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“Enough!” Harriet said sternly. “I want you to sit down and eat all of your breakfast before it gets too cold; and at once! There’s a lot to be done before we get you quite ready to be the belle of the ball tonight, my dear.”
“Belle of the ball” indeed. For all of her surface bravado, Alexa could not help the feelings of uncertainty and something akin to fear that stayed with her, making her wish fervently to be anywhere else but here, on exhibition before scores of watching, curious, critical eyes. But she wasn’t a coward, she told herself over and over again. And even if this ordeal seemed worse than facing a charging bull elephant, well, it would be over eventually, and until then all she had to do was to act. Pretend that she was someone else much older and much more experienced who was used to making slaves of men, that was all.
Pretend—an amusing game like “charades.” What role would she play? Cinderella? Cleopatra? Diane de Poitiers? Or innocent Little Red Riding Hood? Her hands felt clammy as she stood in front of the mirror as rigid as a statue while Harriet gave orders to four chattering “sewing women” who had been summoned to make last minute alterations to her ball gown. It had taken at least two hours to subdue her unruly curls into a fashionably sleek coiffure—looped braids on either side of a prim middle-parting threaded with pearl encrusted gold ribbons—a matching “ferroniere” around her forehead.
Faint strains of music drifted up through the open windows, and Alexa could not help whispering, “We are not late, are we?” while Harriet was still trying to decide on what jewelry she should wear. From the case she had brought along with her Harriet produced several items, now holding them against Alexa’s bare throat and then discarding them.
“Not suitable...too opulent... not sapphires with a gold and white gown...” And then, irritably, “Of course we are not late! The musicians are merely tuning their instruments, that is all. As if I would allow you to be late!”
With a sigh of resignation Alexa returned to studying her mirrored image once more, hardly caring by now if she wore any jewelry or not, for the fairy-princess gown her dearest Uncle John had magically produced for her seemed more than enough to help her feel like an enchanted princess tonight. Arresting. Would they really think she was arresting? The very latest fashion in Europe, Uncle John had assured her with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes. And it had been especially created for her by the leading designer in Paris—all in white and gold—white silk overskirt delicately sprigged with gold fleur de lys opening at the point where her tightly fitting basque dipped into a vee to reveal shimmering cloth-of-gold—a gossamer-delicate fabric that Sir John had obtained in India.
Rows and rows of tiny ruffles all about the full skirts, which almost swept the floor, and matched those accenting a bateau neckline that left most of her shoulders bare while allowing her short, tight sleeves to barely peep out beneath. And there were knots of gold ribbon to further ornament her overskirt as well, and gold satin dancing slippers...
“Here! I think I’ve found just the right thing at last. This pretty and unusually designed gold necklace of your mother’s that matches the bracelet she gave you on your seventeenth birthday. Exactly right. Alexa, you are not wearing your bracelet, and I know that I reminded you to do so just before we left. Surely you cannot have lost it, especially when you know how much it meant to your mama! Please try to think where you might have left it. I could have sworn I noticed you wearing it yesterday. Oh dear—this room is in such a state of confusion...”
Harriet, preoccupied and edgy, did not notice how white Alexa had suddenly become in spite of the red rose petals that had been vigorously rubbed along her cheekbones to give them a glow. Her bracelet! She never took it off, and she clearly remembered seeing it reflected in the moonlight before her whole night had been spoiled by something she’d much rather not remember. But when could it have fallen off?
“Well? For heaven’s sake, do try to remember. It’s almost time we should be downstairs to join the Governor and Mrs. Mackenzie when they begin to receive their guests.”
Alexa found her voice with difficulty. “I know it is somewhere here, Aunt Harry. I think I took it off before I had my bath, and...but how can I remember now? I promise to find it later—I know I shall—but not now when I can hardly think and it is almost time...”
To her relief she heard her aunt snap: “Oh bother! I suppose you are right and we do have to hurry just now. Here, let me tie this gold ribbon around your wrist to make do for the moment. And now turn around...” As Alexa moved automatically, almost like a puppet, Harriet contemplated her critically before saying, “Well, so you are finally ready, I suppose. Here, take your silk shawl just in case you might need it later—and do remember to hold your head up!”
There was nothing to be nervous of. She must remember what Sir John had told her earlier. Courage. Once you faced what you had thought of as an obstacle as squarely as you would face a challenge, it would never seem insurmountable. And yet, as Alexa descended the stairs with her aunt, everything about her seemed to have become hazy and unreal, like a blurred scene watched through a gauze curtain. Her skirts, with the starched and stiffened petticoats she had been made to wear underneath them, seemed heavy and cumbersomely wide as well as being hot. She held on to the polished wood banisters and saw, looking down, the flashes of gold made by her pretty dancing slippers.
“How lovely you look, my dear, and what a beautiful ball gown! They’re all going to envy you; and you’re not to mind, d’you hear?”
Alexa barely remembered to curtsy her thanks to the Governor’s lady for her generous compliment.
“You look just as exquisitely
beautiful as I knew you would when I first pictured you in this dress, Alexa.” Sir John kissed her cold cheek lightly as he gave her icy hands a reassuring squeeze and whispered, “And remember, you have a mind that matches your beauty; so be sure of yourself, as you have every reason to be.”
Alexa found that even helping to receive the seemingly endless number of guests that had been invited to the ball this evening did not make her feel awkward with Sir John standing next to her; and by the time they had all sat down to dinner she had already begun to feel a little more self-confident. Course followed course; but all she had to do was push the food around on her plate after she had taken a bite or so and then that particular course would soon be cleared away to make way for another.
As the guest of honor, Alexa found herself seated to the right of the Governor himself; but since Sir John was seated on her right, she managed quite comfortably. In fact, she found that the Right Honorable James Alexander Stewart Mackenzie was a kind man in addition to having fathered seven children (all away at school in England), which she felt made him all the more understanding. Not only that, but he was quite a scholar; being particularly learned in Latin and delighted at her knowledge of the language, as well as the literature of ancient Rome.
In time, Alexa’s smiles became genuine instead of forced, so that her dimple showed. Studying her while she listened and laughed over some dry anecdote the Governor related, Sir John Travers reflected that it was in some ways a pity she did not realize how attractive she was—this child-woman he had watched grow up. Had she lived in Europe she could have become all the rage; but with a little more experience and polish, of course. There was the almost unique color of her hair, with its variety of shadings; and the startling contrast of those slate-dark eyes against a pale gold skin of the kind that welcomed the sun instead of having to hide from it. She had the supple, athletic figure of a young Amazon as well, and it was a pity that women’s clothes these days were meant to disguise and conceal every natural curve and line of the feminine body. In fact, the thought that his little Alexa’s free, bold spirit would some day be caged and confined by the stays and corsets of convention and what was supposed to be fashionable was almost intolerable. But perhaps he could do something about it? A challenge, that was what he needed at this point in his life, when all of the vast fortune he had accumulated over the years merely for the fun and adventure of it could not buy him health or happiness or an extension on life itself. A challenge...stimulation...a rescue? And why not? Ah yes, why not indeed?
“Uncle John? I’ve been chattering my head off for the past few minutes, practicing on you, as you said I should do. But you haven’t heard a single word, have you? Did I sound too vapid and inane? Or just too boring to be worth your attention?”
Alexa’s reproachful voice made Sir John chuckle as he patted her arm and said, “Not at all, my dear! Just had a lot on my mind, that’s all; and some of my thoughts concerned you, as a matter of fact. But I see Mrs. Mackenzie giving the signal for all you ladies to retire; so we’ll talk about it later, shall we?”
There was a rustling of long skirts and the scrape of chairs as all the ladies rose in concert to follow the Governor’s wife; and Alexa, reluctantly, had no choice but to do likewise.
As they walked out Mrs. Mackenzie made a point of holding Alexa back for a few moments; her smile kind and almost conspiratorial.
“I just wanted to tell you, my dear, that you’re doing very well indeed, and you mustn’t let being thrown in with a crowd of women intimidate you. Makes me remember my own coming out ball, y’know! I was as nervous inside as you must be, but I didn’t let them see it either. And— ah yes—what I really started out to say was that I don’t want you to think there will be a lack of young men to dance with later on. The dinner was for the pillars of society here, if you know what I mean, but once the dancing begins I’m sure they’ll flock around you like flies—all our eligible young officers and Civil Servants. And we’re to have distinguished guests from at least two of the foreign ships anchored at Colombo Roadstead as well—at least one British title among them! We had some of them to dinner last night; a pity you were too tired to join us. But I see all the ladies watching us curiously, and the last thing I meant to do was to make you feel conspicuous. I only meant to tell you, my dear, that I like you because I can tell you’ve got spirit; and that I want you to enjoy yourself tonight. You’re only young once, after all, and why not?”
Having delivered her speech in a rapid undertone, Mrs. Mackenzie swept a somewhat dazed Alexa ahead of her into the drawing room, where she found herself seated between the Governor’s wife and a milky-faced blonde of about her age who was gowned in ruffles and flounces from her hem to her neck and down again to her elbow length sleeves.
Charlotte Langford had attended an Academy for Young Ladies in England before her formidable mother had decided that it was time she found herself a suitable husband. And here in Ceylon, where there were not very many blond and blue-eyed young English girls to be seen, she could have her choice of the most eligible bachelors—as long as her mama approved, of course.
Her mama had very decided opinions on everything, and Charlotte had always been guided by her; but in the case of Miss Howard she had not been quite as forthright as she usually was.
“Now remember, Charlotte, that if you are introduced to her I will expect you to keep a detached and Christian viewpoint. You know what I mean?”
“Oh yes! Of course, Mama!”
