Cinderella (Faerie Tale Collection) (7 page)

“Of course. So are you—which is precisely the main reason why I prefer not to tell you who she is.”

“Because of her family?”

“Just so.”

She threw her hands in the air and then folded them, her small foot tapping upon the ground. “Anthony, if you are delving into some family you know I would not approve of, I suggest you stop this at once.”

He stood up as the footman pushed in the tea cart. “But I cannot, Mother.”

“Why?”

Walking over to her, he placed a kiss on her cheek. “Because what if I
am
in love? I could not simply abandon the love of my life now, could I?”

“You are insubordinately impertinent.”

He grinned down at her and waggled his brows. “I know.”

“Anthony?”

“Yes?” he asked as he swiped a tart off the silver platter and plopped it in his mouth.

She watched him chew for a few seconds and then said simply, “You will always have my blessing if you truly love her.”

“I know,” he said, as he pilfered another tart and took a bite.

“But, Anthony?”

“Hmm?”

“Be careful with her heart, please. If you do not love her, do not continue this madness where you meet with her. You are quite charming, and could make any woman fall in love with you. Do not use this gift to accidentally harm someone whose heart is already fragile. If you believe she is being treated as a servant—”

“I know, Mother.” He quickly placed another kiss upon her cheek and stole a few more tarts at the same time. “I promise not to break her heart.”

“Good.” She turned to collect her plate and gasped at the mayhem he had caused with the tray. “Be gone you! Go meet your secret girl. If you are not staying for tea, then kindly stay out of my refreshments.”

He grinned and went to grab another, his other hand full, but she smacked his knuckles and shooed him. “Go, get. We will speak of this more tonight.”

Anthony laughed as he turned to go and lightly jogged out of the room. “I love you,” he called behind him.

His mother’s voice followed him as it echoed down the hall. “You’d better, you ungrateful wretch!”

He laughed harder.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ELLA WASHED HER FACE with water that was brought to her room and poured into the chipped basin on her dresser. It was nearly two o’clock and her chores were finally complete. Patting her face dry with the ragged cloth that hung upon a nail on her wall, she looked around her room. How she wished she had something prettier to wear. Something that would allow John to see her a bit differently. It was quite silly, she knew, to be forever thinking of the man. His presence meant nothing different in her life, except perhaps a small change, an excitement that was not there before.

She hung the cloth back on the nail and took the pins from her hair. He was the means of the impossible. He was causing her to have hopes and dreams she did not need. Dreams that were even now beginning to clutter up her mind.

Taking her old comb, she began to smooth out her long hair. If only she could escape this house. If only she could one day meet a man who would love her and take her away from here. He need not be like John—so very tall and handsome and a part of the court. He could very well be a nice farmer who was hoping to start his own farm somewhere. Someone who was used to working the land—someone who perhaps would not mind so very much to own a horse or two.

Ella’s hands paused in her combing. Every now and then a very impractical thing happened to her when she was alone in her room and not forever busy with chores, or errands, or the stresses of life. When all was quiet, there were some times when a great sadness would come over her. It would almost debilitate and hamper the goodness that swelled within her heart. When those times were coming, she would try so very hard to focus on the gladness that was in her life. The joy she felt when another of the maids would get married, or have a child. Or when she was able to help cure an old man’s rheumatism before Lady Dashlund knew he was having difficulties working. When she was able to use her gift of sewing and piece together several scraps of leftover fabric to form a beautiful blanket or tablecloth or centerpiece for someone’s birthday or their accomplishments. She tried so desperately to focus on all that was good, all that she was capable of creating for good. And keep the melancholy at bay.

Though, some days, the sadness would come anyway. And those were the days she would need to lie upon her bed and focus and bring back cheerful times—to relive those days when all was bright and clear and happy. It was an old game that worked quite well at keeping darkness away. To constantly remind oneself of the good.

But today, today with John coming soon, it had a different impact upon her. She could no longer focus on the good and glorious things happening now, nor could she focus on the past, for the first time ever, she wanted to focus upon a future. A change. A difference in her life. John was allowing her to see and think and breathe past just living—he was teaching her to hope again. To believe that altering her circumstance was possible.

But with that hope and need for change came the hardest part of all—the realization that now was
not
content; that she truthfully needed to leave this life behind and step forward. This was not the life the daughter of Lord Dashlund should be living. She should be free, not a prisoner forced to work for those who would not care for her.

She began to comb out her hair very slowly again.

If she still had Sunshine, would she be here now?

Or would she have run far away from here?

Urgh. This is was utter idiocy. It was madness to continue to imagine a difference in her life. No. She brushed more vigorously until all the tangles were out. It was much better to focus on the present. To see the joy now. To just learn how to live once again in the midst of melancholy.

Ella wrapped her long hair around her hand and began to twist it up high upon her head as she looked out the window to the pretty garden below. The world was certainly a better place amongst all those flowers. She reached over to her dresser and began to slip the pins back into her smooth bun and glanced to the left, past the rooftops of the outbuildings to the tips of the blooming apple orchard she could make out behind them.

There was happiness.

Waiting within those trees was a happiness she had not known in years. Someone who remembered her from before. Someone who saw her as a person, not a servant or someone to be ordered about. She smiled and giggled a bit. Would he really teach her new dance steps today? Would he truly come as he said he would?

What if he did not come?

Just then, she saw the flicker of a horse coming down the lane to the right of the property. Her heart began to thud. Was it foolish to become this excited to see someone? She twirled around and rummaged quickly through the couple of frocks she had hanging in her closet. Whisking off the simple apron and dark grey dress she was wearing, she slipped on a plain blue one. Its long sleeves and high neck had no ruffle or adornment at all, but it tucked in nicely at the waist and it was a bit brighter and more colorful than the other. She quickly laced up the nicer boots and found an old piece of wide pink ribbon to tie about her middle, allowing the ends of the bow to fall behind.

She did not have a looking glass in her room, but she hoped she at least looked more presentable than before. Another rummage through the closet brought her up empty of anything else. She only owned two grey dresses and the blue. As well as the pink ribbon, two sets of old boots, and a shawl on colder days. What she owned the most of was a never-ending collection of aprons to protect the few dresses she had. Quickly, she hung the grey dress up on a peg in the back of the closet and tucked the old boots inside too. Once everything was neat, she began to shut the door. But then saw something glint within the cracks of the wooden floor.

What is that?

Stooping down, she poked and prodded and pried free an old brass key. She gasped. Holding it within her palm, her mind searched through countless memories trying to place the thing. Where had she seen it before? It looked so familiar. But what was it doing up in the attic rooms? It was almost as if it were meant to be something very important. But she could not remember what.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door.

She jumped.

“Ella? Ella, are you in there?” asked her stepmother.

Frantically, Ella looked around for a place to hide the key. “Yes,” she replied as she slipped it into her boot.

Lady Dashlund opened the door just as Ella stood up. Her stepmother’s gaze went from the top of her smooth bun all the way down to her boots. “And where do you believe you are heading to dressed in such a fashion?”

Ella gulped.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“WELL, ANSWER ME, GIRL!” Lady Dashlund stepped into the room.

Ella moved a pace or two back. “I was just trying this gown on, searching for different options.”

“For?”

“I—uh…” Her hands began to shake. What could she say? Her mind went blank.

“Well, speak up! You were trying on a gown instead of doing your chores because...?”

“Oh, my chores are done! I finished them a quarter of an hour ago.”

“Ella, if you are complete so early in the day, perhaps I need to give you more ways to keep you occupied from wasting time in your room.” She took another step forward. “Why are you dressed like you are? And why are you hiding it from me?”

“I—I was hoping I could go to the ball,” she blurt out.

“You?” Lady Dashlund gave out a sharp bark of laughter. “
You
were hoping to go to the ball? You, who have never been presented at court, hoped to attend one of the most elite galas of the year? Incredulous!” She threw her arm out. “And what were you wanting to wear? This?”

“I—uh, well, I do not have anything else.”

“No, no, you do not.” She chuckled and put her hand on her hip. “And why do you believe you would be wanted at such an assembly?”

“I do not believe I would be wanted necessarily. I was just wishing to go. Perhaps stay in the background and watch.”

“Oh, Eleanoria, do you have any idea how pathetic you sound? Any at all?”

Ella looked away.

“Of course you do not.” Lady Dashlund then surprised Ella by saying, “What is that?”

She followed her stepmother’s gaze to the ball invite setting upon her dresser. “I—oh.” She wanted to lie, but knew it would be futile. “It is an invitation to the ball.”

“A
what
?” She stormed up to the dresser and grabbed the missive. Reading it over, she gasped and waved it about. “How did you come by such a thing? How? Who sent this to you?”

“The queen.”

“Yes, I see that. You are specifically invited and mentioned here. But why would she do such a thing? How does she know of you?”

Ella’s knees began to quiver. She knew she must protect John at all costs. “I do not know. I received it from a castle servant the other day.”

Her stepmother whirled around, her skirts whipping about her legs. “Why would the queen request your presence, of all people, in a specific inquiry for you to attend? It makes no sense. Though you will have to attend.”

Ella’s heart stopped. “I will?”

“Of course you will!” She spun back around and then gasped. “And you must wear one of your stepsisters’ dresses. That one simply will not do.”

“I must?”

“Yes! Do you think the queen would want the daughter of Alan Woodston to be dressed as a servant at the ball? Yes. I must, to save face, allow you to wear something decent. Though, heaven knows you will more than likely ruin the thing with your hideous manners.”

“Oh, Stepmother! Thank you!” Ella rushed forward to hug her and then awkwardly halted, clasping her hands in front of herself instead.

Lady Dashlund sneered. “Do not become too eager in your thanks. You will first pay for the right to attend such an event and wear such costly apparel. And you will be forced to attend etiquette lessons as well.” She sighed. “Such an inconvenience, but I suppose it is well I saw this invitation, for who knows what would become of us all if I had not.”

“Would something have happened if I did not attend?” Ella had not thought of this.

“Eleanoria, if the queen has specifically invited you to attend, you go. And until we understand her reasons for having your presence there, one must not assume anything but that she as commanded, albeit nicely, your attendance.” She tapped her finger upon her mouth. “Though, someone has brought your name forward. Someone has made her remember Lord Dashlund’s daughter—there is something amiss here. And when I find that culprit, the one who is clearly wreaking havoc with us all, when I find what lark they are playing at, they will pay.”

Ella remained silent, not even daring to breathe out loud. Clearly her stepmother did not apprehend she was speaking of such things openly.

After a few more moments of mutterings in the same vein, Lady Dashlund blinked and glanced over at Ella. She motioned with her hand to leave the room. “Go. Go get something to eat. I came up here to speak with you and invite you to partake of something.”

“Thank you.” Ella curtsied and brought her hand to the door. “Do you need anything?”

“I need you to be gone so that I may think!” roared Lady Dashlund as she sat down upon the bed. “Now, go, before I change my mind.”

“Yes, milady.”

***

ANTHONY PACED IN THE apple orchard as he absentmindedly tapped a fallen branch against his leg. He was fairly certain his mother knew who he had come to meet. If she had not figured it out yet, she would shortly. It would take a simpleton to place Eleanoria Woodston’s invitation procured by him as the possible girl he was visiting. Though he did include a few other names so as not to seem too evident, but she had already invited them and so had only filled out one more invite—Ella’s. She had to have known. She had to.

He stopped and flicked the branch against the trunk of the tree nearest him. Would his mother really accept her if he loved her? Would his father? There was no reason for them not to. Granted, she was not a princess from another kingdom to secure loyalties, but she certainly came from one of the wealthiest families in the land. However, it was not likely she would be bringing any monies with her to the marriage. Especially if Lady Dashlund had already sold her horse, then there probably was little or no value at all placed upon the girl. Her stepsisters, on the other hand—he shuddered—probably had very handsome dowries.