Fortunes of Fate: Prequel Story Read online

  Fortunes of Fate

  Prequel Story

  Christina McKnight

  Annabelle Anders

  La Loma Elite Publishing

  From Countess to Outcast…

  Shunned by England’s Beau Monde because of her Barbadian heritage, Miss A’laya Banesworth has spent her life yearning for true acceptance. When the Earl of Holderness courts her, she thinks that she’s found true love. Quickly, A’laya discovers that her marriage is only one of convenience. Though she is now a countess, A’laya still faces disapproval and scorn from her new husband’s family. Only the birth of her daughter, Katherina brings her happiness.

  But A’laya does not anticipate how wicked her enemies are. Katherina is stolen from her, and A’laya is left without resources to find her. Still, she searches desperately, holding out hope that her daughter is still alive. As the years pass, A’laya travels the English countryside as a fortune teller, yearning to be reunited with Katherina.

  The bond between mother and daughter is strong—so strong that when fate and fortune collide, love abounds...

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2019 by Christina McKnight and Annabelle Anders

  ISBN: 1-945089-51-2

  * * *

  La Loma Elite Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  [email protected]

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Lord Castleford’s Fortunate Folly

  Chapter 1

  Fortunes of Fate Series

  Tabetha Waite

  Nadine Millard

  Diana Bold

  Eileen Richards

  Meara Platt

  Amanda Mariel

  Sandra Sookoo

  Tammy Andresen

  Annabelle Anders

  Christina McKnight

  Chapter 1

  Nottinghamshire, England

  August 1791

  * * *

  “Why is her hair like that, Mama?” A girl with blond ringlets tugged at an older woman’s skirts and pointed rudely toward A’laya. “It doesn’t look soft like mine and Mary’s.”

  Even at the tender age of seven, A’laya knew she and her mother were different from their neighbors and the local villagers. But she was not saddened by that fact. She loved the texture of her hair and the hue of her skin. It reminded her of a mix of Mama and Papa together. A’laya was loved, and her parents loved each other. To A’laya, the honey-brown shade of her flesh and the bridge of darkened freckles sprinkled across her nose represented everything that was important to her.

  Love. Family. Acceptance.

  Belonging.

  Her name and complexion were inherited from her mama’s family—native Barbadians from the Barbados islands. A’laya’s smattering of freckles and her surname were courtesy of her proper English father.

  A melding of two worlds, or so Mama was known to whisper in her ear before A’laya found her slumber. Or when they traversed the hectic village lane, and the penetrating stares of the locals followed them on their journey to the market.

  On this afternoon, however, as she and Mama examined some of the wares being displayed by the travelling merchants, A’laya found herself touching her coarse hair self-consciously. Why did the other little girl make such a sour face?

  “My hair is from my grandmother.” A’laya spoke up proudly so that the other girl could hear. “She travelled from across the ocean on a ship. She came from an island. Have you ever heard of Barbados?”

  A’laya’s mother turned at the sound of her daughter’s voice.

  The blond girl, who looked to be a few years older than A’laya, scrutinized A’laya’s arms and face. “You should try washing sometime.”

  The girl’s snide comment finally drew the attention of the older woman. The tall, well-dressed lady had been examining some fabrics when she caught sight of A’laya. Narrowing her eyes, the woman pinched her lips into a tight, straight line. “Hush.” She drew the blond girl away. “You shouldn’t speak to such a child.”

  “But, Mama, you told me…” The girl’s voice trailed off as the lady dragged her away to another tent.

  A’laya hugged her arms to herself and shivered, her heart aching. Her mama quickly embraced her from behind. Glancing down, A’laya saw the differences in the shades of her and Mama’s skin. Mama’s was darker, like very strong tea. Or…like dirt.

  A’laya had never thought it dirty before.

  The color of the hard clay ground around her father’s estate matched Mama’s skin precisely, in a way that both shocked and shamed A’laya, especially following the girl’s comment. It wasn’t the hue that surprised A’laya, but the other girl’s reaction to it, and the fact that she agreed with the child despite always loving the color.

  Shame. The heating of her skin, the downturn of her stare, and the need to hunch her shoulders as if begging herself to disappear. It was the emotion that had overtaken A’laya when she’d been caught sampling Cook’s fresh pie as it cooled in the kitchen window not a month prior. She’d never expected the feeling to return at the thought of her mother’s skin tone.

  Peeking out from between her sleeves and gloves, A’laya’s arms more closely resembled honey, or the color of her father’s imported coffee when he mixed it with milk from her cow, Daisy. “Why should she not talk to me, Mama?” The lady’s irritation confused A’laya. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d not run around or touched things she shouldn’t. Her newest frock was clean with nary a wrinkle. And she’d spoken softly the entire time they were indoors.

  Although just a child of seven, A’laya knew her manners. She was going to be a proper lady someday.

  Her mama squeezed her in a hug. “She doesn’t know any better, my little one. Perhaps, someday, she will learn the truth.”

  A’laya glanced over her shoulder and met Mama’s wise gaze. “What truth, Mama?” She thought she knew but wasn’t sure.

  “That it’s not the color of a person’s skin that matters but the love in their heart, and the thoughts in their head.”

  A’laya nodded. She’d heard Mama and Papa whisper of such matters before but never to her. It was why manners were important. They showed on the outside that a person had goodness on the inside. A’laya knew from the books Papa showed her that every heart was made the same, yet Mama did not believe this.

  “Come with me, A’laya.” Mama took hold of her hand and walked her toward the merchant’s table. She picked up a gold jewel attached to a brown leather string.

  “Is it a flower?” A’laya had never seen a flower with so many circles and curls.

  Mama ran her brown fingertip along the smooth metal. “It is called the Path of Life, my A’laya.

  It didn’t resemble any path A’laya had ever seen. “But they are circles. If we walk a path in circles, then where will we be?”

  A’laya loved hearing her mother’s comforting laugh as she answered. “The paths are the circles. See the center rings? They go on forever. That is who you are. No matter what happens, you are always A’laya. Your mama’s daughter, your grandmother’s grandchild, and your father’s precious baby girl. You will make choices, little one. But know you are always loved for who you are.”

  A’laya touched the metal, displacing her mama’s fingertip. Warm
th spread through her, causing her heart to feel full. “I am your girl. Right, Mama?”

  Her mother nodded. “You are my beloved daughter.”

  A’laya stared into her mama’s eyes but could not forget the blond girl’s peculiar words, or those of the older woman with her. A’laya tightly squeezed the talisman, pressing the metal into her palm. “Can I have it? I’ll take care of it, I promise...”

  A’laya didn’t ask for much, but she knew already that it was something special, something to be remembered. Something to be treasured…always.

  Mama nodded. “I know you will not lose it. I can already see what a big girl you are becoming. My little lady.”

  A’laya smiled. “I will not lose it, Mama. I promise.” She would keep it forever.

  No matter where she traveled, no matter who she met, no matter whether she encountered kind hearts or cruel ones—the necklace would remain close.

  “Turn around, and I shall secure it around your neck.”

  A’laya did not waste a moment before twirling as Mama had instructed, her frock swirling around her stockinged legs as she did. As the metal settled around her neck and the pendant came to rest just above the neckline of her gown, its warmth reassured A’laya. The talisman’s weight was like the comfort of a familiar embrace.

  A’laya lifted the charm and touched the smooth metal to her lips. It almost seemed like magic. Fantasies danced in her head as her mother paid the vendor.

  “I think it is time we return home, my little one.” Mama’s smile was bright and wide. “Your father will miss us far too much if we are gone much longer.”

  Following Mama, their gloved hands clasped tightly, A’laya glanced over her shoulder to see the little girl from before staring at her. A’laya thought her pretty enough with her blond curls, fair skin, and piercing blue eyes.

  But A’laya was pretty, too, especially to the people who loved her most. She smiled at the child at the same time the little girl stuck out her tongue at A’laya and narrowed her eyes.

  Perhaps not all hearts were the same, after all.

  Chapter 2

  Nottinghamshire, England

  June 1801

  * * *

  A’laya held the invitation securely between her fingers, fearing if she loosened her grip it would disappear as if it had never been. She raced from the foyer to her mama’s private sitting room, nearly tripping on the handwoven rug lining the hall in her haste to show her mama the surprise that had arrived by personal carrier.

  “Mama! Mama!” A’laya threw wide the door, and it slammed against the hinges. “It came. It came. Finally.”

  Touching one hand to her stomach, she drew in a deep breath before holding the cream-colored, embossed missive high above her head. The note was worth far more than the expensive stationery it was written upon. It was more akin to a king’s ransom or a pirate’s booty. At nearly eighteen summers, A’laya had feared she’d never receive an invitation to Lord Everly’s annual Summer Solstice soiree.

  Each year since she was a little girl, her tutor, Miss Constance, had regaled her with tales of the earl’s yearly rout held at the Everly’s neighboring estate. Lords and ladies from all over England, gowned in fine silks and satins, dined and danced late into the night. One year—around A’laya’s twelfth summer—she had been so bold as to escape her house and make her way through the wooded forest until she crouched in the shrubbery lining Lord Everly’s long, winding drive. Carriage after finely sprung carriage arrived, depositing guests from far and wide as A’laya watched in wonder.

  The spectacle of that night had been well worth the punishment she’d received when her mama caught her sneaking back inside the house at nearly dawn. Her father would have never reprimanded her in such a severe manner.

  Father.

  The thought sent a spike of pain and longing directly to her heart.

  After her father had passed away, A’laya had been certain an invitation such as the one she currently held would never be hers.

  “Dear child.” Her mother’s exasperation was evident when she set aside the gown she’d been mending—a tear due to A’laya’s fondness for climbing trees—and turned her narrowed stare at her only daughter. “What has you so overwrought with excitement?”

  A’laya smiled—the grin she knew mirrored her father’s precisely. She’d shamelessly exploited it since her father’s passing. With the turn of A’laya’s lips, her mother forgot her daughter’s past indiscretions, like ruining her gown when she climbed the old, tall tree in the gardens to collect Gussy, her cat. Or the time she’d nearly gotten her arm pinned under the carriage when she attempted to assist Daniels as he worked on the Oderton family’s outdated coach.

  The smile had her mama remembering fonder times of the past, when they’d been a whole family. A landed, noble family. Accepted—at least on the surface—by the villagers and other noble families in the area. Remembrances of a time when her mama and father had dressed in finery and attended Lord Everly’s routs, leaving A’laya in her nursemaid’s care while they danced late into the night.

  A time before her father had died and his distant cousin, Edwin, had inherited the Oderton barony.

  “It is here! Our invitation to Lord Everly’s soiree.” A’laya couldn’t help pressing the note to her bosom and turning in a circle. Her head fell back, and her eyes closed as her long, dark hair swirled around her. “I simply cannot believe it is here.”

  When her mama said nothing and remained silent and still, A’laya halted.

  She did not relish meeting her mama’s hard stare—a look she’d never known her mother possessed until nine years ago when their lives had been utterly changed in the span of a few brief moments. Her mama had gone from a doting mother who cared for her daughter, giving A’laya hope for the future, to a woman who believed—truly believed—that everything came at a cost.

  There were no more early morning walks about the market.

  No more holidays to Bath.

  Gone were the nights where they sat before the hearth in the grand hall and dreamed of A’laya’s debut in London come her nineteenth birthday. Now, those days were upon them, and A’laya had no reassurances she and her mother would travel to town in the coming Season.

  Instead, they’d become recluses in their home. A’laya’s mother had been forced to release most of their household servants. And they’d never once left Nottinghamshire in the last nine years.

  But…life was changing.

  The invitation proved it as surely as anything could.

  “Do give it here, my girl.” Her mother held out her hand, snapping her fingers when A’laya did not hurry forward to set the missive in her mother’s palm. “How many times must I tell you that it is inappropriate to open Lord Oderton’s private correspondence?”

  “But it is not—” A’laya clamped her mouth shut at her retort, her jaw aching from the pressure. She glanced down at the invitation one last time before handing it to her mama, memorizing the words written on it.

  The Right Honorable Lady Oderton and the Right Honorable Alaya Banesworth.

  It did not concern A’laya that Lord Everly—or perhaps it had been his wife or daughter—had misspelled her given name. It did not matter…nothing was relevant except for the fact that she and her mama had been invited to Lord Everly’s Summer Solstice soiree.

  Not her cousin, the current Baron Oderton, who’d been kind enough to allow A’laya and the dowager baroness to remain in their home.

  Not his atrocious young wife, who’d demanded that they remain in Nottinghamshire because of the dowager Lady Oderton’s dubious lineage and what the ton might think.

  But A’laya and her mama. A’laya’s heart raced with excitement.

  “It is solely addressed to you and me,” A’laya gushed, her anticipation overflowing. “I shall wear the grey gown you made me. It will certainly sparkle under the chandeliers in Lord Everly’s ballroom. And you, Mama, will look lovely in the emerald dress with the jeweled waist
father gave you for Christmastide…”

  She swallowed, and the words hung in the air.

  The final gift her mama had received from her father. Likely the least expensive gift she’d received in their marriage, but still the one mama would remember always.

  An emerald green satin gown with a lace overlay and a jewel-studded high waist.

  Not more than a few days after her mama had received it, A’laya’s father was gone, and Mama had never donned the perfectly fitted gown.

  Everything had changed. It was as though when Papa passed, A’laya and her mama had become invisible. Most of Mama’s friends no longer visited, and fewer and fewer invitations arrived at their door.

  Mama pretended that she didn’t care, but A’laya had overheard her mother’s sobs. People were not so cruel as to ignore her and her mother because of their different appearances, were they? A’laya did her best to convince herself that it was all a mistake, an oversight.

  So, to get this invitation…perhaps she and her mother were to be received again. Maybe her papa’s friends had missed her mama…

  “Can we go, Mama?” A’laya asked, her hope dwindling with each passing moment.

  Her breath hitched in her chest when a single tear streaked down her mama’s cheek and fell on the stationery before rolling off the edge of the missive.

  A thousand regrets coursed through A’laya in that moment. It was a silly country soiree. The invitation was not as significant and grand as she’d thought. Many more solicitations were certain to follow. Why had she seen fit to come to her mama with this one?