SHADOW OF THE LION

  An Alex Whitney Historical Romance

  Katie MacAlister

  Copyright © 1999, 2011, 2022 by Katie MacAlister

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Cover by Croco Designs

  Formatting by Racing Pigeon Productions

  http://katiemacalister.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Note to Readers

  A NOTE TO THOSE STARING HARD AT THE BOOK

  This book has its origins in my very first novel written over twenty years ago, and resembles its original form only in the sense that the basic storyline is the same. Around 2011, it was re-edited and published as Suffragette in the City. However, when revisiting the sequel with an eye to revising it, I felt this book wasn’t where it needed to be, so it underwent another round of heavy revisions, edits, and merciless pruning in the summer of 2021. I also changed the name of the heroine because I have always disliked her original name. Luckily, she likes her new name, too, and has happily embraced being an Alex.

  If you’ve read Suffragette in the City, you can feel free to give this version a miss unless you’re dying to see what new material was added, what old material was removed, and just who is the brand new bestie of the renamed heroine.

  Those of you who are new to the book can dive in secure knowing that the story is in its happy place.

  Enjoy!

  Katie MacAlister

  May 2022

  ONE

  “Votes for women!” Above the jeering of the crowd, a suffragette waved her banner, her voice piercing the air high over the rumble of motorcars and rattle of carriages. “Support the cause! Votes for women!”

  In one of those odd quirks that sometimes occur in a raucous situation, a moment of silence descended, just long enough for the following to be heard with the clarity of a crystal bell: “Bloody, buggery hell!”

  Several heads swiveled in my direction. The suffragette nearest me stared, her eyes wide. The steady stream of people passing froze for several seconds; the faces of the men and women headed inside the magnificent building behind me all reflecting the same astonishment.

  There was nothing else to do. I turned and glared into the bushes, saying loudly, “Merciful heavens! What is the world coming to when people hide in shrubberies and yell out profanities?”

  My suffragette neighbor looked suspicious as the people once again moved past us.

  “Is there a problem?” she asked when I cleared my throat and shook the chain that was giving me so much grief.

  “Problem? Me? Whatever gives you that idea?”

  She pursed her lips and gestured to her right. All along the massive, wrought-iron fence that bounded the grounds of Wentworth House, women were arranged with their backs pressed firmly against the cold metal railing, chains holding them in place.

  “It’s just my chain,” I told my neighbor, shaking it at her. “It’s defective.”

  “Your chain is defective?” She gave me a look that, by rights, should have been accompanied by a thick clout upside the head. As it was, I took a step back from her, relieved to see that her chain bound her firmly to the fence. “Chains are not defective. Why did you volunteer for this protest if you have no intention of participating fully?”

  I ignored the murmurs of a particularly deep-voiced old gentleman as he passed by, giving my chain a firm shake and making another attempt to wind it through the fence. “Do not underestimate my devotion to the cause. I have been to Hel...er...Hades and back again just to stand here, at this moment, with this obstreperous chain.”

  “Are there problems?” One of the Women’s Suffrage Union officers moved down along the line, pausing when she got to me at the end of the fence.

  “Yes, there are problems,” I muttered, catching my fingers painfully on the shrub that poked through the railing.

  “She claims her chain is defective,” my tattletale neighbor said with irritating smugness.

  I gave her a stern look, which she returned with saintly indifference.

  “Defective?” the officer asked, looking puzzled. “In what way?”

  “It won’t go through the fence,” I explained. “I think there’s something wrong with it.”

  “Or something wrong with you,” my neighbor muttered sotto voce, but not nearly sotto enough. Beyond her, two other suffragettes giggled.

  I glared over her head at them. They quickly averted their gazes and stared out defiantly at the passing crowd.

  “Well... do the best you can,” the officer said, looking a bit peevish. I knew just how she felt. “We were promised coverage by the press tonight, and it is vital that we present a unified front.”

  “I think someone simply doesn’t wish to ruin her fancy gown,” my neighbor commented in what I could only call a waspish voice.

  “What you want to be wearing something like that to a protest?” the woman beyond her asked, craning her head to look at me.

  Irritated, I jerked my coat closed, cursing the fact that I had forgotten to have Annie repair the buttons I’d torn off earlier while I’d practiced chaining myself to a tree in the park. “I really don’t see that my choice of garment has anything to do with my devotion to the cause.”

  “Ignore the crowds, sisters, and stand tall!” the officer cried as she faced the line of women. “Remember, you are fighting for a glorious purpose!”

  “It’ll all be for naught if we don’t show solidarity,” the woman next to me said with a glint in her eyes that I felt was most unwarranted.

  The heads of women all down the fence turned to look at me.

  “I am doing the best I can! But how I am expected to work with a defective chain is beyond me—” A shove at my back had me spinning around to confront my assailant. “Sir!”

  “I’d apologize for bumping into you if you were a decent woman, but it’s clear you’re not.” The rotund, top-hatted gentleman who had plowed into me scornfully considered the women on the fence before returning his attention to me. “Simply appalling! Such displays are most unwomanly! Ought to be stopped! Interfering besoms!”

  I jerked my coat closed again. “You leave my bosom out of this!”

  The man snorted and clutched the arm of a thin, pinched-faced woman, escorting her down the sidewalk to the gate. Because of the crush of carriages and motorcars inside the short drive, many people had opted to disembark from their vehicles down the block and walk the rest of the way to the charity ball. The change from light drizzle to rain had lessened their numbers, but a few brave souls ventured forth bearing large, glistening black umbrellas.

  “Oh, this is ridiculous,” I snapped, so frustrated I could scream. “I’ll just stand here and pretend I’m chained to the fence.”

  “I knew you’d give up. You’re afraid of getting your pretty frock dirty,” my neighbor crowed.

  “I assure you it would take a lot more than a little rain to disconcert me,” I answered with a sniff. “I am a New Woman, and New Women do not frighten easily. We smoke, although I haven’t yet started, and we wear trousers, although I have no real occasion to wear them, and of course, we take lovers.”

  The woman’s jaw sagged slightly. I had a horrible feeling that I’d gone a bit too far in my determination to prove how New my Woman self was. “You don’t!”

  “Well, no, I haven’t taken one. As yet,” I admitted. “But any day now I’ll get around to it. The New Woman takes all those things and more in her stride.”

  A motorcar hooted its annoyance as part of the steady stream of carriages and automobiles stopped outside the gates to Wentworth House. Shiny dark umbrellas continued to bob by, their everyday appearance in sharp contrast to the finery displayed below them. Although the night was dark and damp, the parade of ladies in brilliant colors, flashing jewels, and exotic perfumes was almost overwhelming to the senses.

  Midnight blues, pigeon’s blood reds, and greens the color of the sea passed by. By contrast, our group was a somber gathering in browns, blacks, and dark grey...other than my copper-colored evening gown, which made me feel like a flame amongst the shadows. Unfortunately, I stood out in one other way: each member but me had a swath of white across her bosom, proclaiming Votes For Women.


>   Pride filled me as I read the sashes. At last, at long last, I was taking my place. I had found my people, and I was going to prove to them I was worthy of membership.

  “Where’s your sash?” my neighbor asked in an acid tone.

  “I was a little late, and didn’t get one. I don’t suppose—”

  “No!” my neighbor almost snarled as I turned admittedly covetous eyes to hers.

  “Charity begins at home,” I reminded her, but to no avail. “Fine. You keep your sash; I’ll do my part, regardless.”

  “You’re not even chained,” she said with a sniff. “No one will know you’re with us. Why don’t you go home to your servants?”

  I took a deep, calming breath, determined to fully take part despite her bitterness. “If appearances are all that concern you, perhaps I will simply drape the chain over one shoulder...there. This is the best I can do. Will that suffice?” I turned, one cold, damp length of chain hanging over my shoulder and down to the opposite hip, hopefully giving the appearance of binding me to the fence.

  It was another voice that answered.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself!” The bulky shape of a woman rose before me, her spiteful face thrust into mine. “Don’t you have any humility? What would your parents think of you now, Alexandra Whitney? Making a fool of yourself in public!”

  I was so shocked to see Eloise McGregor, one of my late mother’s oldest friends, that she could grab my arm and drag me down the street a few yards before I pulled to a stop. “Eloise, what a surprise. I’m afraid I’m busy at the moment. Perhaps we can talk later?”

  She jerked me down another few yards, puffing obnoxious peppermint-scented breath in my face as she blocked the entire sidewalk in order to chastise me. “What can you be thinking, girl? Have you no shame? No dignity? How can you stand there like a common trollop and make such a spectacle of yourself?”

  A hasty glance down the fence confirmed my fear that the demonstration was proceeding without me. My neighbor chanted, “Votes for women!” with an obnoxious vigor, accompanied by frequent triumphant glances sent my way.

  My lips tightened as I bit back a few choice oaths.

  “It would disgrace your parents to see you here, as would all your family,” Eloise continued, snatching my chain off my shoulder and throwing it to the ground before taking my arm again. I winced at the strength of her grip. “Such folly! Such insolence! I shall be sure to inform your sister of your unwomanly conduct when she returns.”

  I struggled to free myself from her grip, my temper—always prone to get me into trouble—rising with the frustration of the last few minutes. “Damnation! You’re bruising me!”

  “Profanity! Blasphemer!” Eloise’s voice carried extremely well over the noise of the crowd. Several heads turned our way in what appeared to be hopeful interest. “Your presence here just goes to show how low into depravity you have sunk.”

  Eloise was not a small woman, causing a small clutch of people to be bottlenecked behind her. As she berated me, a tall man with a pale woman on his arm scowled and tried to get Eloise’s attention, asking to pass. Dismay filled his companion’s face as she glanced at the stream of muddy water that flowed down the nearest edge of the pavement. Although the rain had slowed again, the gutters gurgled with the recent downfall.

  Eloise ignored the man and continued to harangue me. “You always were a headstrong, obstinate girl. No wonder your father kept you confined where you could not distress others!”

  I glanced down the fence to where my sisters in suffrage attracted considerable attention, including that of the beat constable who was pleading with them to release themselves. A crowd made up of working folk also gathered and shouted suggestions to the constable, many of them offering in unpleasant terms to help “take care of the troublemakers.”

  A deep male voice rumbled, “Madam, would you allow us to pass?”

  “...goading your poor father into extreme actions in order to control you...” Eloise’s words were almost painfully shrill above the general cacophony.

  “People wish to pass.” I tried to get my arm away from her again, but she held on like a limpet. One filled with iron determination.

  The man behind her spoke louder. “You are blocking the pavement, madam. Please allow us by.”

  “You may think nothing of such a disgusting show of your true character, but I will not allow you to taint your parents’ memory in this manner.” She pulled hard on my arm, jerking me forward.

  Mortified by the scene she had dragged me into, I hissed, “Stop! I have a duty to perform, and by God, I will do it.”

  Another policeman arrived, his whistle piercing the discord.

  “Madam, please let us by!” The deep voice roared over the growing clamor. The man behind Eloise tried once again to move her aside, but she simply tightened her fingers on my arm, her nails digging painfully into my flesh.

  “I will save you from the depths of degradation with which you are so intent upon besmirching yourself!” Eloise all but spat at me.

  “Votes for women! Votes for women!” chanted the suffragettes.

  Desperation gave me the strength to clutch the fence, annoyance making my voice harsh as I attempted to join the demonstration. “Votes for...dammit, Eloise!”

  More constables arrived, their whistles so loud I could almost taste the shrillness. The noise was borderline deafening, an assault on the ears and the mind.

  “We wish to pass, blast you!” the man bellowed.

  A second man joined the first. “This is a public street, madam. I insist you move!”

  Swearing to myself in aggravation, I used both hands to grip the fence.

  “...always thinking of yourself and never of your sainted father...” Eloise snarled, the chaos around us taking half her words.

  The bystanders were frenzied now, keyed up by the arrival of several policemen on horseback. To the left, a small cluster of partygoers was still blocked by Eloise, loudly expressing their desire to move by us. To the right, the demonstrators, all successfully chained to the fence, chanted and sang in unison, while beyond them, constables and citizens alike yelled abuse.

  “My father was a monster, a demon placed on earth, and I did not survive his torments to allow you to ruin everything. This is my chance to belong!” Goaded past all bounds of sanity, I shouted over the noise to Eloise just as she heaved her ample bulk and pried me off the fence. At the same moment, the man she blocked gave her a shove, which sent me hurtling forward.

  The force of my not-insubstantial weight thrown off balance had me careening onto him. We crashed to the pavement in an awkward display of petticoats, umbrellas, chain, and limbs.

  I lay stunned for a moment, staring stupidly down into the diamond studs in the shirt beneath me. Before I could think to move, hands lifted me to my feet.

  “Good heavens,” I gasped as soon as I could gather my breath. “I do apologize! Eloise—my late mother’s friend—was much stronger than I imagined. Are you injured?”

  The man swore into his chest as he bent down to assess the damage. He was muddied and wet down the left side, and, I feared, extremely damp on the back. His top hat was ruined, and his white gloves were black with mud. Although my coat was without buttons, its heavy material and the fact that I fell on top of the gentleman left me relatively unaffected by the mishap.

  “Just you wait and see, Alexandra Whitney!” Eloise screeched as the momentum of the crowd carried her forward, thankfully beyond reach of me. “You’ll come to a bad end!”

  Two ladies and a short, bald gentleman had stopped near us, inquiring anxiously as to the muddied man’s state. One woman handed me a jeweled comb that had flown from my hair.

  “Please forgive me,” I stammered as the man I’d been flung onto continued to examine his sodden garments. I dabbed at a dark spot of wetness with my handkerchief. “I am mortified. Let me help clean you off. I don’t think it’s too horrible—”

  I patted a spot of dirt, but pulled away my handkerchief only to find I had left a long, diagonal smear across the snowy white expanse of his shirtfront.

  The man looked first at his chest, then at me, his jaw tight, and his eyes glittering in a manner that made me feel as if my belly was filled with cold, wet gruel. Without thinking, I took a step back, my palms suddenly damp.