Page 15 of Scars of a Passionate Revenge
Aunt Felicity had always been kind to Alice, so she had not felt the loss too keenly, although she did miss her father and the closeness that they had shared before Dorothea came along.
Then, one summer when Alice was about ten years old, Felicity decided to pay a long visit to her own daughter, who had just had a baby, and who had moved to Scotland with her husband. So Alice was allowed to return to Hampshire for just that one summer. And what a glorious summer it was!
She looked around now at the walled garden of their London house, and compared it in her mind to the vast grounds of Danneville Hall. Perhaps it was just the perspective of childhood memories, but she did not think she had ever seen such fine grounds, either before or since.
There were secluded wooded areas, a large lake with a fountain at one end, an almost endless rose garden lined on either side with tall hedges. The perfect playground for her and her new companion.
Benedict, the son of the estate manager, was a wild-eyed boy, who had appeared one day, running in the direction of the stables, and had nearly fallen flat on his face when he had seen her.
And from that day, they had played together as much as they could—Benedict had chores to do, of course, and Alice knew that she had to keep their friendship a secret from her father and stepmother, who would not approve of her playing with the child of a servant. Because Benedict’s father was still a servant, even if he was one of the most senior people on the estate. And she was a baron’s daughter.
They chased each other around the lake, and there was a memorable day when Benedict had dared her to climb a tree in the middle of a clearing. Alice was afraid of heights, but she forced herself to be brave because she wanted to impress Benedict. But then she caught her foot on the hem of her dress, tearing it badly and causing her to tumble down onto the ground.
Benedict had rushed to her aid and comforted her as best he could, although he had no way of mending her torn dress. And when she returned to the house later, she had been roundly scolded by her stepmother and sent to her room without any dinner, and not allowed to play outside again for a whole week.
And then the fire had happened. Benedict and his father had disappeared, and she had never seen him again. Until last night. She had often thought of him, as the years had passed, but never had she imagined that she would see him again in a ballroom. Nay, at the Riversdale Ball, the most prestigious event of the Season. How on earth had he managed it, she wondered. It was a most impressive transformation.
She imagined the conversation with him, where she told him who she was. Would he smile, look closely at her face, then realize in a magical instant that he remembered her too? Or would he frown and look confused and confess that he did not recall her at all. Perhaps that summer they had spent together meant more to her than it ever had to him, and she was not even important enough to feature in his memories.
And moreover, if she revealed his identity, and her father and Dorothea were to find out, then what would happen? They would surely be angry, given what his father had done all those years ago. They would perhaps ruin his new-found status in society by revealing his past, and then he would never forgive her!
Alice let out a sigh and threw her book down on the grass beside her. The situation was impossible. She desperately wanted to see Benedict again, but she knew that she had no way she could make this happen by herself. Once again, all the power was in his hands, and she simply had to wait and see whether he reached out to her, after their encounter at the ball.
She looked up at the blue sky above her, the sun shining down brightly, and felt rather cross with herself for allowing her confused feelings to spoil the day. She stood up suddenly, determined to make the best of things. She would go now to her father, and they could go on their walk together; they would enjoy the sunny weather, and chat together. Perhaps it would even be like the way things had been before Dorothea came into their lives.
***
“I am sorry, Miss, but your father has been taken ill again.”
Alice felt a wave of disappointment surging through her as she took in the butler’s words.
“But he was quite well at breakfast time, I do not understand it!” she protested.
The Butler shook his head. “I know, Miss. It came on rather suddenly. The baroness insisted that he go straight back to his chamber to rest.”
“And has she called a physician?” Alice asked. “I am worried that his health does not seem to be improving at all.”
The butler shrugged. “You would have to ask Lady Danneville that, Miss. She has not mentioned anything to me.”
Alice glowered at him, then remembered that none of this was the poor man’s fault, after all. She gave a weak smile. “Thank you, Smith.”
He bowed and withdrew, leaving Alice standing alone in the drawing room. She paced towards the window and looked out at the bright sunshine outside. She had been so looking forward to spending some time with her father, but her hopes had been dashed. And now she did not know what to do with herself.
She wanted to go and challenge her stepmother and ask her whether she had called a doctor to come and see her father. But she knew that this would only end up in an argument, and Dorothea would find some perverse way to blame Alice for her father’s illness. No, Alice did not think she could bear it.
On the spur of the moment, she decided to go riding. She asked the butler to send word to the groom to ready her horse, then ran up to her room and changed into her riding clothes. By the time she arrived at the stables, her horse, Dancer, was ready to go, bouncing on his hooves with excitement at the thought of a ride.
Before long, they were flying across the parkland, Alice having left her groom behind and galloped off into the distance, ignoring his protests that she should remain close. But she wanted to feel the wind in her hair, and to feel the freedom of riding fast and hard, alone, going where she wanted to.
Dancer, the sweat beginning to bead on his black neck, was clearly enjoying himself too, giving a whinny of joy every time she asked him to go faster. He really was the most perfect horse, and Alice let herself get lost in the moment as they rode together into the late afternoon.
It was almost sunset by the time they returned home, and Alice knew she would have to hurry if she was going to be ready in time for dinner. She had hoped that she would be able to avoid her stepmother and head straight to her room to get changed, but as soon as she entered the house, there was Dorothea, standing in her way.
“I will be ready for dinner soon, Stepmother,” Alice said, preparing herself for a scolding. She must look a sight, after such a hard ride. No doubt Dorothea would soon be telling her that she was not fit to be seen, that she was a disgrace, and that she urgently needed to learn how to behave like a proper young lady, rather than rampaging around the park on her horse with no chaperone.
But to her amazement, the scolding did not come. Instead, Dorothea was beaming at her. It was a most odd situation and Alice did not know what to make of it.
“Come into the drawing room, my dear. I have something to show you!”
