Cinderella (Faerie Tale Collection) (10 page)

“My goodness.”

“Yes, I promise you, there is nothing you can do at the ball that will top my refinement. Nothing.”

“I am so sorry. No wonder no one spoke of it.”

She laughed. “Yes, well, now you can see why it is I am in a bit of disgrace with Mother as well as the royal family.”

“Surely they would not be so harsh to you. They invited you, did they not?”

She raised one brow and said, “I would not even think to show my face—I would not even step upon the palace grounds, except I cannot help myself. I must see the duke again. If only to watch him run from me.”

“Oh, Lacey.”

“I know.” She sighed. “It is a very sad muddle I have found myself in. I really do not know what will become of me now that I have kissed him though. The poor, dear man. He must dread the thought of coming near me, positive I will come flying at him and crashing him to the ground.”

A shocked giggled escaped Ella’s lips. “I am so sorry!” she exclaimed, just before another giggle burst out.

Lacey looked at her and then grinned. “No, no, go on. At least someone may find some humor in my idiocy.”

“You are not an idiot.”

Lacey laughed. “I bet the duke would beg to differ.”

“Please promise me if you plan on flying through the air and landing on top of him again you will let me be there to observe.”

“You are awful!”

“I know. You do realize how truly wicked I am.” Ella chuckled more.

Lacey smiled and shook her head. “No. No, Ella. You are the least wicked of anyone I know.”

Ella’s grin slipped. “Thank you.”

“I mean every word of it. You are. You do so much for us and help us and do all the things that the maids are paid to do and yet you do not receive an allowance. You do not even receive a proper room. And all of this you do—and you do not overly complain.”

“’Tis not like I have much of a choice.”

“Though you must die inside at times. To know that it is your own house and you cannot even truly live in it.”

“Lacey?”

“As you can see, I have thought about it. I have thought about it a lot. And it is hard for me to bear sometimes, just the thought—I do not know how you live this way.”

Ella shrugged. “It is the only life I know.”

“But it is not fair!”

Not knowing what to say, she looked out the window.

“Why do you think I am so set upon marrying the duke?”

Ella glanced back over. “Surely not because of me.”

Lacey leaned over and grasped her hand. “Because if I can marry someone with rank and wealth, then I can surely right your wrongs. Give you back your house. If I live with the duke, then Mother and Jillian would not wish to stay here and you can have it all back.”

“Lacey, I do not think it works that way. This is your mother’s house.”

She shook her head and grinned. “No. No, it is not. It is yours. It was written clearly upon the will that the house and all its possessions belonged to you.”

“I beg your pardon. I do not believe I heard you correctly. I—I am not quite following. What did you say?”

“Listen,” she whispered, her gaze boring into Ella. “Everything my mother has told you has been false. It is not hers. It never was. She is stealing from you. She is actually at your mercy—and she is terrified the queen will reveal that to you at the ball. I have never known my mother to be so ill. But, Ella, I figure it is time you knew the truth from one of us. It is yours. All of it. Even the horse Mother took from you—it was always yours.”

Great cruel tears began to form in Ella’s eyes. “No. No. I cannot believe it. I cannot believe you have all been this brutal.”

Lacey nodded, tears coming into her own eyes. “Believe it. Mother was so frightened when Lord Dashlund died. She had no home, her income spent, we had nothing. And so she took us together and counseled and came up with this plan to save us. She told us how wicked you were—and how you would turn us out into the streets the first moment you got.”

Ella gasped.

“But it is not you. I have watched you. Again and again, I have watched you, Ella. You are not the wicked one. You would have never done that to us. Oh, how we should have been kinder to you—how we should have loved you as we could have. But we did not. And now Mother fears all will be lost.”

Ella clasped Lacey’s hands tight within her own and whispered, “Speak nothing of this to anyone. I will not toss you out. I must think. But, please, do not let them know what you have said to me. I was not invited to the ball for that purpose. There was no reason to tell me—but still, I will think on this. I promise you will all be well.”

With that, Ella left Lacey—the blue gown floating behind her as she rushed up the stairs to her attic room and collapsed upon the bed. She curled her knees up to her chest, her fingers going to the cracks upon the wall. She traced them until she could no longer see them through her blurry eyes.

And then she wept.

And wept.

And wept.

All of it. Every last bit had been a lie.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ANTHONY RUSHED TO GET to the Dashlund orchard by two o’clock, but he simply could not get out of the place until nearly three. His father had a very uneasy night. He had deteriorated enough that his mother gave in to Anthony’s pleadings and called for the court physician. When the doctor arrived it was nearly four in the morning and all of them were haggard and relieved to see him. Even his father did not complain when the man began to poke and prod him.

Anthony hovered near the bed while his father was examined, until his mother commanded him to leave. “Anthony Jonathan, I cannot endure your pacing another moment. You are fidgeting around like an old maid. Go, go find something to do so my own nerves can be calmed during this.” She was clasping onto his father’s frail, limp hand as if her life depended upon it.

“And what shall I do? There is nowhere to go this early in the morn. And I certainly will not be able to rest until I know what is the outcome of my father.”

She groaned. “Anthony, please do not argue with me at the moment. Be gone with you. Perhaps go and collect a book from the library to read to your father later—but do something, my son. I have not been this agitated for years.”

“Perhaps you feel this way because you are finally admitting to yourself your husband is dying.”

“Anthony, enough!”

Her gaze pierced his soul—the hurt and fear coursing through her seemed to shoot directly to his heart. He had not known until that moment how much his mother’s strength actually sustained him. How much her denial did indeed give him more hope than he could have known otherwise. “You have always known?” he asked on a whisper. “This whole time you have known Father was dying and yet you pretended to me as if you did not see it.”

“Of course I knew,” she hissed. “He is the love of my life—my rock. I have known for some time he is failing.” She waved her hand at him. “Just leave, please. I will be able to speak with you later—just, just go. Please.”

He watched his mother warily for a time, before nodding his head and saying, “I will be in the library if you need me. Please have someone bring news as soon as you can.”

“We will.” His mother smiled bravely as he shut the door behind him.

Anthony made his way to the grand darkened library and collapsed upon the large settee. He settled his slippers right atop the arm of the sofa, knowing full well his mother would scold him if she could see his manners now. He grinned slightly and glanced down at the cold fireplace. The room was dark and had a distinct damp chill to it, but he could not be bothered to ring for a servant to start the fire. Instead, his eyes found the bright moon, shining down upon him through the split of the curtain at the window.

He blinked up at her, just taking in the large bright globe that she was. “You are so beautiful tonight,” he mumbled aloud. “You watch over and protect us all, do you not? How many a sleepless night have you comforted for others such as myself? How many wishes have you captured within your moonbeams?” He chuckled at his own foolishness and then felt the beginning of a sob suddenly launch within his throat. “Can I make a wish upon you now? Will you capture mine and hold it close for me?”

Two great tears welled within his eyes and he quickly dashed them away. Then finding solace in covering his face, Anthony sat up upon the settee and buried his head within his hands. He had so very many wishes to send up—so very many impractical ones. And they all raced through his mind like a cacophony of jumbles and nuisances. After a moment, he cleared his thoughts enough to allow one to stand out singular among all the rest. The wish kept repeating itself over and over within him, until he finally uttered out the words, “I wish—I wish,” he broke as an onslaught of grief overwhelmed him, great sobs racking through his whole body.

He knew, he knew then he could not stop the inevitable.

It was time to let go.

But how? How was he to cope without the best man in the world?

How was he to stand and be all he was destined to become without his great king by his side?

Life was not fair. Life was not free from trials or filth or anything awful.

It would always be there taunting him and forcing him to give up. To collapse under the pressures of an eternal existence of gloom.

He could not live without him.

He had to live without him.

Huge sobs broke free from him—so thankful was he to be all alone in this darkened room, to truly have this moment to let his dear father go.

He sobbed. Oh, how he sobbed.

And when he was done, when he could catch his breath enough to speak, he simply said, “Moon, I wish for the strength to carry on. Let me find it, please. And find it soon.”

After that, His Royal Highness Prince Anthony Jonathan fell to the floor upon his knees, bowed his head into his arms and the cushions of the sofa, and began the Prayer of Watchfulness. The prayer his kingdom had used for centuries to allow their god to know that all will be well and they are finally willing to submit to his watchful eye.

To allow him to provide or release where he sees fit.

Anthony sobbed until his heart broke, and then continued on until stitch by warm stitch he was finally able to breathe, until he was sure his heart was stitched back up enough again to beat upon its own.

And then the handsome prince fell asleep. Sitting crumpled upon the floor, his head buried in his arms resting upon the seat of his father’s favorite sofa.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BY THE TIME ANTHONY was nudged awake by the physician, his father had passed on. He did not quite understand all the words the doctor was saying, but rubbing his face and looking up at the distraught features of his mother told him everything he needed to know. Standing, somewhat stiffly, he walked up to her and held his arms out wide. Instantly, she clutched onto him and he let her weep and mumble incoherent mutterings into his shoulder. She had been up all night. It was nearly ten, and she had fought and prayed valiantly for him to stay with them, but he did not.

He passed sometime in the last few minutes or so. She was not in the room when he went. She had left to fetch a shawl for him—just walked into his dressing room for a few seconds. When she returned, he was gone.

And she was gone as well.

The strong courageous mother he knew was now a shattered shell of herself. Both of his parents—both of the rocks he could lean upon were gone now—it was he, he was the rock.

He was the rock the kingdom would turn to.

It was nearly three once he was finally able to tuck his Mother into bed and make his way into the bright sunshine to Ella.

How he needed her at this moment.

How he needed any distraction at all.

They had decided not to announce his father’s death for another few more hours at least, to give time for the queen to regain some composure and her strength. Hopefully it would be enough to face the masses again.

He rode his horse swiftly to the orchard. Allowing the breeze and gloriousness of the day to remedy his loss. Sliding down from the animal, he looped its tethers upon the closest branch and looked for the girl who was not there.

Heaving a disappointed sigh, he sat down upon the ground and rested his back against the tree. No doubt she had already waited for him as long as she possibly dared and then headed back in the house. He thought about coming up to the door, but decided it was not worth the complications that may arise from such actions. He could not risk being seen by her family.

Instead, he folded his arms and sighed again—surprised at how truly saddened he was she was not there. He needed a distraction. Something to take his mind off his aching heart. Something to allow hope back in—something he could do himself to repair… something. Just something. He needed something. Yet, he did not know what.

“Forgive me for coming so late.”

Anthony turned around and smiled as Ella approached.

“I am glad you did not give up on me and head home,” she said as she sat next to him.

“Hello.” He was about to explain that he had barely arrived when his gaze traced her worn features. Her eyes were swollen, perhaps as much as his were.

“Hello.” She grinned lopsidedly.

Tenderly, he brought his hand up to brush away the wisps of hair that had escaped her bun. “What is wrong, Ella?”

She turned her head and brushed her lips against his palm, kissing it. “Why would you say something is wrong?”

He let out a short chuckle. “Are we to play this game then?”

Her eyes met his and her jaw dropped. “John! What has happened? You look quite fatigued.”

Closing his eyes, he slid his hand around her head to cup her neck. When he opened them, he replied, “I am fatigued. I feel as though I have lived several lifetimes the past twelve hours or so.”

“What happened?”

Kissing her brow, he said, “You first.”

She shook her head. “I cannot tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because I cannot.” She pulled back. “What ails you?”

“Ella, if someone caused those tears, then I would kindly like to know who did, so that I may throttle them.”