CHAPTER ONE
The ceiling really was very interesting, once you took a good look at it. Someone had taken the time to dab the paint on in pretty flowery spirals, equally spaced and congruent. How many were there? Around two hundred, she guessed. Perhaps counting them would make the time pass faster?
The girl sighed and rolled over on her bed. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. God, life was boring. She turned her face away from the pillow and started numbering the designs on her ceiling. One, two, three…
Somewhere between 253 and 260 (so her estimate was a bit off), Elizabeth Swann, her best friend, burst into her bedroom. She blinked twice at Lizzie, and sighed sullenly.
"Hullo." Ali said. Lizzie stood there, head tilted to the side. Lizzie was an attractive young woman, dark haired and eyed, and intense. At this moment, however, she was more patronizing than captivating.
"Grounded again, I presume." Elizabeth said, smiling exasperatedly. It was more a statement than a question. "What for this time?"
"Didn't want to attend that one party. What's-her-face's engagement. The usual." Ali replied, trying to pick up where she had left off counting. "Damn it, Lizzie, you made me lose my place!" She'd probably have to restart.
"I was hoping you'd err…redesigned your dress again. That was really quite entertaining." Elizabeth chuckled at the memory of the beautiful dress shabbily sewn and cut into what Ali called a more 'statuesque statement.' She placed herself daintily onto a spare chair.
"Oh, no, I was locked in this cursed place for two weeks because of that. I probably won't attempt something of the sort anytime soon. But I still think it was an improvement." Ali gave up her counting and sat up on her bed to face her best friend. "Today's the last day. Father wasn't so upset this time…I've only had to stay inside for three days. Things could be worse."
"Oh, Ali, you are the daftest girl I know. Why not just grace what's-her-face's engagement party with your presence and thus not suffer these err…groundations?" Elizabeth asked.
"Because those engagement parties are just as bad as these 'groundations' and I'd rather be alone and bored than in a stuffy party with stupid people and bored." Ali replied sharply. "Besides, I'm not like you Lizzie. I can't just pretend to be nice to the nobility. My face is incapable of a mask of polite interest. I can't help it…there's sort of a vindictive pleasure in informing such people of their arrogance and conceit."
Elizabeth laughed. "Even if I cannot partake in such pleasure, I can't deny it exists. Do you remember the time Katherine Monroe was bragging about her new French hairdo and you stated your astonishment that—"
"That French people had hairdos big enough for her head?" Ali said, grinning as well. "Yes, that was funny. But it was true as well. Their bigheadedness simply amazes me." She yawned again. "Of course, that tattletale had to tell my father. I was stuck in here for I think a week."
"The look on her face was worth it." Elizabeth said firmly, grinning.
"Lizzie…" Ali said seriously, all humor of the memory going out of her face. "I don't belong here. You know it, I know it, and for God's sake, the entire nobility knows it. The only person who won't accept my fate is my father. I will not and cannot be fashioned into the conformity. I want to…live. Free. I've always wished I could simply dive into the blue waters of the Spanish Main and swim away from Port Royal, its rules and traditions. Hell, let me transform into a dolphin while I'm at it. They have FUN, Lizzie. When was the last time you had fun here? Do you know how frustrated I am? I can't be cooped up! I can't sit in a sewing circle or at tea and ask politely about the latest gossip! I can't, and I'm suffocating here."
Elizabeth made no reply. Her sympathetic ear, however, was exactly what her friend needed. Elizabeth sighed inwardly. Everything Ali said was true. Ali didn't belong here, in a world of strict social laws and imperious nobles. She was a free spirit and her soul was confined here, chained because of her father's stubbornness. But Elizabeth also understood Lord Peterson's insistence that his daughter could be changed. Ali was all the elder gentleman had left, and it was natural that he wanted his only child by his side instead of having the free fun she desired.
It was a problem. And Elizabeth had no idea how to solve it.
Mornings always made bleak matters look brighter—or at least Ali felt so. She was up before the break of dawn, excited to be out of the dreaded mansion that had come to represent a cage for her soul. The groundation was over—she was a free woman!
"Miss Peterson?" A maid asked anxiously as the girl streaked past in the halls, nearly toppling the silver tray the maid carried. "Where are you going so early this morning, ma'am?"
"Oh. Good morning, Miriam. I'm headed out." Ali answered breathlessly, straightening a perilously perched pitcher of milk on the tray. The maid shook her head and clucked her tongue in shame.
"Now, miss, you haven't had any breakfast yet! And I, for one, won't let you leave without a good meal. A healthy breakfast is the way to start a healthy day, you know, ma'am. And your father won't appreciate you departing the house at these unearthly hours. Sit, Miss Alianne. I insist you eat a bit."
Ali heaved a resigned sigh and went to the table. In a moment Miriam was there with blueberry oatmeal, milk and honey, and all sorts of other delectable treats. Ali only ate because of Miriam's watchful eye. But Ali was truly hungry for fresh air and the glorious sunrise, not porridge and yogurt.
"There, Miss, aren't you feeling better now?" Miriam asked happily. Ali smiled at the young servant girl and her beaming grin, rosy cheeks, and good nature. Miriam was one of Ali's favorite maids. She seemed to radiate cheerfulness, a feat very hard to do in the Peterson mansion.
"May I leave now, please?" Ali inquired. Miriam chuckled and nodded, bustling off to do her other servant duties. Ali shrugged her jacket back on and was making her way towards the door when she heard the voice.
"Not quite yet, Alianne Peterson." Ali cringed at her father's voice and turned around to face him. He was getting on in years, and his features showed it. Wrinkles had formed around his blue eyes, and the corners of his mouth. His hair was as snowy white as his wig, but not quite as full—actually, his hair was rather lacking. Balding, to be accurate. Right now his tired gaze showed utter bewilderment as they rested upon her. Ali and her father understood each other as well as pigs understood multiplication.
Ali seated herself again as Lord Peterson did. She was in for The Lecture. There was no point in trying to escape now. It would just lead to another fight and another groundation. Damn it, she shouldn't have stayed for breakfast.
"Alianne—"Her father started to say, his voice slow and weary. He hated confrontations. Ali hated seeing him have to confront her. If he'd only let her be!
"I did it because I had no interest in what type of ring Abigail got, or what her dress looked like, or who she was marrying, or when, or why. I truly don't care what's happening in Abigail's life, and I am quite certain she doesn't care what's happening in mine. The engagement party was just a chance to flaunt her wealth and the treasures her fiancé gave her. I didn't want to attend because I can't stand listening to conceited braggarts touting." Ali interrupted, rolling her eyes. This conversation had happened so many times, she practically had it memorized.
The next 30 minutes were perhaps more torturous than the 30 hours spent in her room. Her father listed all the grievances and disgraces Ali had caused the Peterson name, how he hoped she would someday become a true lady, how true ladies acted, and how her actions contradicted those of a true lady's. All the while the sunrise slipped away from Ali's fingers. When at last her father had finished, Ali stood up.
"Can I leave now?" She inquired impatiently. She regretted her words immediately when she saw her father's devastated expression. Obviously his speech had no effect on his headstrong daughter.
"That's it, Alianne?" Lord Peterson asked quietly. "No apology for your behavior? No I will do better next time? Nothing?" He sighed in frustration and put his head in his hand.
"I'm sorry I disappointed you again, Father." Ali replied just as solemnly. She hated this—every moment of it. The guilt grew in her stomach. Ali was pushing a broken man further into the dirt. He waved his free hand at her, motioning for her to go. She hesitated, then leaned over and kissed his forehead before leaving the mansion.