An Unlikely Alliance (12 page)

At least
novels provided the escape she desperately needed, a diversion into
a world where she felt loved, cherished, and desired—the most
scandalous of all the emotions, or so she thought.

Men would
never desire her; even her own father despised her for how she
looked.

For one
thing, she was straight where all the other women had curves. Her
skin was dark olive, but that was to be expected when one spent
hours contemplating books in the fields. Her lips were too large,
her eyes too big, and her nose—well, she didn't know much about
noses, but she figured something had to be wrong with it, too. It
always seemed too invisible next to her lush mouth, which her
father had often called sinful.

How was it
that her sisters were both gifted with angelic faces and soft
bodies, while she was cursed with a hard-muscled body and a long
mop of black hair? She was nearly convinced her mother had taken a
lover of some sort, or at least had an affair while her father was
away on business. It was the only explanation for her looks;
certainly, her own father must have thought as much as well,
because she received the most despised spankings as a child, and
allotted the most horrid of all chores.

Her
parents meant well, her beautifully gifted sisters often told her,
but she had her doubts. As of a few days ago, she accepted her lot
in life was to be a spinster; to spend the rest of her days longing
for something she'd never had to begin with…love.

"Sara!"
Her mother's impossibly loud voice never ceased to carry
for miles on end.

"Coming!" she called, although not at the same decibel. It
was nearly impossible to reach the same frequency as her mother on
any given occasion.
A gift
is what her mother called it, but her father called it a
curse behind her mother's back.

Sara
reluctantly pushed herself off the ground and walked slowly into
the lion's den. Her fate to be decided by the two most unlikeable
people in her existence: her mother and her aunt.

Both
eyed her speculatively when she approached them in the garden. Heat
encompassed her body while observing her aunt's disapproving gaze
trace her from head to toe. She was used to being criticized.
Holding her head high when subjected to rejection had once been a
trying chore. Now she did it with ease, her only recourse, as if to
say she didn't care what everyone else thought. Though in her heart
of hearts, she always did. Didn't every girl?

She resolved
to always maintain eye contact—to communicate to everyone within
distance she accepted the way God created her. The local vicar once
told her there were worse things in the world, and sometimes you
only see what others want you to see.

Sara had her
doubts about the local vicar after that day, yet her faith in God
was the only solid thing in her life. She had to trust that
possibly, when she went to Heaven, she would turn into a beautiful
butterfly, whilst her family rotted in….

"Oh,
dear," her aunt sighed, lifting the teacup to her thin rouged lips.
"I just don't see what you expect me to do. I can't perform
miracles." Her eyes skimmed quickly over Sara; although, she
noticed Aunt Tilda seemed to harbor some tender emotion in them,
for she ventured a gentle smile her way before facing Sara's
dreadful mother again. Either that or Sara was losing her mind,
which was probably more likely, given the circumstances of her
upbringing. One could only tolerate so much verbal abuse before she
went to the madhouse, or so she thought.

"Only
the good Lord can," Mother responded, making a quick cross over her
chest. Sara rolled her eyes but was quick about it, so she would
not be caught. "After her sisters ran off and eloped, I thought to
myself we would be ruined. Absolutely ruined. Then I realized I
still had one daughter left. One daughter left who can at least try
to marry above her station. And why not? Why shouldn't we have more
wealth than what we have? I don't see why the good Lord would bless
others and completely turn his nose up to us."

"Nor do
I," her aunt agreed, clicking her tongue and then heaved a sigh of
resignation. "I shall do as you ask… out of the goodness of my
heart." She rose from her chair and approached Sara, making Sara's
mouth go suddenly dry. "My husband is a Viscount. Unlike your
mother, I married within my station, and it suits me well. I shall
sponsor your first and only season in London. I shall expect
nothing but good manners and graciousness from you. Do you
understand, young lady?"

What was she
supposed to do? Sit there and nod like a puppet? Sara cleared her
throat to protest, but her aunt put a gloved finger in front of her
lips.

"
Tsk, tsk
. You will not be speaking at all until we arrive in
London. I have a head ailment which prevents me from listening to
whiny, ugly girls for extended periods of time."

Sara was tired
of being insulted. She should be accustomed to it though; it was a
daily occurrence, but now it rattled her nerves.

Aunt
Tilda shook her head once more. "I don't know, I just don't know. I
mean, look at her skin. It's so, so—" Her hand waved in the air as
if she would somehow pull the perfect word out of the
sky.

"It's
brown, dear," came Mother's annoyed voice. "She has straight white
teeth though."

"Ah! Let
me see!" Aunt Tilda grabbed Saras chin and forced open her mouth
making her feel like a horse being inspected by a famer. "Oh, yes.
I do see. Oh good, very good. We shall have her smile
often."

"And her
bosom!" Mother half-jumped out of her seat in a frenzy. "If you'll
just pull back her dress here." The dress tightened around Sara's
chest furthering her embarrassment. "You see? She really does have
a lot to work with."

Aunt
Tilda walked away for a minute, not facing any of the party in the
receiving room. "She'll have to eat much more than you've been
feeding her."

Sara took
another deep breath; it was like getting sold to the butcher. She
closed her eyes, so she could think about her latest book rather
than the embarrassing things being said about her.

"She does eat!" her mother bellowed again, hazardously
close to Sara's left ear. She wouldn't be surprised if she were
close to being deaf in both ears. Years of living with her mother
had not been good for her health. She winced as her mother yelled
again "I
know!
We'll just give her more meals and have her eat before bed!
If she lies down, it is bound to stay in her belly and make her
softer!"

Sara wanted to scream, but she had always been even
tempered,
always.
But even those who are even tempered can be pushed beyond
the brink of sanity. If only her sisters hadn't eloped, leaving
their family in utter ruin! What respectable girls elope with twin
brothers to Gretna Green? They weren't even titled for crying out
loud! It meant her family had nothing, absolutely nothing. Her two
sisters were the only hope for riches, and now they were gone,
along with their measly dowries. Nobody would want them now, even
if they could get the marriages annulled.

Her thoughts
had gotten away with her somehow. Before she knew it, her aunt
kissed her mother goodbye, and pushed Sara into a black plush
carriage waiting outside.

"Oh, and
Sara," her mother ran toward her, "Aunt Tilda will explain what
needs to be done to secure a husband; you listen to everything she
says. Do not embarrass us! Your father has, well, he has some
debts, dear, and you're our only hope of securing a man rich enough
to take care of us. Do you understand?"

Was that a
rhetorical question?

Her
mother droned on, "And, dear, I know you are…well, you're
wicked-looking, but if you could please swallow your pride and do
whatever it takes, we would be grateful. After all, this is your
one and only chance for any sort of affection from another person.
And we all desire affection. Even ugly children desire
acceptance."

Hearing
enough, she bit her lip to keep from talking. Sara nodded her head
and closed the door to the carriage. Her body felt numb. She knew
all about emotional rejection; it was her cross to bear, but to be
reminded by one's own mother time and time again was the worst pain
imaginable. Turning her head toward the window, she pulled her
knees up to her chest and sighed. Aunt Tilda reached across and
patted her hand much like a stranger would do to comfort a small
child.

"No
fear, my girl, I have a grand plan. A plan even you can't ruin."
She smiled cheerfully before putting a covering over her eyes and
going silent, most likely to sleep.

It's an adventure, it's an
adventure
, Sara kept repeating over and
over again in her head to keep herself from crying. Being mortified
in front of her family because of her looks she could handle, but
being humiliated in front of the
ton
was quite another. "Dear God, if
you can do miracles, I ask for one right now. Make me pretty; make
me loveable. I don't care if I let my family down, I just don't
want to feel this way ever again." The stress of the day
overwhelming her, she drifted off to sleep.

Another great read from Rachel Van Dyken

Prologue

Essex, England

Miss Emma Gates loved to dance. Not that she
would ever share this private information with anyone but her dear
sister, who was easily bribed and young enough not to care. No. A
lady was entitled to her secrets and this was one of hers.

It wasn't just any kind of dancing she was
fond of. No, because dancing with the gentry was quite acceptable
for a girl getting ready for her come out. The dancing she enjoyed
was more passion-filled than waltzing, although she had to admit
waltzing was another favorite.

For some time, she had been practicing the
dance of the gypsies. In her heart she knew it was wrong to spy.
But every so often a traveling gypsy family would be allowed to
stay near their large estate.

One night a few months ago, Emma had been
absolutely dying with curiosity as she heard the foreign music
glide through her windows. Carefully, she rose from her bed and
tiptoed to her door. Looking out the hallway, she took a steadying
breathe and made the decision to sneak out of the house. Always
accused of being too inquisitive and adventurous for her own good,
Emma had told herself this would be the last time she would do
something rash before her come out this Season.

Nearing the campground, fire light glowed in
the distance. Unable to tear her eyes away, she watched in utter
fascination as the bronze-colored girls danced with jewelry
trilling on their ankles and hands, swishing their fingers this way
and that.

It was powerful and fascinating.

Men were captivated, drawn in by the sensual
sway of their hips and promise of desire in their eyes. How could
they not be? There was something so alluring about the way the
gypsies danced, as if they held some secret nobody else in the
world knew about. Men weren't just full of desire for the women,
though she could see plenty of that in the way their gazes seemed
to follow every sway of the gypsies' hips. The way the gypsies
danced transported Emma and all those who watched to a place of
mystery and enticement.

It made her wonder what it would be like to
be able to deliver a siren call without speaking at all. To
communicate without words. The gypsies' music spoke to her like
nothing else. The idea that she could express her deepest desires
through such movements had her bewitched.

The first night she had been too nervous to
show herself to the crowd, worried someone might recognize her and
tell her parents.

The second night she had ventured out and
sat near the edge of the campground.

And the third night, a young girl had
approached and offered to teach her, asking for nothing in payment,
merely the enjoyment of seeing Emma learn something she obviously
found so much delight in.

Emma had been dancing ever since.

She promised herself she would quit once she
had a Season, but the temptation was too great. Soon after she made
the decision to stop, her fingers and legs would twitch with
excitement, begging to be set free by the dance of the gypsies.

Life had a way of making more sense when she
could dance. The troubles of the world, of her current betrothal
seemed to melt away with the sway of her hips.