Surrender to Love

Mrs. Mackenzie’s hair was arranged in a formidable headdress of peacock feathers and purple orchids, and following in her wake Alexa could not help feeling very much like a tiny rowboat being towed along by a majestic ship of the line. Then the Governor’s lady stopped so suddenly that Alexa almost cannoned into her.

“Ah! And here is a gentleman you must meet, for his mother and I once attended the same school and his father was a friend of my late husband, Admiral Hood. May I present to you, Miss Howard, Charles Lawrence, Viscount Deering. You are a Viscount, aren’t you, Charles? Of course. I thought that was one of your father’s titles. Well, anyhow, this is Miss Alexandra Howard; and quite apart from being an uncommonly pretty girl she’s an heiress as well. No need to blush, my dear, for Charles knows I’ve always called a spade a spade. Known him since he was on leading strings, which gives me the right to be familiar. Well, Charles? Lost your voice as well as your manners?”

Alexa had almost begun to get used to Mrs. Mackenzie’s forthright manner of speech; but at this particular moment, feeling the eyes of the whole assembly watching, she could not prevent her cheeks from growing hot with embarrassment. In fact, it was only with a supreme effort that she managed to retain some semblance of composure; and obviously the young gentleman to whom She had just been presented was just as embarrassed as she was, for his face had also become flushed before he bent gallantly over her hand, lifting it to his lips.

“A pleasure, Miss Howard. I must confess that I had been looking forward to meeting you. Everyone here has been singing your praises.”

“Oh please! That is flattering t

o be sure, but you must not embarrass me by saying such things.”

Was that really her voice, responding so glibly with stock phrases? But during their brief exchange Alexa had been studying Lord Charles from behind the shield of her demurely lowered eyelashes; just as she knew very well that he was studying her.

He had chestnut-brown hair parted to one side, and a somewhat ruddy complexion. About four inches taller than she, he was slimly built and impeccably dressed by the right tailor, as even she could tell at a glance from the fit and cut of his clothes. And he was quite nice-looking— handsome, in fact—especially when he flashed her a conspiratorial smile that actually reached his amused brown eyes.

“Now that I have had the envied privilege of being presented to you, Miss Howard, I wonder if you would consider it too bold of me to importune you for the honor of a dance? I have to confess that I am hoping to be ahead of some of my shipmates who have been eagerly waiting for the guest of honor to arrive.”

Was it proper for her to accede to his request so soon after they had met? Alexa’s inquiring glance met with a smiling nod from the Governor’s wife, and she was able to turn back with a smile of her own to the young man who waited for her reply and to say without any of the usual coyness he was used to encountering from most of the young women he met, “I’m sure I shall enjoy dancing with you—and especially since you are the first gentleman who has had the initiative to ask me for a dance.”

She was quite enchanting, Lord Charles thought, as he said eagerly, “A waltz?”

He was rewarded by the sight of that tantalizing dimple of hers again and the flash of pretty white teeth. She seemed to hesitate for an instant before saying, “Oh yes! But not the first waltz though, for I’ve promised that to my adopted uncle.”

“The second waltz then...?” When she gave a slight inclination of her head in assent, Lord Charles looked into her intriguingly shaded eyes and murmured fervently, “I shall count each second until then, Miss Howard!” To his own surprise he found that he had, for a change, actually meant what he had just said.

“Well! And now that’s settled, Alexandra and I must be moving along. You young men of today take so long to come to the point! Can’t understand it!”

Alexa caught a long, almost caressing look from Lord Charles that should have made her blush, but instead only made her feel quite elated. Lord Charles. A Viscount, no less. (That ought to please Aunt Harriet!) And he seemed very nice too, and quite taken with her. Suddenly Alexa felt positively giddy with a rising sense of power as she thought: Shall I try to make him fall in love with me? And what if he does? There’s not much to flirting, really... it’s like acting out a part in a play. And in a way it’s such fun—finding out how easy it is after all to manipulate men, and finding out as well that they are not the omnipotent beings they think they are!

Alexa’s eyes had begun to sparkle and her cheeks to glow; and even Harriet was surprised at this sudden transformation in her wayward, recalcitrant niece who had stormed and sulked earlier at being forced to take part in some “silly charade” as she had termed it then. Now this new Alexa Howard was surrounded by a bevy of eager young men who were almost to the point of quarreling with each other as they begged for dances—or for even half a dance. And how quickly she seemed to have learned and adopted the coy arts and mannerisms of a born coquette, too, Harriet reflected. Unless it was in her blood, passed down to her by her mother, Victorine, who had seemed always to have known how to make men fall in love with her and never cease craving her. Even now, and after so many years, wasn’t her brother, Martin, still completely besotted by her? If Harriet had not made herself useful to Victorine, there was no doubt that her brother would have let her go out of his house and his life without qualm. A witch of sorts, Victorine had been, and perhaps still was. Some women seemed to have a power over men that was impossible to explain or to analyze. Helen of Troy...Cleopatra...Delilah...Madame Pompadour. And some of the most famous and sought-after courtesans, who could have anything they desired from their men except marriage. But why on earth were her thoughts suddenly taking such a strange direction when Alexa was only following her advice after all? Alexa was only eighteen and playing a make-believe game because she had promised to make everyone proud of her tonight. Tonight she was Cinderella at the ball, surrounded by would-be Princes, but tomorrow she would probably be back to her old self once more.

I should be pleased and happy! Harriet reprimanded herself as she noticed that while Alexa led a reel with the Governor himself the young Viscount had not taken his eyes off her for one moment. A Viscount—young and single into the bargain. And every mama there with a marriageable daughter was gritting her teeth, of course—particularly that detestable gossip, Mrs. Langford. Alexa herself looked happy, and as if she was thoroughly enjoying herself. There was absolutely no sensible reason, therefore, Harriet thought, for the strange feeling of anxiety— almost of foreboding—that stayed with her like an uncomfortable weight she could not shake off. No, she was being completely ridiculous!

“I suppose I do not need to ask if you are enjoying your first ball or not,” Sir John Travers said, smiling down into his young partner’s flushed and glowing face as they waltzed. “In fact, I can almost feel the jealously hostile looks that are aimed at my back this minute! Do you realize, my dear, that you have taken them all by storm? From now on you will have to make plans for every hour of your time; allotting just so many minutes to each different swain!”

“Never! Oh, Uncle John, do stop teasing, for you know me better than to think I would.... Why, most of them are far too silly to bother with; especially some I used to think of as my friends, who called me ”Alex“ and never bothered to act so gallant before. And now they are suddenly making calf s eyes at me and swearing that they have always been in love with me and acting as if—as if I had suddenly become someone quite different when it is they who have changed. Just because I am all dressed up like a lady for a change and have been playacting! One would think... But do you think it is because men too feel obliged to playact? Do they feel obliged to flirt and flatter merely to prove that they are masculine?”

Sir John expelled a slight sigh before he answered a trifle ruefully: “I am very much afraid so, my dear. Especially the young men— most young men, one must suppose—who are influenced by the example set by their elders or by superior officers. Pursuing an attractive young woman is looked upon, I’m ashamed to say, as another form of hunting; and the larger the field, the greater the challenge. Even courtship has developed into a form of ritual these days, with so many prescribed moves to be made—the correct things to say and do to which a woman is supposed to respond correctly also. It has become almost like learning the steps to the latest dance, and it is called ‘polite etiquette’...”

“Oh,” Alexa said thoughtfully before Sir John added hastily, not wishing to dampen her high spirits with philosophy at this time, “But that is not supposed to mean that a man may not be utterly sincere when he expresses his feelings. Men too have been known to fall madly in love at first sight, you know.”

He had to admit to himself that Alexa’s rather matter-of-fact response took him by surprise.

“Well, I think that anyone who professes to fall in love at first sight must be extremely silly. Why, some of the young men I’ve met tonight have only just met me, and know nothing of me—only this Cinderella creature they have glimpsed for the first time tonight. So perhaps what is termed ”falling in love“ is a ritual too? For how could anyone know what I am like, or what I think, and what kind of a person I really am? At least you know how hard I fight to get my own way, and what an abominable temper I have—because you know me—but they don’t. And they don’t really care about that either, do they? As long as I show myself to be what I am expected to be, I suppose, and don’t show myself to be too intellectual or too clever...!”

Sir John’s mouth quirked as he shook his head at her, but his eyes remained serious as he said quietly: “You mustn

’t become cynical too soon, Alexa, not before you’ve given yourself time to experience more of life and understand more of human emotion. Try to enjoy tonight for what it appears to be on the surface and for the learning experience it is proving to be; no more and no less for the moment at least. You’re the most popular, the most sought-after, and the most envied young woman here tonight, you know. Why not savor it to the fullest extent? There’s no need for haste, my dear.”

. Long after he had escorted Alexa back to her seat beside her Aunt Harriet, only to have her hand claimed almost immediately by an eager young captain of the Dragoons, Sir John Travers continued to watch her and to remember the first time he had set eyes on the skinny beanpole of a child she had been and the strange sense of affinity he’d felt for her even then. Her bare brown legs had been all scratched from thorns and the sharp leaves of mountain grass, but she had been defiantly riding bareback a wild pony she had actually tamed herself; and there had been an air of almost arrogant triumph about the little wild thing she had been even though she must have known the punishment she faced for having slit her dress up on both sides in order to ride astride. He had interceded for her that day and had introduced her to thoroughbreds and to saddles— but never a decorous side-saddle for Alex, who had always wished she had been born a male. Until now, perhaps, when she had suddenly discovered the feminine side of herself?

Under the crystal chandeliers Alexa’s auburn hair with gold streaks interwoven in it shone like burnished bronze and drew almost every masculine eye, although she herself was not aware of it. Seating himself beside Harriet in the chair her niece had barely sat in all evening, Sir John became engaged in a low-voiced conversation with the older Miss Howard that had her shaking her head at first and then nodding it resignedly. He was right, of course, Harriet had to concede. Now that Alexa had been introduced to society and had proved a success, she needed to follow up that success by spending more time in Colombo, meeting more people.

Alexa had not failed to notice that Sir John and her aunt were engaged in what was obviously a deep conversation. At first she had thought Aunt Harry seemed doubtful about something, from the way she frowned and shook her head; but then she had begun to nod in a somewhat resigned fashion, which was unusual for her and had to mean that Uncle John had some exciting scheme in mind. When would she find out what it was? For it had to concern her, of course. Alexa could tell that much from the many times they glanced in her direction, and she was so full of curiosity that she was barely able to respond to the stilted conversation forced upon her by Captain McLeish. At least she had learned in a very short time that she was not really required to do anything more than listen—and to smile or lower her eyes occasionally while breathlessly murmuring innocuous words like “oh!” or “really?” or “please, do go on!” even if she was unutterably bored by every pompous word her partner uttered. Lies and pretense were the foundation of this new social world she found herself in, and honesty would only make an outsider of her. But how strange it was—and how paradoxical—to be brought up as a child to tell the truth, no matter what the cost, and to despise dishonesty and cheating; and then suddenly to be thrown into the adult world where those were the very things expected of you if you were to be considered “grown up”—and where everyone played at “Let’s Pretend” and took it seriously.

After Captain McLeish had reluctantly escorted Alexa back to the seat Sir John had just vacated, she said as much to Harriet. “It is all like some tremendous game, isn’t it? But once you learn the rules it is almost too easy, and hardly fun any longer—not if you can predict everyone else’s moves and beat them at their own game! And every man I have danced with so far—except for Uncle John, of course—has been so predictable and so boring! It’s as if they have all been cut from the same pattern.”

Harriet snorted her disgust. “Hah! So you’re bored and quite blasé already, are you, with the evening not even halfway through yet. My advice to you, miss, is to develop some humility for your own good, and not become too cock-a-hoop. ‘Cut from the same pattern’ indeed! And what, pray, if you should happen to come across some completely unpredictable man who does not fit into any prescribed pattern? There are men who are...well... blackguards—although I hate to use the word. Men who might come from the most exalted stations in life and might use all the right words and pay lip service to etiquette and convention; and be admired and well thought of by their colleagues and cronies too. You must remember that men will stand up for each other, and it’s always a woman who is blamed if she makes a mistake.”