark. And yet we all like you—no, are mesmerized by you—and wish to know more of you. But we shall very likely not, shall we? Because you perceive the revealing of your true character will be your social downfall. Perhaps it is a hypothesis which should be reconsidered, this foundation of your entire behavior and outlook.”
“And yet I can be no different than I am, as you suggest, given the strictures of society. Proven by the fact that I am here in Egypt. So the realization makes no difference.”
“What then do you see as your strongest ability, Miss Stanton?”
“I can answer that,” Sherwood said. “It is her goodness of heart, her empathy, her kindness to others, and her absolute joy in living.”
“I cannot disagree, but I should like to hear Miss Stanton’s opinion.”
“I have been instructed again and again that my greatest strength is in helping others to perceive their gifts.” She stared at Val, her eyes once again penetrating his soul. “Though I have notable failures.”
“Miss Alita, you are making your contribution to the world without the slightest effort, simply by being your lovely self,” William pronounced.
Alita smiled in gratitude though her expression grew pensive. “In truth, I do not believe one’s particular activities or interests are of any importance at all.”
Val stared at her, bewildered. “Whatever can you mean, Miss Alita?”
“Quite simply, it does not matter if one practices swordsmanship or law or medicine—or even knitting.” She shook her head. “It matters that one strives. It does not matter if one loves science or laying bricks, it matters that one loves. It does not matter if one reaches for the stars or a rosebud, but it is vital that one questions and opens oneself to life. These talents are mere characteristics of personality, gifts, and societal times. They are all outlets for the growth of the soul and irrelevant apart from that. But it does matter that we do and that we do that which fulfills us. We must live fiercely with all our hearts.”
Dear God, what will the woman say next?
“Hear, hear,” William exclaimed, raising his champagne glass and motioning to the waiter. “Let us drink to that. Waiter, please bring champagne.” There was an immediate pouring of champagne and a clinking of glasses.
Val raised his glass. “Forgive me, Miss Alita. I sought to dispense wisdom, and I am, instead, the recipient.”
33
An unruly heart
It is devastating to my purpose that I am clearly captivated by Captain Lord Ravensdale, Alita wrote in a letter to her mother even as she resolved to do everything in her power to curb her attraction to the earl.
Why had she let her personal responses compromise her purpose? And how much should she reveal to Lady Elaina?
Almost everything. She blushed realizing there were some things best kept private. Though no doubt her mother, a passionate woman by anyone’s standards, was no stranger to these feelings.
Taking a sip of jasmine tea, she glanced out the window at one of the busiest streets in Cairo. The floral scent rising from her blue-and-gold porcelain cup blended with the lively commotion below to form a strange ambiance she could almost taste.
Alita felt the early morning sun warm her hand even as the feather from her pen brushed her cheek. A strange mix of unrealized yearnings in her heart, both foreign and unidentifiable to her, struggled to surface. Feeling an intense longing, she attempted to name it, but she could make no sense of her feelings.
Almost from the moment of meeting Valerius Huntington, she had striven to be fully present, fears and all, and to be known by him. She longed to be in the middle of the whirlwind with him, not a bystander.
Before coming to Egypt, she had watched and observed, aiding people on their journeys but never having none of her own.
She no longer wished to be the instrument.
I wish to be the music.
I never think. I only feel, she continued writing. You know that I have always been guided by my emotions, Ma-ma. Only this time the emotions are stronger than ever and leading me nowhere. I start each day in earnest and end up behind the starting gate.
Was that sufficiently vague enough? She never actually told Lady Elaina why she had come to Egypt: to convince a man she had never met he had a path unknown to her, which would save lives in a manner she knew not how.
It was no wonder she had not been forthcoming. What was there to convey?
In her confused frustration, Alita allowed her pen to fall to the desk, the ink making a trail down her beige parchment paper.
Alita had always shared everything of importance with her mother, and now, at a time when she most needed someone to talk to, there was no one to whom she could tell the whole.
Her parents were the only people in the world who knew her—and didn’t wish to change her into anyone else.
I am lucky that I have someone at least.
Glancing out the window, she decided her surroundings were far more interesting than her thoughts, if equally mysterious. Her third-story room afforded her a lovely view of all who entered and departed Shepheard’s, as well as of local artisans selling their breathtaking masterpieces—the beautiful papyrus paintings and elaborately designed handcrafted carpets.
This private show was ordinarily a favorite setting when she wished to decipher her thoughts, surprising since the noise was horrendous. Animals braying, children yelling, shopkeepers hawking their wares, and people bartering at the tops of their lungs.
So unlike English decorum, in Mayfair at least. There were certain similarities with Piccadilly Circus: everyone talking at once, with much waving of arms and gesturing.
Somehow watching others who did not watch back, so involved in the hustle and bustle of life, calmed her spirits.
Except today.
There was a light tap on the door, and Alita put her papers in the drawer before responding. “Come in, Grandmamma.”
Alita rose to pour a cup of tea for the duchess, a morning ritual of sorts, as her guest floated toward her in a silver Watteau wrapper.
Marvella seated herself in a chair near Alita’s desk and peered out the window, shaking her head in disapproval. “It’s busy this morning. I can’t believe you wouldn’t prefer a quieter room, my dear.”
“Oh no, I enjoy it, Grandmamma.”
“And yet something is wrong.”
“What on earth could be wrong? I am having a grand adventure and I am with you.”
“Don’t attempt to bamboozle me, my girl, I am not one to be fooled.” Marvella raised her eyebrows, her expression stiff. “You don’t seem very pleased considering you have an outing planned with Lord Ravensdale. An excursion to the park, I believe?”
“Yes, Grandmamma,” she murmured, seating herself across from her grandmother.
“And what is your opinion of the captain, my sweet, now that you have come to know him better?”
“Lord Ravensdale is so unlike the perfect man I have always dreamed of, one who is amiable, dignified, and refine
d. A debonair and fashionable man. Caring and sociable.”
“Like William Priestly?” Marvella asked.
“Like William Priestly. Who is perfect in every way,” stated Alita, her voice beginning to fail her.
“Then where is the confusion?” Marvella lowered her teacup.
“Why don’t I long for William, Grandmamma?” She turned toward her grandmother, twisting in her seat. “And why does my heart positively burst for Valerius?”
“You don’t long for William Priestly, my dear?” Marvella asked disbelievingly.
Alita shook her head, giving up on finding the words.
“That must place you in a different state from all the other young ladies currently residing in England.” The duchess sniffed.
“Believe me, I know! No one need tell me that or of my folly.” Alita shook her head. “And the life I could have with William is my heart’s desire. I desperately long for it. But I don’t long for him.”
“Most unfortunate.” Marvella pursed her red lips. “You have won his heart, and you don’t wish for it. Be careful what you throw away, my dear.”
“The realization of all my dreams has been laid out before me, and I have never been more unhappy in my life.” Alita nodded sadly. “I know I should be grateful he cares for me. And I am. It warms my heart to think of William. I approve of him in every possible way.”
“You approve of him? And they say the French are romantic.” Marvella stirred her tea.
“I love him as a dear friend.”
Marvella looked up, her spoon pausing in its stirring motion. “And do you see a proposal materializing from Lord Ravensdale?”
“Quite the opposite.” Alita felt her heart fall in her chest at the words she knew to be true. “There is no chance whatsoever of such an occurrence.”
Marvella set her teacup down suddenly with an uncharacteristic clink, liquid splashing over the edge onto the saucer. “Alita, a presentation is one thing, but this is your life we are speaking of. You have a jewel in your hand. If you don’t want it, I assure you someone else will snatch it up.”
“I understand.” Alita nodded. “You are saying ‘don’t destroy your life as you did your presentation.’ I begin to wonder if I am compelled to do so.” She sighed. “And why.”
“Quite so. You would do well to think on that very thing.” Marvella picked up a piece of toast and took a miniscule bite. “Or better yet, think less and, instead, act in your own best interest. Force yourself to behave in a manner which will serve your purposes. Discipline, my girl. I shouldn’t think with a man such as William Priestly discipline would be required—except, perhaps, to avoid falling into his arms.”
“Oh, no, Grandmamma. William is a gentleman.”
“Most unfortunate,” Marvella muttered, shaking her head in disapproval as she studied her granddaughter. “Intelligence in a woman leads to nothing but trouble. You think far too much, Alita. It does not serve.”
Alita couldn’t help but agree. Over the past two months, ever since that dreadful Queen’s Ball, she had begun to think of herself as the enemy. In the process she had begun to separate from herself, from her feelings, her instincts. After all, she could no longer trust her own inclinations.
The Queen’s Ball was not her fault precisely, but she could have prevented that disaster. And look how she had behaved ever since she had known Valerius, as if her entire world lay with this man.
“Alita dear, answer me this. Do you wish to marry Lord Ravensdale?”
Alita’s lips quivered as she felt a battle raging inside her. A holiday was one thing, but she wanted family, a home, and stability. The absolute last thing she wanted to do in this life was to be experiencing new lands and new people, which she knew to be Val’s destiny.
If he realized it. And it would be a great loss to himself and the world if he did not.
Her head was spinning again. She who had the sight could not see her own life from one minute to the next. She was in the middle of a hurricane, with no ability to direct the circumstances of her life and certainly no guarantees of happiness, now or ever.
“Yes, I do.” There she had said it.
“But I don’t want the life I would have with him,” Alita added. “And it doesn’t matter anyway because he has no intention of marrying me, I assure you.”
She looked out the window, and the children caught her notice. As her fingers ran along the fine Belgian lace—surely no one appreciated such niceties more than herself—she made a mental note to donate all but a single handkerchief to the children of Cairo before leaving.
“And I don’t know that it matters what I want, Grandmamma. I believe it to be quite unimportant in the scheme of things.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a piece of toast drop to the floor.
34
Resilience
As promised, Valerius arrived in a carriage of ebony and gold depicting the Ravensdale crest and driven by a handsome pair of sleek, black high-steppers.
“Keeping a carriage is one of my few extravagances,” he had once told her. Clearly he didn’t want her to think him to be a man of wealth. In other words, a marriage prospect.
Alita watched the earl alight from his carriage with the masculine grace of the panther. He appeared to leap forward. Even from her window seat she could see his pale silver-blue eyes offset by raven hair and the black ebony of the carriage.
Captain Ravensdale was notoriously handsome in his riding dress: skintight fawn-colored trousers, black coat and bellowing white cotton shirt, unbuttoned at the neckline to reveal a small amount of his muscled chest.
Yes. Her answer would be yes. In that instant she knew with a certainty that, were he to ask her for her hand at this moment, her answer would be yes.
But he would not marry her—not today, not next month. Not ever.
She had found the man of her dreams. But I am not the woman of his dreams.
As she watched Captain Ravensdale’s purposeful stride toward the front door of Shepheard’s, Alita determined to remember every detail of the scene to hold in her memory.
We will not be together. She had seen it. She might be a discombobulated mess, but her predictions were stronger than ever. Never in her life had she held the window to the future that she now possessed.
Moving to the door, she took one last look in the mirror, studying her image. A perfect adherence to the fashion of the day. And yet… something is different.
I am at my worst and and best at the same time. Generally true in times of inner transformation, she suspected.
As for her outer appearance, Alita could find nothing amiss. She wore a shimmery gold damask silk, perfectly offsetting her wheat-colored hair and bringing out the golden flecks in her bright-green eyes. The square neckline of the gown was outlined in a full frill of white point duchesse lace with a large satin bow of burnt copper-brown strategically placed below the neckline. The sleeves gathered at the elbows, also outlined in lace and accented with satin copper bows. White gloves and topaz jewelry further accented the gold in her hair and her eyes. A fringe of amber beads along the hemline revealed one-inch pleats.
She was exquisitely fashionable, wiser, more sophisticated.
And she looked as if the life had left her eyes.
“Your maid keeps a closer distance than she has in our previous outings. On whose direction would that be, Miss Alita?” Val glanced at her inquisitively as he tightened his hold on her elbow.
After a quiet drive in which neither of them spoke more than superficial remarks, both sensing their time together was coming to a close, they alighted at the park. Flora walked a short distance behind them, allowing for private conversation but nothing more.
She forced herself to look at him but said nothing.
“The usual hostile glances.” His eyes were glued to hers. “No change there.”
No change? Everything that matters has changed.
“And yet, clearly there has been a shift in Miss Alita’s fe
elings towards me.” He continued his soliloquy. “Miss Flora has the prerequisite gift of both understanding and obeying her mistress to the letter. Ordinarily Flora disappears from view as quickly as I materialize. She has been a servant of inestimable talents, holding a warm place in my heart up to this point in time.”
“I am gratified to learn that my maid has served you well, my lord.”
He turned his head to bestow upon Flora a stare which had exercised control over soldiers for years.
The shy, young girl was no match for the Captain of the Princess Royals 7th Dragoon Guards. Involuntarily, she took a step back. Val raised one eyebrow, his expression resolute, even as he restored his gaze to Alita.
“She is an inconvenience, nothing more,” he pronounced.
“As are all women for you, I fear.” She swallowed hard, feeling the seconds ticking away. Each time she looked into those pale blue eyes of steel her heart was breaking for longing for this man. It should have comforted her to know she had been spared a life she only reflected upon with displeasure, but Alita felt her world was crashing in around her.
“I assure you, Miss Alita, I did not mean to infer a disregard for women. Far from it.”
“Lord Ravensdale, your purpose has revealed itself to me with clarity. It was vague for a long while, but now I see it.”
“Should I feel dread or encouragement?” Val studied her with amusement, and their pace naturally slowed. “I believe I have never beheld a more agonizing expression.”
“Feel what you will, Lord Ravensdale. I am sure I have no influence where your feelings are concerned.”
“I beg to differ on that point, Miss Alita,” he said. “And won’t you address me as ‘Val’?”
“When I first spoke with you, Captain Ravensdale,” Alita found she was becoming quite accustomed to dismissing his remarks, a rudeness she never thought possible of herself, “I knew your potential was great. I also knew you could reach many people. But I did not know the specific venue for the expression of your gifts.”
The Destiny Code: The Soldier and the Mystic (Daughters of the Empire Book 1) Page 29
