SERIALIZED FICTION | PARANORMAL ROMANCE

Part Four — The Dance Plays On…

The Promise of a Future

On a bright morning, Shariara came down the stairs and Cora met her with an eager expression. “Oh, Cousin! You’ll never guess who has come to call!”

“Well, I did see the minister’s phaeton coming up the cliff road,” Shariara said with a happy smile, remembering the joy of their company last evening when Charles declared himself for Cora.

“Oh, Ellie. The minister isn’t here for me! And, his visit hasn’t thrown the household into disarray!” Cora continued, enthused. “It’s Lord Montague, himself!”

A pensive look crossed Shariara’s face. Had the great lord come to carry away Sarvazad? Both young ladies started when the morning room doors opened suddenly. Mrs. McIlroy stepped into the corridor. “Ah, Elspeth… I was but now going to send for you. You will join us here now, please.” She cast an appraising look over the girl in pale lavender muslin with sea foam green ribbons at the bodice. Her hair was neatly twisted into a long plait and draped down her shoulder, nearly to her waist, tied at the ends with more sea foam green ribbons. With an approving nod, she motioned Shariara over rather impatiently.

“Yes, ma’am,” Shariara replied, taking Cora’s hand and starting toward the dowager.

“Cora, you will speak to Cook about this evening’s repast,” Mrs. McIlroy directed her daughter. Feeling rather bereft, Shariara followed the lady into morning room with a backward glance at Cora; who, for her part spared a backward glance for her cousin.

When she looked back, into the room, Shariara sought Sarvazad’s eyes. His expression was so serious that fear gripped her heart. He stood beside and slightly behind a rather severe-looking, very fine gentleman. The minister, standing on this gentleman’s other side looked hopelessly dowdy next to him. Charles, his expression closed, reclined with his leg up upon a chaise.

“Elspeth, I have the honor to introduce to you the Lord Montague,” Mrs. McIlroy said, taking a step back so that Shariara was left out front before this exquisite personage. “Lord Montague, permit me to introduce my ward, Miss Elspeth Montrose, the daughter of my late husband’s deceased half-sister.”

He bowed over her hand and kissed her fingertips punctiliously. With a stiff nod, he said, “Miss Montrose. Allow me to come to the point.” He motioned her to a prim, gilded chair and sat next to her on the matching chair, once Mrs. McIlroy sat herself upon the edge of high-backed one. Sarvazad took up a station behind his lordship. The minister, looking rather tenebrous and harried — he always looked rather harried — settled on the settee in an attitude of relief.

“To the point, Miss Montrose,” his lordship continued in somber tones, “My nephew is to come into his fortune upon the day of his marriage.” A frightened expression must have given her state of mind away because the great lord’s face softened and he patted her trembling hands, folded demurely in her lap. “Dear girl, there is no need for such consternation. My! But, your hands are like ice, child.”

Tilting her head slightly, she respond only, “Yes, milord.” But she looked up at Sarvazad’s face and saw a smile in his eyes.

“My girl, my nephew has declared himself for you. Your guardian and I have come to an arrangement for you both, to which the good minister has officiated.” He looked back at his nephew, “Vaz, my lad, you quite understated the lady’s charms.”

Suddenly, she was in Sarvazad’s arms and he was all joy and laughter. She laughed with him, heedless of the joyful tears trailing down her cheeks.

Mrs. McIlroy and the gentlemen congratulated them and Charles even struggled up onto his crutches, patting her elbow and thumping Sarvazad soundly on the back, exclaiming “Much joy to you both, old chap! We shall make a double of the day!”

Mrs. McIlroy threw open the morning room doors and called for the rest of the household. They passed the day in celebration of both betrothed couples, everyone in a boisterous mood. Sarvazad and Shariara seemed oblivious to it all. When the music played, they danced as though no one else existed in all the world.

A Stormy Day

Late that evening, after supper, Sarvazad and Shariara’s dance was interrupted when an officer, drenched from the storm outside, arrived with papers for Sarvazad. He called for his horse and turned to his uncle, “Two French ships have been spied rounding Loch Dunvegan. All personnel are recalled to set sail by dawn.”

“The brazenness of them,” expostulated Charles, “Frenchies so far north and deep into English waters!”

“Oh! Do be careful, Vaz!” Cora interjected. “What shame to end such a joyous day thus!”

“You must take my barouche,” Mrs. McIlroy said imperiously, “Tis foolish the strike out on horseback in this deluge.” She let fly with a string of orders that sent servants bustling efficiently.

“I thank you, lady,” said Lord Montague in rushed civility. “Vaz, I shall accompany you and this fine officer to the harbor.”

Shariara sent the footman scurrying for Sarvazad’s and his lordship’s hats and overcoats, and turned a stricken expression back to Sarvazad, “Return to me but quickly, my love.”

He crushed her in his embrace, “My Shariara Rose… I will always return to you.” They shared a last, desperate kiss, then the men were gone.

The next morning, while the storm still raged, Mabel came into Shariara’s room, sobbing, barely able to relay her message, “Oh, miss… it’s so dreadful! Oh, miss!”

Her mind in a panic, Shariara shook the maid slightly, “What is it, Mabel?”

“Oh, miss! Oh, miss!” The maid took a deep breath and finally continued, “Madam requests you to come straightway to her chamber.” She buried her face in her apron and sobbed, “Oh, miss!”

Her unfastened dressing gown trailing behind her, Shariara raced down the long corridor, her undone hair wild about her, to her guardian’s apartments. As she crossed the threshold, she beheld Cora’s swollen, tear stained face. Mrs. McIlroy was at the door and caught Shariara in a strong embrace, holding her tightly.

For the only time ever, she called her, “Shariara,” and told her, “Shariara, my dear child, your beloved’s ship sank in the storms. All hands were lost.”

All the strength in her body evaporated and Shariara just collapsed nervelessly in the dowager’s arms. The lady helped her to the chaise and held her, and cried with her as Shariara wept for hours. She wept until she slept in tragic exhaustion, and the dowager still held her.

© 31 October 2014. Published as an ebook novelette in KindleUnlimited 31 March 2016. All copy and poetry is the original intellectual property of D. Denise Dianaty who retains sole ownership. All rights reserved.

This is not the end. Keep an eye out for Part Five, “A Promise Kept…”

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