Midnight Falls: A Thrilling Retelling of Cinderella (19 page)

“You’ve made your wishes and concerns quite clear, Sergeant,” Thurlow said, still as stolid as he had been since the start. “Now please get to work as I ordered you. Remember, time is of the essence.”

Miles turned and strode angrily back to the tavern to give his libations another go.

“Can you believe it, darling?” Isolda squealed giddily, “you could be the princess of Gwent! It is too much excitement to bear!”

“Mother, please,” Aislinn exhorted, “you are making me feel very anxious. What will you do if Leopold does not favor me?” Aislinn was, like her mother, haughty about her appearance, but she did not exude the same enthusiasm. Isolda was smitten with confidence, Aislinn was nervous in spite of it.

“I don’t worry about that so why should you? Besides, you will have plenty of time to work out your jitters tomorrow night at our party.”

Aislinn grinned when she envisioned the social gathering that was to take place the following night at their estate. She loved any kind of festivity where she would get to don a splendid gown and rub elbows with the noblest of families in all of Gwent. Oftentimes, Aislinn felt it was not even necessary that she inherit the crown by marrying Leopold. She would be quite content with a duke or possibly even a baron. Still, the prospect of another maiden, especially Ella, winning the prince’s heart over Aislinn’s sincerest endeavors was a pang at her pride and she knew settling for mere contentment would not be an option. So she carried on with her extravagant fashion show and held tight to the promise her mother had recited to her every night before bed:
God will give us a kingdom.

“So then we are in agreement,” Aislinn said assuredly. “I will wear the turquoise satin gown with the pearls at the party tomorrow night, and at the ball…”

“I am not yet sure on that, child,” Isolda remarked.

“What do you mean? I thought we decided on silver with sapphires for the ball.”

“Yes, but silver does not mesh with your cat eyes, Sister.”

Bethany’s remark startled both Aislinn and Isolda and both women huffed in annoyance. Bethany laughed and entered the bedroom anyway. Draped over her right arm was the bright yellow dress that she’d fancied from Aislinn’s discarded articles weeks earlier. Her left hand was concealed behind her back.

“Don’t start, Bethany,” Aislinn snarled, “just because I shine in these gowns and your flat-chested, untidy figure can scarce do any of them justice.”

“Enough,” Isolda exclaimed, “from both of you.” She scrutinized Bethany closely, paying careful attention to the yellow gown and the fact that her daughter appeared to be hiding something behind her person. “What do you have there behind your back, child?”

Bethany grinned proudly and revealed her secret. It was a sparkling diamond tiara that she had been holding onto for almost ten years. Isabella had given one to her, Aislinn, and Ella.

“I thought you lost that thing,” Isolda said with little emotion.

“I lost mine, Mother,” Aislinn chimed in. “That or Bethany here stole it.”

“Oh be quiet, Aislinn!” Bethany retorted. “Mother, I wanted you to see for yourself how beautiful this ensemble will be with the tiara as its accessory.” Bethany held the gown up against her body and clumsily set the tiara a top her head.

“See,” she said gleefully. Aislinn and Isolda both stared at the display and remained silent. Bethany was puzzled. Was her eye for fashion so unrefined that even her best efforts to dazzle left the audience too mortified to speak?

“Well? What do you think,” Bethany tried again.

“If that is what you want, darling,” Isolda said after her shaking her head quickly, as though her nose had just been tickled, “then I think your ensemble is just…delightful.”

“It really is sweet,” Aislinn added. Bethany felt a bulge in her throat. She let the dress fall back over her arm and caught the tiara as it slid off her head. Were they mocking her? She expressed gratitude and departed from the chamber as gracefully but rapidly as she could. She felt tears well up behind her eyelids. Had Isabella ever made Ella so insecure that she could never tell sincerity from ridicule? Was that commonplace for mothers and daughters; was Bethany just expecting too much? What would it have been like to have a mother like Ella had? Bethany did not know. She hung the stunning yellow gown in her own wardrobe and tucked her tiara away in her jewelry box. Tears poured down her cheeks.

She would never know.

Gabriel and Seely sped across the landscape until they could see the crest of the Delaquix estate breaching over the treetops. Gabriel pulled back on Seely’s reins and the horse’s hooves grinded to a halt. How could he possibly tell Ella what he’d seen in Kersley? Would it do any good to burden her? Nothing had changed. Not really. Their charade would go on as planned. Thurlow would be brought to justice and his many indiscretions exposed. There would be justice for Benjamin and Gabriel as planned. Everything else…

The Hussars. Gabriel never knew just how far their indiscretions ran. He would not allow new revelations to badger his fortitude nor his equanimity. It would only encumber the efficacy of a brilliant operation; one that only benefited the world, or at least the people of Gwent and now the residents of Kersley. Ella herself stood to gain a great deal in her compliance with Gabriel’s madness. He had to remain focused on the agenda. There was no other alternative.

He kicked at Seely’s side lightly and the horse reared astirly. They would not stop again until they stood at the precipice of destiny.

As planned.

Chapter Fifteen

“I wish that no-good vagrant had never stepped foot in this house,” Frome announced from his place in front of the stove. Marion glanced over to Marguerite and the two women shared an unutterable communiqué. It was of no use to wish that Gabriel had never come into Ella’s life. He had come and Ella would never be the same because of it. Both women knew as surely as they knew they were standing there in that kitchen that morning: Ella was in love with Gabriel.

“I never claimed to like Gabriel,” said Marion from her seat on a wooden stool in the center of the room, “nor did I approve of his mad scheme for even one second. But I am still confident he will be returning. And soon. If poor Louis’ experience has told us anything, it is simply that coming face to face with his brother’s murderer was more than Gabriel could ever have planned for; more than he could bear.”

“How does pummeling poor Louis have anything to do with Thurlow?” Frome implored vehemently.

“It has everything to do with it,” Marguerite answered, from the table bench adjacent to Marion. “Ella said Gabriel was inconsolable that night. He was edgy and irritable and primed to pounce like a jungle cat. He did not want to attack my sweet Louis. He simply could not see anyone else standing there in that moment but Thurlow. And I agree with you, Marion.”

“About what?” Marion asked.

“He will be coming back. Of that I am sure.”

“Even if everything you are saying is true, Marguerite,” Frome contended, “how does such a volatile man benefit Ella or any of us by residing in this home and carrying out this ridiculous farce? Gabriel is violent and unpredictable. We have established that. How do we know he won’t next target Ella for his aggression?”

“He won’t hurt Ella. Not ever,” Marguerite stated, looking down at her thumb and index finger manipulating a loose thread from her garment. “I don’t fear for her at all. At least in that respect.”

“How do you know?” Frome asked, his rage desisting ever so slightly.

Once again, Marion and Marguerite shared a look that spoke volumes.

“Because all I want to do is stop the man that
will
hurt her.” Gabriel’s towering presence echoed like a drum to his startling declaration. He stood in the entryway of the kitchen from the back courtyard. The sun carved out his tall figure and shone like a spotlight against his tousled hair and intense eyes. Frome, a proud man his whole life, felt timid in Gabriel’s presence but stood his ground in front of the “no-good vagrant”.

“What are you doing back here?” the old man demanded.

Marion stood and pulled Frome back by his shoulders. “Frome, stop please. Gabriel come in here and eat something already, will you?”

“I’m not fixing him anything to eat!” Frome blurted. Marion rolled her eyes, though she made sure Frome did not see it.

“I will, then,” Marion replied. “Just go outside and take a walk.”

“Don’t order me around, woman,” Frome snapped. “I don’t feel much like walking.”

“Then sit down! In another room! Anywhere else. Just go. Please, Frome.” Marion begged. She wanted to be so careful that Frome did not feel his concern for Ella was being hurled back in his face. She also could not risk being too kind. Marion and Frome had a system of rudeness and contempt as surefooted as the coliseums of Rome. It was and always would be the lifeblood of their… relationship.

Gabriel was motionless as Frome took a deep breath and exited the kitchen by way of the dining room.

“Well, come in here,” Marion commanded Gabriel with an air of malevolence. She shuffled dishes from the counter and retrieved a pot to boil eggs. “You look as though you have not eaten or slept in two days.”

“I haven’t,” Gabriel replied, stepping forward.

“Well, whose fault is that?!” Marguerite snapped.

“My own,” he said coolly. It infuriated Marguerite that she could not get any kind of emotion from the same man who’d almost beat her lover to death.

“How is….?” Gabriel paused when he could not recall the name.

“Louis? You mean how is the man that you beat to a pulp? Well he is doing just fine, no thanks to you.”

“I’m sorry, Marguerite.”

“Yes, yes. I know that,” she replied. “Gabriel, a little temper and hot blood never hurt a man; you just need a woman to temper it. Either find that or find yourself a cage.”

Gabriel was shocked. Marguerite fought to keep from grinning in gratification. She felt much better.

“Where were you?” Marion inquired as she placed several eggs gently in the pot. “We didn’t know if you had left for good.”

“It was wrong of me to worry you like that,” Gabriel said, refusing to take a seat. “I hadn’t planned it. I just was overcome with fury and guilt for what I did to your—er—friend, Marguerite. I thought he was one of Thurlow’s spies. Two of Thurlow’s men had followed us home from the Delancelle estate. When I saw someone I did not recognize in the shadows, I reacted hostilely. In the darkness of the night I thought it was Thurlow I was striking. It is no excuse. It was utterly unforgivable.”

“Quite right,” Marguerite declared. For several moments, no one muttered a word. Gabriel could not postpone his angst any longer.

“Where is Ella?” he appealed. “Is she all right?”

Marguerite was about to answer, but Marion beat her to it.

“She is upstairs contemplating whether she wants to attend a gala tonight at Isolda’s home. It is an unofficial prelude to the royal ball on Saturday eve to celebrate Prince Leopold’s return from his military deployment.”

“I must go see her,” said Gabriel. “Right now. I have to explain myself to her.”

“Just wait right there,” Marion ordered, “I will tell her you are here and she will come and meet you. For now, sit here and wait for these eggs to cook and then eat them.”