Serialized Fiction | Paranormal Romance

Part Two — The Dance Plays On…

Picking up where we parted from Sarvazad…

“Thank you ma’am. I am sorry to have been so recalcitrant to attend,” she replied. “I must thank you for insisting, Mrs. McIlroy.”

The dowager paused in her usually determined stride to peer at her ward, “You surprise me, Ellie. I presume this means you’ll be more determined in your lessons.” With a curt nod, she sailed up the stairs to her apartments, leaving the young ladies together.

Cora, prattled on endlessly, sharing the rumors of mystery and intrigue about Sarvazad. Elspeth… no… she would not be Elspeth any longer… Shariara listened with half an ear, but her attention was arrested when Cora said, “I heard mama saying he was the son of a certain royal personage and an exiled Persian princess…” Shariara was all attention now. “But Lady Truxely intimated he held some dark secret over Lord Montague and that was the reason he’d purchased the lieutenant’s naval commission…”

Shariara let all the prattle wash over her, secreting all the fantastical details in her memory. Cora continued to prattle on as the maids combed out their hair, after taking up their gowns. Shariara meandered off to her own bedroom, and drifted off to sleep, humming the tune of the first waltz they’d danced.

A Seaside Picnic

Shariara woke to the sound of rain pattering lightly against her window. Never one to lie a bed, she was usually up before the fire was laid in the parlor. This morning, she gave into the lure of remaining snuggled beneath the duvet. She lay wreathed in smiles, still softly humming the tune of their first waltz, hearing music in the rain and wind outside her window. In this reverie, she must have dozed again, because when she heard a soft tapping at her door, she awoke to bright morning sun pouring through the rain dappled window, casting rainbows across her bed.

With a happy sigh, Shariara climbed out of bed and slid into her dressing gown before opening the door. The upstairs maid, Mabel entered with the coal bucket, and smiled conspiratorially as she said, “The kitchen is full of gossip this morning, Miss.”

“Oh, Mabel! Last night was wonderful!” Shariara breathed and gave a little twirl, still humming.

Mabel threw open the window as Shariara laid out a simple, pale yellow muslin with soft puce ribbons and began her toilette. “Madam’s certainly pleased with you this morning. She told me to leave extra coal for you,” Mabel said. “She’s received cards this morning. Invitations for you and Miss Cora to ride out this very day with Mr. Jameson and your dashing lieutenant!”

Shariara stopped dressing her hair, and turned, finally all attention, “Lieutenant Sarvazad has called this morning?”

“He sent a man round first thing this morning to leave his and Mr. Jameson’s cards. They’ll call for you and Miss Cora at elevenses.” Mabel gave a familiar, that’ll-show-them sort of nod.

“Oh! But, Mabel! I can scarcely ride! I haven’t even a habit!” Shariara fretted.

From the doorway, Mrs. McIlroy said firmly, “Nonsense, Ellie. You ride tolerably enough and you shall have Cora’s second best habit.”

Even Mabel blinked in surprise to see the dowager and to hear her generous tone. The lady never left her apartments before elevenses for tea. And, she had always only grudgingly provided for Shariara’s requirements. As the lady was fond of reminding her ward, she knew full well her responsibility and took great pride in honoring it. But, she made sure the girl new the largesse expended on her behalf.

Mabel bustled about her work, as the lady continued, “My maid is bringing it now and will dress you this morning.” Mabel’s eyes bulged as she looked back suddenly, under her arm at Shariara with a shocked expression. Shariara nearly laughed outright, the maid was so comical.

She covered her mouth and turned her humor into a light clearing of her throat, “Thank you, Mrs. McIlroy. And, please, thank Cora for me.”

“Quite proper of you, my gel,” she replied as she sailed into the room, crossing to the wide window and looking out across the expanse of lawn before the cliffs, and to the sea beyond. “Your view of the harbor here is superlative. The fleet is quite impressive from this vantage.”

“Yes, ma’am. The view has always pleased me,” Shariara told her, recalling that her guardian had always disliked that view. She had even upbraided the drawing instructor when he’d had Cora and Shariara sketch the view one day when inclement weather had kept them inside. Mrs. McIlroy had admonished him that it was not a fit scene for study by genteel young ladies.

“Ellie, I rely on you to support Cora for a courtship with young Mr. Jameson,” the dowager continued. Mabel gave Shariara a knowing look at that, finishing her duties as she gathered her pail and dustbin to leave. “I procured two dances with him for her last evening. My great friend, his mother and I are convinced they will make a great match. He is certainly a desirable one for my Cora.”

She turned back from the window, as her lady’s maid arrived with a bundle of charcoal-colored garments and a pair of mildly worn riding boots. She oversaw Shariara’s dressing, and inspected the fit with a critical expression. The dowager said to her French lady’s maid, “Dress her hair as well, Antoinette.”

“Bien sur, Madame. We shall shoose ano-thair jhacket and chapeau. I fear Mademoiselle Cora’s would burst,” the French maid said, as she twitched the overskirt into place.

The dowager stepped to the hall, where Mabel, ostensibly cleaning the corridor, bustled hurriedly out of sight around the corner. “Ellie, you are too familiar with the upstairs maid,” she admonished, watching after Mabel.” Turning to Antoinette, she continued, “You must fit her with my chartreuse jacket then.” She paused at the door, “It ill becomes me, my gel,” she said to Shariara. “You may keep it.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Shariara said.

“When you have done here, Antoinette,” the dowager said commandingly, “accompany her straightway to me. I will assure myself of Cora’s toilette, then await you in my chamber. Come with me now to collect the jacket and hat.”

“Oui, Madame,” Antoinette replied, then turned back to Shariara, “Mademoiselle is rather taller than Mamselle Ellie.” She stood back with a critical look at the skirt “Oh la la… there is no time for ‘emming,” then rushed after her mistress.

An hour later, Shariara and Antoinette joined the dowager and Cora in Mrs. McIlroy’s apartments. Cora exclaimed, “Oh Ellie! You look lovely in that jacket!”

“Thank you, cousin,” Shariara smiled slightly. “Your new riding habit is quite lovely too.”

Cora was almost pretty in the lustrous midnight blue velvet. Even in her riding finery, she still had an air of the rumpled about her. Her fair hair was dressed in a sweeping style about her long, handsome face. Mrs. McIlroy smiled warmly for her daughter and caressed her chin affectionately before seating herself at the vanity. With a rather stern expression, Mrs. McIlroy said to Shariara, “Quite charming, Ellie.” She blushed, unaccustomed to the lady’s compliments and thanked her guardian. “Very well done, Antoinette.” The lady turned back to her vanity mirror. Antoinette, her adept fingers dancing about the dowager’s only slightly greying brown hair, quickly completed her mistress’ toilette and dressed her for receiving.

They had just time to settle themselves to Mrs McIlroy’s satisfaction before the butler announced the gentlemen. Both gentlemen were all charm and poise, as they bent over the ladies’s hands. Sarvazad shot that smoldering look again into Shariara’s eyes as his lips lightly brushed the back of her hand. Mr. Jameson was polite and made easy conversation throughout tea, with only mild condescension toward Cora. Every time she exchanged glances with Sarvazad, Shariara could feel Mrs. McIlroy’s watchful eyes.

When they rode out, Cora’s maid, Margaret, doing duty as chaperon, followed at a respectful distance on a bad tempered Percheron. She shared her saddle with a light picnic snack which was bundled and tied on behind her. Mr. Jameson’s groom rode just behind her on a rather sway-backed nag, a pack of his own tied down behind him. Sarvazad led their little party, with Shariara riding beside him, and Mr. Jameson and Cora just behind. Sarvazad’s great grey Irish wolfhound, after growling low at Cora and the maid, had sniffed Shariara approvingly, then loped along the other side of his master’s horse.

Cora, both obvious and eager, called to Sarvazad, “Lieutenant, Ellie is a rather nervous rider. Please, have a care for her.”

With a sardonic smile at Shariara, he reached across and took her hand briefly, and called back in answer, “I shall make sure of her, Miss Cora.”

They followed the cliff road down to the shore, where the maid laid their picnic. When they sat, the wolfhound lay on one side, and placed his head comfortably in Shariara’s lap. Mr. Jameson said in mild surprise, “I say, your antisocial brute amazes me, Vaz. I’ve never seen him in such placid contentment.”

“‘Beauty hath charms…’ my friend.” Sarvazad replied, as he settled on the other side of Shariara, looking out over the sea.

The shared a lazy picnic, the call of seabirds wheeling about on the air currents echoed back from the cliff face. Mr. Jameson called for music and the groom took out a battered looking fiddle and began to play a haunting melody perfectly suited to the breaking surf. The couples danced there on the shore, while the maid watched, carefully indulgent.

As they danced, Sarvazad seemed to drink in Shariara’s gaze, while she abandoned herself in his shining, ebony eyes. His breath was warm on her ear when they turned together in the dance. Their steps were punctuated by birdcall and crashing waves. He caught her suddenly in an embrace and softly… like a tender caress, kissed her lips. The music had stopped and a mildly loud throat clearing from the vicinity of the maid broke the spell.

© 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.

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