Cinderella (Faerie Tale Collection) (3 page)

Her features clouded in pain. “No.”

“No?” He was stunned. “What do mean? Who rides her then?”

“I do not know. I had to sell her shortly after the funeral.”

John paused before saying slowly, “You had to sell the horse your father gave you—the horse no one could beat you on, not even me? The horse you were made to ride. She is gone?”

“Yes. But, I am well with it. I mean, I am sure it would have brought on too many memories of my father to ride her as I used to.”

“Or helped you heal from those memories quicker.”

She took in a shaky breath. “Yes, well—”

“Ella?”

“Yes?”

His eyes were so gentle. “I am sorry.”

She brought her lips together and sniffed. “’Tis nothing, really.”

“No. It is something. It is something indeed to lose your father and your best friend at the same time. And I am sorry.”

Folding her arms, she looked down and blinked a few wayward tears. How did he know? How did someone from so long ago, truly remember her—but not only remember her, how did he know what no one else did? That she was suffering. That she
had
suffered? How did this man reach through every tight barrier she had and shake her to her core. No one had been able to before. No one had ever cared. “Thank you,” she replied quietly.

His boots came into view and then she felt his strong arms wrap all the way around her. Ella gave in for just a few moments and allowed her head to settle upon his chest. For just that little instant, she soaked in his calming heartbeat and allowed the world to drift around her.

He rubbed his chin on top of her messy bun. “Ella Woodston, I know you do not like dancing, but will you go to the ball with me? We do not have to dance. We can sit quietly and watch others, or wander the gardens and talk—catch up and enjoy the moonlight. Will you, my old rival, will you allow me to accompany you?”

“I have not been personally invited,” she mumbled into his superfine coat.

“I have just done so. Would you like your own invitation then? Would it make it easier to accept your very own, instead of one addressed to the whole family? Would you feel obligated to come then? I could certainly arrange it.”

She fiddled with lapel of his jacket. “You must be very well acquainted with court to have that type of leverage over the royal family.”

He chuckled softly, his chest rumbling and moving slightly as he did so. “You have no idea.”

“Yes,” she whispered, surprising herself.

“Yes?”

“Yes, I will come. Only if you promise I do not have to dance.”

CHAPTER FOUR

ELLA WAS GOING TO be ill. Why in heaven’s name did she agree to go to that ball? How would she get there? What in the world would she wear? And how would she be able to convince her stepmother to allow her to go—assuming she was able to find her own way to the castle, as there was only room in the carriage for the three of them in their finery,
and
if she could find a dress for herself. It was a hopeless mess and the sort of stress she certainly did not need at this time. All ready, the chore list had nearly doubled in their excitement to have everything just so.

“Ella!” Jillian shouted from down the corridor. “Ella! I have just found the perfect lace for my gown. Come this instant and tell me what you think.”

Ella sighed. Honestly? She could not have me come to her later, it must be this second? She dropped her dusting cloth and stood up from the baseboard she was cleaning in the hall and made her way to Jillian’s ornate green room. Everything was done in a series of greens and golds with an elegant hand. The finest of fabrics and furniture gloriously bedecked the room that had cost her father a small fortune to create for his stepdaughter. When he remarried, he wanted the girls to feel at home and so allowed them each to create their own lavish rooms, in whatever style and color they preferred. As he reminded Ella, it would be the room they spent the most time in and must be the most comfortable and perfect for them as possible, so that they could feel like they belonged.

He offered to redo Ella’s room as well, but she refused to have the decorations her mother had chosen removed. It was done in the colors of soft blues and yellows just for her when she was a small girl, and Ella could not bear the thought of changing a thing. Some of the pictures and paintings within that room were her most treasured possessions.

Though she was not allowed in it at all anymore, the room still remained the same. And on days when things were not too busy, or had become too difficult to abide, Ella would slip into her old bedroom and stay in there, allowing it to wash away all the hurt and awfulness until she was calm again and could face her new life once more.

She passed the door that had once been hers and stepped into the bedroom next to it. “Yes, Jillian? Did you need me?”

Her stepsister spun around from her mother’s old standing looking glass. She had on her finest gown. “What do you think?” she asked as she moved forward with the delicate lace peeking out from the bodice. “Do you think it will do?”

The bits of white contrasted beautifully with the light mint colored silk. “It looks very nice and adds the perfect touch to set off the fabric.”

“Does it not? It is simply wonderful!” She skipped over to the tall jewelry armoire and pulled out a drawer. “Now, what do you think of these pearls?” she asked as she placed them around her neck. Does it not look the perfect thing?”

Ella’s heart went cold. “Jillian, those are mine. They were my mother’s pearls she had inherited from her mother.”

“No. Are you sure?” Jillian slipped them back off and studied the exquisite two-strand design. “I am sure these are the ones Mother bought me for my presentation at court.” She turned them from side to side. “Look at the clasp.” She pointed to it. “These are not antique, they are fairly new.”

Ella took a deep breath and walked toward the necklace. She touched the small gold filigreed clasp. There was a dainty rose carved in the center, the same rose that had been there for years. “I am afraid not. These are most certainly mine. Do you see this flower in the center? It was especially commissioned for my grandmother. Her name was Rose.”

“Mother!” Jillian unexpectedly shouted.

Ella jumped and stepped away. “What have I done?”

Jillian refused to look at her. “Mother!”

Lady Dashlund was quick to enter the room, her breath coming out in great pants. “What—what is it dear? Has something happened?” she asked as her hand reached out to steady herself upon the bedpost.

“Yes!”

Ella shook her head and began to walk backwards toward the door. How did these things always occur to her? Why could she not remember that she had no say in this house? She could be such a fool sometimes.

Jillian pointed to Ella and held the necklace out for her mother to see. “Do you see this?
Cinder
-Ella—”

Ella winced as she used the horrid nickname.

“—was trying to steal my pearls!”

“No.” Ella shook her head more and brought her hands out to try and defuse the situation. “No, I was not. I was simply stating—”

“You filthy liar!” Jillian hissed. “Mother, she is telling as many falsehoods as she can to gain all the control within this house. It is ridiculous.”

“No, Lady Dashlund, I promise—”

“Silence!” her stepmother bellowed, her nostrils flaring. She took a calming breath to ease the quaking within her. “Now, Jillian, my dear, tell me what happened. Start from the beginning so that I may ascertain the punishment required for this. Tell me everything.”

Jillian’s bottom lip began to shake and Ella willed herself not to roll her eyes at the dramatics offered upon display by her spoiled stepsister.

“I was showing Ella my gown and the pretty lace we had acquired to go with it and she was admiring it and approving. So, I decided to be nice and continue to talk to her and treat her as I should—you know how you are always saying we should tolerate those below us to demonstrate that we are true ladies. Well, that is what I determined to do. So I went to my jewelry case and pulled out these beautiful pearls, the ones you gave me for my presentation at court. And then Cinder-Ella—” she pointed right at her, “declared them to be her pearls.
Hers
! Saying they had been commissioned for her grandmother named Rose. And I know they were not! I know it! They are mine! And she would have taken them. I know she would have with her convincing lies. But I would not fall prey to such madness—I called you immediately so that you may see for yourself how your stepdaughter has chosen to disgrace us again.”

Lady Dashlund’s impatient gaze met Ella’s. “Is this true?” she asked coldly.

“I, uh—not exactly.”

“Would you like to have a moment to speak for yourself, where you convince me of your innocence, or would you prefer to leave things as they are and allow me to punish you now?”

Ella knew from past experiences to continue talking and defending herself would indeed secure a much harsher punishment than if she allowed the one testimony to stand on its own. She knew she should keep her mouth shut, she knew it, but this time—this time she could not. She had to speak up. “Forgive me, milady, but I believe Jillian misunderstood. It did happen as she said it did, but I was only pointing out the necklace was mine—given to me from my mother, commissioned for my grandmother—and I was showing her the proof. I would not have taken it. I promise, I would not have. I was only telling her it was mine; that I believed it was mine. But, perhaps I was mistaken.”

She should not have said that last part. Never, ever should those words have left her mouth. Her stepmother’s eyes snapped to hers—the fire building within their depths proved to Eleanoria just how foolish she had been. Lady Dashlund’s voice was eerily calm as she hissed, “Go to your room upstairs, I will be there shortly to deal with you. My daughter does not need to witness this.”

“Yes, milady.” Ella curtsied quickly and dashed from the room. Her feet pattering down the long corridor and up the narrow servants’ stairs as she did so. Three stories later and she burst into her little attic room. To be fair, it was the nicest of the servants’ quarters—the largest, at least. But it was merely only a fraction of what her room had been.

She walked to the small bed and sat down upon it. Her heart pounding as she processed what was coming. Lady Dashlund was never consistent in her tempers or punishments, and Ella wrung her hands as she dreaded what was to become of her. Her eyes settled upon the small white three-drawer dresser and oil lamp that was sitting on it. It had been her old nurse’s dresser when she was a girl and one of the few pieces of furniture she was allowed. Anxious, she arose and took the few steps to the window. Pulling back the muslin curtains, she peered down below to her mother’s garden. It had been her favorite place to go when she was a girl—always pretending to be with her mother, holding her hand, speaking with her, laughing with her.

Ella closed her eyes and wished as she used to do. She wished to feel her mother’s warm embrace. Some days when it was particularly calm, she could almost feel her there as if she did truly exist and was watching over her as Father had always said she was.

Today, though, she did not feel comfort or calm; today she felt no happiness at all. There was nothing but stress and concern for her fate. She pulled away from the window and bent down to straighten the small, tied rug at her feet. As she was standing back up again, she heard the knock and her stepmother’s voice.

CHAPTER FIVE

ELLA TOOK A DEEP breath and then said, “Come in.” She quickly sat on the bed and pushed her jittery hands under her legs as her stepmother walked in the room.

Lady Dashlund looked around the small place, but did not enter all the way. She closed the door and stood by it. Her dark brown eyes bore into Ella’s for several moments—it felt like hours. Ella did not dare say a word.

Finally, she broke contact and said quietly, “What will become of you? What will you amount to? I am extremely afraid for you, Eleanoria. You are not fit to be seen in public, you cannot control yourself, you are rude, and brash, and assume way too much for one of your station. You clearly do not have the manners of a field cat and yet—yet, I still must house you within my home. I still must treat you with courtesy, because of your father. And yet, how do you repay me? How do you rectify all the bad you have put me through and all the amount of times you wear on my patience? By continuing in this manner. No matter how many chores I give you, no matter what punishment it is, you must continually seek ways to ruin those who have cared for you.” She put one hand on her hip, her voice still low and quiet.

“There is one simple thing you need to understand now. Just one. Are you listening, child?” She leaned toward her and hissed, “You. Own. Nothing. In. This. House.” She stood back up. “Nothing. All of it is mine. I married your father. He left all of his possessions to me. You, unfortunately, were one of those possessions I could not part with. However, the things I felt would get too much in your way and make you continue to believe you were better than my daughters, I did do away with. You do not need your own horse. You did not need the largest room in the house. You did not need your fine dresses and shoes. You did not need your paints and silly collections.”

Lady Dashlund walked up to her and put her hand upon Ella’s head. Ella refused to meet her glare, instead she kept her eyes focused on the patchwork bedding under her as her stepmother leaned over and whispered, “You most certainly did not need your grandmother’s pearls.”

Ella gasped, her whole body going rigid.

“And if you are not careful, I will remind myself how you do not even need this bedroom and you can sleep near the fireplace and ashes in the kitchen and be truly a Cinderella instead.” Lady Dashlund suddenly whipped her hand back and slapped Ella’s cheek, the sound echoing around the room like a great sharp bell gong. “If you ever disagree with one of my daughters again, you will lose everything. Do you understand me?” she whispered.