Alice I Have Been: A Novel (20 page)

“Alice, my dear Alice! Let me look at you!”

Suppressing a small sigh, I turned around to face my elder sister, just arrived from Scotland. She was attired in a silver blue taffeta gown, with rows of tiny pink silk rosebuds sewn vertically up the front of the bodice in an artistic attempt to draw the eye upward, not out, although there was no way to obscure the obvious; Ina had grown stout. There was no other word for it; my sister had grown stout and matronly after the arrival of her first child.

Her husband, William Skene, was a tall, thin man, kindly, with an air of endless patience. I was fond of my scholarly brother-in-law. He was a man very much like Papa—living in his head most of the time, although he had a certain hard practicality about him, too. My sister was a woman quite like my mother. They were a perfect match; dreamlike men always ben-efitted from energetic women.

“You look wonderful, darling.” I embraced my sister. “What a lovely frock! Wherever did you find that silvery shade of gray? It almost matches your eyes!”

“London, of course; we can find nothing up in Edinburgh. I told William I simply
had
to dart down to London before the ball.”

“I’m sure you did,” I said with a quick smile, remembering many, many times when Ina had bossed me about in the same way. “It was worth it; the dress is beautiful.”

“Mrs. Skene, it’s a pleasure.” Leo bowed to her, taking Ina’s plump hand, lifting it to his lips. She blushed, curtsied, and began to fan herself furiously, one of her teasing smiles upon her lips, although the effect wasn’t quite the same as it had been when she was fourteen.

“Your Royal Highness, how lovely it is to see you again. I’m very happy to observe that you’ve recovered fully from your illness.”

“Thank you. Of course, I had a great incentive to do so.” Smiling, Leo took possession of my left hand, tucking it under his arm. Ina’s eyebrows shot up, her mouth pursed, and I saw her exchange a look with Mamma, who was standing in the doorway to the small anteroom that had been furnished for the Prince’s private party.

Catching Ina’s look, Mamma came rushing forward, practically dragging Rhoda by the arm. “Sir,” Mamma said with a worried smile. “I do hope you won’t mind dancing with dear Rhoda—she has an unexpected opening on her dance card, and she was so hoping for a polka.”

“I’m afraid I’m rather booked,” Leo said, glancing at my dance card, dangling from my wrist.

“But surely Alice won’t mind sitting this out, in order to give her sister the pleasure of just one dance?” Mamma continued to smile, more ferociously than before; she looked at me, her eyebrows nearly to her hairline. I felt the blood simmer in my veins, but I would not give way to my anger at her meddling.

“Of course,” I said, through gritted teeth. “I don’t mind in the least. Do go on.”

Poor Rhoda—who obviously was not pleased to be used in such a way, as she had remained scowling at the floor through the entire exchange—curtsied as Leo bowed, then they repaired to the dance floor just as the orchestra started back up.

“That was very subtle, Mamma,” I said, turning to meet her disapproving gaze. “What’s next? Are you going to throw Ina at him, to keep us apart?”

“Alice, of course I can’t dance,” Ina huffed—even as she looked longingly at the dancers swirling about to the music. “I’m married now.”

“I was being sarcastic, Ina.”

“Alice, I’m merely acting in the Prince’s best interest,” Mamma replied smoothly. “It is unchivalrous of him to dance so often with just one partner. We wouldn’t want word of his poor manners to get back to the Queen.”

“Even if Leo danced by himself in the middle of the floor, no one could accuse him of poor manners. The truth is, I don’t believe you would mind at all if that sole partner wasn’t me.”

Mamma did not answer; she simply made a grand, sweeping turn and rejoined Papa and all their friends greedily partaking of Leo’s hospitality, as his private room was furnished with superior refreshments.

“Don’t vex Mamma so, Alice,” Ina murmured, patting the perfectly round sausagelike curls tickling the back of her neck—their chestnut brown not
quite
matching the rest of her hair, although I refrained from pointing this out. “You’re awfully impertinent these days.”

“I? Impertinent?” I looked at my sister, my deceptively placid paragon of a sister. Her gray eyes returned my gaze unblinkingly.

“I daresay the Prince’s attentions have gone to your head, Alice.”

“I wonder that there is only one person in this family who wants to see me happy. Dear Edith, I do wish she were here tonight!”

“So do I,” said an unwelcome voice at my elbow; suddenly the cloying scent of cheap perfume filled my nostrils. Turning reluctantly—my limbs suddenly blanketed with dread—I came face-to-face with Mr. Ruskin.

I had not seen him since that nightmarish last afternoon. Observing the way his eyes glittered dangerously beneath his white, thundering brows, I knew he was remembering that day, too. While, to my great relief, he looked as usual—his clothes were neat, his abundant whiskers freshly groomed—I still feared for his reason. What name would he call me tonight? I had never known him to attend a ball before, as he declared them a ridiculous waste of money and time; what had brought him to this one?

“Mr. Ruskin.” Ina curtsied.

“My dear Ina. Now, if only Edith were here, I could behold the lovely Liddell girls all over again. Ina, Alice, Edith—such pearls you are, still.”

Ina—hardly a pearl; more like an oyster—simpered and blushed. I could not find it within me to flirt and carry on, as I once would have done; I had too much to fear of him. Too much to lose.

“Alice, my dear, you are simply a vision.” He glanced at me, up and down—and I felt naked, vulnerable beneath his cold, boldly needful gaze.

“Thank you.” Despite the heat of the room, I shivered.

“You and the Prince make such a lovely pair.”

“We do?”

“Yes—you’re like a flower on his arm. A lovely flower.”

I could not reply; my heart was beating too rapidly against my tight stays.

“A rose, I would say.” He leaned toward me, so that his breath was tickling my neck. “You look like a beautiful—
rose.”
He whispered this last; placing his hand upon my arm, he stroked it, up and down, lightly, as if I were a blossom, opening to his touch.

“I—that is, I must—Prince Leopold!” For he was suddenly beside me, having led a flushed Rhoda off the dance floor; I hadn’t even noticed the music had stopped.

Laughing, gasping, I reached for his gloved hand; he took mine, pulling me to him, and I felt safe once more.

“Mr. Ruskin!” Leo shook his hand with apparent delight, surprising familiarity.

“Sir.” Ruskin bowed.

“I must tell you, once again, how grateful I am for your—assistance in that matter.” Leo’s smile was wide and genuine; his eyes danced with the delight of a happy secret as he looked at me, then back at Mr. Ruskin.

“It is my pleasure. I am only too happy to provide what little help I can. I only wish it is of value to you, after all.”

“I have great hopes that it will be. Great hopes.”

“What secrets are you two keeping from me?” I tried to make my voice light, my face untroubled, but I could not ignore the heavy stone of dread settling in the pit of my stomach. I did not enjoy knowing that both Leo and I were engaged in some sort of secret dealings with John Ruskin, of all people.

“Ah, but that is not for you to know just yet!” Leo reached down and studied the dance card dangling, by a slim gold thread, from my wrist. “Hmmm. I wonder, who is this ‘Prince Leopold’ fellow?” And before I could say anything more to Mr. Ruskin, Leo had swept me up and back out on the dance floor with so much speed—he was turning me about in such tight circles I was dizzy—I could scarcely catch my breath.

“Leo! What on earth? The orchestra has barely started!”

“I could wait to have you in my arms no longer, I’m afraid!” His face was red, his eyes blazing with suppressed emotion; all I could do was follow him, allow him to propel me across the dance floor—bumping into other couples, stepping on trains, not even stopping to apologize—until somehow, we were all the way to the opposite side, and he was leading me through a small door.

He finally stopped then, and I could catch my breath for a moment and try to put myself back together; my dress was crumpled, and I knew the lace on my bustle must be in tatters. Finding ourselves suddenly alone, the music muffled on the other side of the door, Leo and I simply looked at each other and laughed. It was as if we shared a secret or had gotten away with some amazing deception, like two naughty children.

“Alone at last, my darling!”

“Leo, you take my breath away!”

Without warning, he swooped down and kissed me on the lips, grabbed my hand, and started pulling me down a passage.

I had held Leo’s hand many times; I had felt his arm about me, looked into his eyes. But never before had I been so aware of his confidence, his sureness, his boldness. For I felt something different in the way he touched me, shepherding me down the hall past servants who flattened themselves against the walls as we hurried by; I felt the possession of a lover—perhaps a husband?—and my heart thrilled, every nerve strained and tensed, for I longed to submit, to be possessed.

“Sir, I do not jest—you leave me, quite literally, breathless!” I laughed, but I was serious, for he was walking so very fast I could hardly keep up, despite the firm grip he had on my hand.

“I’m sorry, my dear!” He slowed, turning to smile at me—he was so eager, his smile seemed to take over his entire face. “I quite forgot that ladies’ clothing is so devilishly—well, so devilishly
constraining
. Although I do think you look lovely tonight—have I told you?”

“Several times. But I’ll never tire of hearing it.”

“Be careful what you wish for!” With another smile—another twinkle of his blue eyes—he turned down a different passage; it was unlit, narrow, the floor uneven, and I could not see my hand before me. All I could do was trust in Leo to guide me, and I was glad to do so.

“Watch your step!” I heard the creak of a door, then stubbed my toe up against a small stair. Following him blindly, I stepped up, then out—into the night. Blinking at the relative brightness—the moon was not quite full, yet it shone purposefully down upon us—I found that we were in the large open-air market behind the Council Hall. It was empty tonight, of course, although the ground was still scattered with straw, and there were a few permanent wooden stalls as well as several benches. Leo led me to one, and laughed as I sank down upon it, finally able to catch my breath.

“I’m sorry, truly, but I was so eager, you know, to have you entirely to myself!”

“Sir, I am most gratified, but do we dare it? We’re quite unchaperoned!” I smiled up at him; he was no longer laughing. The solemn look in his eyes chased away my own smile; I studied him with the same gravity, for I knew I would want to remember this moment for the rest of my life.

“Alice.” He knelt beside me; I wondered, oddly, if he would dirty the knees of his trousers. “Dearest Alice, please give me your hand.”

Trembling, I did as he asked.

“Darling, I had the most amazing communication this evening from Mamma. She sends her best wishes, naturally.”

“How very kind of her,” I said automatically, wishing he would get to the point while also, strangely, happy to linger in the sweet anticipation of the moment; just to see the love light in his eyes, those hopeful, thoughtful eyes, filled all the aching, empty places of my heart up with a quiet joy.

“Yes, well—she knows, now, how very—fond—I am of you. I’ve taken great care in telling her. I’m afraid I’ve been rather a boring correspondent, as I’ve had just one single subject. You.”

“Oh, is the Queen very tired of me?”

“I daresay—particularly as I even enlisted others in my cause.”

“You have?”

“Yes—I didn’t want to trust our happiness to my own feeble pen. That was what I was referring to, with Mr. Ruskin. I asked him, as well as Duckworth—your old friends, of course—to write to her, also. She respects them, and she knows their great regard for your father, their long association with your family. I felt that would be the wisest course, don’t you agree?”

Did a cloud veil the moon, or was it fear that darkened the night, chilling my bones? Yet I told myself that Leo would not be on his knees beside me if the Queen had not given him reason to hope. What could Mr. Duckworth say, after all? He was a good man. He was also Mr. Dodgson’s closest friend.

But Mr. Dodgson was kind, I had seen it in his eyes; he wanted me to be happy—
may we be happy
—

“Oh, Leo!” My heart fluttered, sickeningly, to my feet. And why hadn’t Mr. Ruskin mentioned this to me before? If he intended to aid us, would he not have told me?

“What is it, dear? You look so distressed—is it the cold? Here, do take my coat—I forgot about your wrap.” With a sweet, worried shake of his head—entirely in the manner of one delighted to find himself suddenly responsible for another—he removed his jacket and placed it about my shoulders.

“Thank you,” I said, looking up at him; his hands lingered upon my shoulders as he bent down to kiss me, gently, almost reverently.

But then his lips—his soft, full lips—sought more; he sank down beside me on the bench, wrapped me in his arms, and took my love as insistently as I could give it. I sought, too—pulling away with a little gasp, my limbs limp, only his arms holding me up, I suddenly needed more; I met his lips, tasted his tongue, with a hunger of my own. My arm arched gracefully about his neck—a strange liquid thrill shot through my womb, and I cried out, even as I sought more.

And he was eager to provide it; he leaned into me, pressing down upon my body almost until I could no longer hold myself upright; I sank down, down, down until my back nearly touched the bench.

“I—I—oh, darling!” Suddenly he sprang back, wrenched away, and pushed at my shoulders, his hands trembling. Leo shook his head, as if to clear it; I searched his face, still wanting more; still wanting to possess him, possess him so absolutely that nothing he could hear—not from the Queen, nor Mr. Duckworth, nor Mr. Ruskin—could ever keep us apart.