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At the mention of her adopted “uncle,” who was one of her father’s best friends, Alexa could not help but lose some of her earlier feeling of resentment, even if he had been one of the instigators of this birthday ball for her.
How could she not continue to love and respect her beloved Uncle John? It had been Sir John who had presented her with her first thoroughbred and had taught her to ride it like a man—Sir John who had taught her about guns and how to shoot and not to flinch even from the kick of a heavy elephant gun. And how she had loved being allowed to listen when Sir John and Papa would begin talking about the wars they had been in and the exciting battles they had fought under Wellington.
“I’ll wager that you wish you’d been there too, don’t you, Alex?” Sir John would tease her sometimes, but he never teased her in the condescending way of grown-ups; and Alexa would nod vigorously, her eyes wide and shining as she imagined how it must have been—the noise of cannons and the smell of powder and the keening sound of a musket ball whistling past your head; the excitement of a charge with your sword drawn, facing a screaming foe, and hand to hand combat; and if you died you died gloriously and with honor, and if you lived you always knew you had been there, so close to death that you had brushed shoulders with it and had still survived.
It was only to Sir John that an older Alexa, only a few months ago, could confide seriously: “I know it’s probably only because I’ve been hearing the stories for most of my life—yours and Papa’s—but sometimes I really feel as if I have lived through wars and battles. It seems so real, as if I know what it’s like. Even to the smell of horses and dust and blood, and the sounds of clashing swords, and how you feel inside in battle...”
He hadn’t laughed—she remembered that. “Well, my dear, I lived in India for quite some time, as you know, when it belonged to the old John Company, and the Hindus there, they believe that souls are born and reborn over and over again. And that it’s possible for some people to remember past lives. Who knows, my dear, who knows? It’s something I’ve often wondered about myself.”
Harriet, of course, could hardly know of the thoughts that had raced across her niece’s brain during the past few seconds. But by mentioning Sir John Travers she had done exactly the right thing, she recognized with relief, seeing the almost imperceptible relaxing of Alexa’s tensely held shoulders. Sighing, Harriet said, “I really hate to admit how weary I am. All those miles and miles of traveling and the change of climate—I’ll be glad of a nice cold bath, I can tell you that!” She noticed with relief that Alexa was actually putting on her hated bonnet, although she did so with a wry face, adjusting it over her decorously pulled back hair and actually tying the wide ribbons in a bow under her chin.
“If either Eric or Basil make any comments when they see me in this...!” Alexa sounded so fiercely threatening that Harriet had to force back a smile. In spite of the fact that she would be eighteen years of age tomorrow, Alexandra could sometimes sound very much like a hoydenish little girl. But the child must face the fact that she was a woman now and a whole year older than her own mother had been when she had carried her. Poor little Victorine, so helpless, always so pretty...
As she usually did, Harriet closed her mind firmly on unwanted memories of the past. No point thinking back, was there? Victorine was safe and content now. She had a loving, considerate husband, the son she’d always craved, and she had security. The future belonged to Victorine’s daughter, and now, although she was not overly religious, Harriet thought, Pray God I’ve taught her enough and made her strong enough to survive and go forward. To be a victor instead of a loser.
“Well, ladies, here we are at last!”
The carriage had actually come to a stop, and the feeling of not being in motion was almost strange.
“Aunt Harry? Are you unwell? You looked so...”
“Nonsense! I was just thinking, that’s all. And there’s the Governor himself waiting to greet us, and Mrs. Mackenzie. Shake out your skirts, dear. And smile. It lights up your whole face when you do.”
One of the young
officers had dismounted quickly enough to open the carriage door for them, and taking a deep breath Harriet squared her shoulders before she accepted the hand he proffered. Behind her Alexa too had drawn in her breath, holding it inside her until she felt calm enough to breathe out again. Yoga. She had learned about that from Sir John. And it was comforting to think that of course he would help see her through the whole ordeal ahead.
There was actually a smile on Alexa’s face that showed off the dimple at one corner of her firm young mouth, Harriet noted relievedly. And the sprigged muslin had held up remarkably well after all with its wide “Mary Stuart” sash that made Alexa’s small waist seem quite tiny.
Lady Mackenzie, who had had her misgivings about this whole idea and had only acceded to her husband’s request to please Sir John Travers, gave a tiny mental sigh of relief. The young woman was quite charming after all and seemed well-mannered too—which only went to prove that one did best not listening to gossip spread by jealous older women with daughters of their own. Why, she could see nothing mannish or forward about this very feminine young creature who actually dropped a small, old-fashioned curtsy while making her thanks for the honor being shown to her. Remembering the days when she had been married to that insufferable bore Sir Samuel Hood and had been gossiped about because she enjoyed smoking a hookah, Mrs. Mackenzie decided immediately that she was going to like Miss Howard, and would, moreover, make her coming-out ball an event that would be long remembered in Colombo.
Chapter 2
When at last they had been shown to their spacious quarters and the door had closed behind the last obsequious servant, Alexa could relax again. She felt by this time as if her face ached from smiling while she uttered simpering insincerities. Thank goodness they were to be allowed to rest for the remainder of the afternoon and that at last she could take off the constricting muslin gown she already detested, as well as all five petticoats and the corset that seemed to cut off her breath.
“Oh, at last! Did I behave well enough to suit you? But I do not think that I can stand another minute—no not another second—of being smothered in all these layers of hypocrisy! I would like to tear myself free! Thank God it is cooler in here... I was beginning to feel as if I could not breathe any longer. A few more minutes and I would have...”
Used to handling her charge, Harriet faced the challenging glower directed at her with a raised eyebrow. “My dear Alexa, don’t you think that you are by now a trifle past the age for childish tantrums? I was proud of the way in which you conducted yourself just now, and I’m sure you lived up to everything Sir John must have told the Governor and his wife about you. You’re not going to let down the people who believe in you from lack of self-control, I hope?”
For a moment Alexa seemed to stand there poised like a hummingbird caught in mid-flight, and perhaps even she did not know whether she was on the brink of rebelling or running away. But then, to Harriet’s relief, the rigid young shoulders seemed to slump, and the slender fingers that had already began to claw at the neck of the offending gown dropped away.
Not defeat, Harriet warned herself. With Alexa, born under the zodiacal sign of Leo, the lion, there would never be the concession of defeat, only an occasional retreat, perhaps. Putting aside her own weariness, Harriet came forward briskly, commanding a suddenly woebegone-looking Alexa to turn around.
“No need to tear a perfectly good dress, what with the price of fine materials these days. Here, I don’t suppose you want me to send for one of those chattering little maids, do you? So I’ll undo you myself, if you’ll hold still. And do try to remember, my dear, that losing your temper is the same thing as losing your head—or losing the advantage, if you were engaged in some kind of a contest. Do you imagine you’d be any good on a hunting trip if you stopped using your head and gave in to blind panic?”
“I...I suppose I never thought about all this in the same light,” Alexa confessed, with her head bent. And then, throwing it up almost defiantly, she said, “Keeping a cool head... A hunt—is that what I am supposed to be engaged in? But who is the quarry, Aunt Harriet? The eligible man I’m supposed to capture with my false, feminine wiles? Or I myself?”
There had been an edge of cynicism and perhaps even of desperation in Alexa’s voice that forced Harriet to answer with studied brusqueness. “My dear child, I hope I did not make you imagine, with all my sermonizing, that you are being abandoned to the wolves. You must not feel that you must immediately find yourself a husband, or think that this will be your only opportunity to meet eligible men. All I meant to say was that it is more than high time you thought of yourself as a beautiful and feminine young woman to whom men are bound to be attracted and not as a sister or a plucky comrade, as some of the young officers stationed upcountry seem to regard you! Oh, for heaven’s sake! I really can’t seem to recall now what I started out to explain to you in the first place. There, that takes care of your corset. And I’d have you know that I am many years older than you are and just as hot and sticky and tired!”
For once Alexa did not kick aside each garment, as it dropped around her ankles, with a smothered, under-the breath military oath that Harriet always pretended not to hear. She had been standing as still as a statue, and just as silent except for a slight sigh of relief as the tightly laced corset was loosened. And now, to Harriet’s disquiet, Alexa actually bent down to retrieve each offending article, one by one, something that she, used to doting servants waiting on her from babyhood, had never deigned to do before.
Alexa’s voice sounded rather smothered for a moment until she straightened, still with her back turned to Harriet. “Well, I suppose that you did not want to make this journey any more than I did, Aunt Harry, especially with Freddy being sick and Mama all flustered, and nobody to help Papa out with the ledgers and to see that he eats enough. And I suppose that I have been spoiled and allowed to run wild, and...and have thought only of myself all this time without any sense of responsibility towards other people. While everyone else around me, like you, Aunt Harry...”
Alexa swung around abruptly with her untidy bundle of clothes clutched before her, a naked pagan goddess with the sheen of unshed tears making her widely spaced storm dark eyes appear even more brilliant under uncompromisingly straight dark brows. “We all take you for granted, don’t we? But what of you? Why didn’t you ever marry? Didn’t you want to, ever?”
Harriet had always taught Alexa to be honest, to tell the truth and take the consequences if she had to, no matter what the cost. And now, without making herself too much of a hypocrite, how could she give this child-woman standing before her anything less than a direct answer to a direct question?
Harriet heard herself say in an oddly stiff voice: “The man I imagined myself in love with fell in love with someone else and married her. And I...I could never settle for second best. I think that is enough for one afternoon. Even old memories can bring painful twinges, as you might discover for yourself some day.”
