Midnight Falls: A Thrilling Retelling of Cinderella (20 page)

Ella hardly left her room more than thrice in two days. In the beginning, she tried to carry on like she was relieved to have Gabriel gone. But her façade was short lived. How had this happened to her? How could she have been so featherbrained as to permit Gabriel Solange to enter her world? It may have been a stale, uninspired world, but it was predictable and free from … whatever plague he’d had set upon her. Ella tried to convince herself that it was an innocent mistake to get swept up in the momentum of his story. It had promised excitement and intrigue and what girl wouldn’t want to escape the boredom of ordinary life for a spell? An innocent mistake. But it had been no such thing and Ella could no longer deny that. From the moment he’d taken her body in his arms, she had compromised her integrity and her wherewithal to linger there in his embrace, whether by his arms or by his enterprise. She could have screamed that first night when he ambushed her. She should have shrieked and carried on until he fled back into the dark abyss from whence he’d come. That would have been the end of it. But she stayed in his arms; she’d never left. Not even then was she free. And that was not a mistake but indulgence. There was nothing innocent about desire. By its very nature, desire was the personification of innocence lost. She had never felt longing until she met Gabriel. And now his enticing power over her was enough to afflict her every thought and consign her to the hell set apart not for sinners, but for fools.

Marion knocked twice before venturing into Ella’s seclusion. She’d done it over a dozen times in the last two days to bring Ella food, help her prepare for sleep, or just to check in on her. This time, Marion was a little trepid. How would she tell Ella the news that Gabriel had returned?

“Hello, love,” Marion said to Ella, who sat perched on the interior window ledge, “It looks like Marguerite and I win the bet. You know why? Because—“

“Because Uncle Peter has returned,” Ella interrupted without looking away from the window. “I know, Marion. I saw him ride up several minutes ago.”

“Oh,” Marion said. “Well, he wants to speak with you; I suppose to explain himself. Do you want me to send him up?”

Ella did not promptly respond but continued gazing out the window. “No,” she said, turning toward Marion at last and trying not to appear too bent in melancholy, “that won’t be necessary. Please tell Gabriel to get cleaned up and to meet me down in the foyer tonight so that we may attend Isolda’s dinner party on time and in style. Thank you, Marion.”

When was she going to say something?

Gabriel could not help but feel a sense of déjà vu as he sat across from Ella, who only gazed out the carriage window as Gwent’s streets rolled by. Ella wondered if perhaps the coach where she and Gabriel sat was completely still and the outside world was what was moving.

“Ella,” Gabriel said, “if you don’t want to say anything to me, so be it. Just listen. I apologize for not telling you where I was going the other night. I had to go and I don’t regret doing it, but I should have let you or Marion know that I would be returning shortly. I am sorry.”

“Very well,” Ella replied curtly, still lost in the quandary of whether it was she who was unmoving or the rest of the world. “I’ve listened. You are sorry. Let us just get this evening over with.”

“That is all you have to say?”

“What else do you want me to say, Gabriel? Oh sorry,
Peter
.” Ella said, severing her hypnotic view of the outside and looking back at him fiercely. “You are sorry for leaving me guessing. I get it. I forgive you. Trust me, there are worse crimes that have been committed than not leaving a note or something else equally trite when you go on a vacation.”

“Stop behaving like a spoiled child, Ella. Either except my apology or don’t. But stop acting as though I have imprisoned you in some perpetual limbo where you don’t know if you can trust me or not.”

“
Can
I trust you?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions. You know that you can. You knew damn well these last two days that I would return. God forbid, I step away from this insanity just long enough to prevent me from almost beating yet another innocent man to death.”

“I knew you were returning? Who do you think I am? Your soul mate? The person that can read your mind and your erratic intentions? I am none of those things, Gabriel. But even if I were, why do you think I would have defaulted to your need to escape ‘this insanity’ as the reason for your disappearance, when you and I both know that there is a dangerous murderer out there who already killed your brother and may or may not know who you really are?!”

Gabriel was blindsided. How had he missed something so blaringly obvious?

“Gabriel,” Ella went on, “it was not a matter of fearing whether or not you would return. It was being afraid that you were dead.”

His heart dropped into his stomach.

“Ella, I…I…”

“Don’t. You’re alive and you’re here and now we get to go back to work. Remember, we are simply playing parts. Like you told me earlier: everything is predicated upon my talents as an actress.”

Gabriel could hardly utter a sound. She’d defeated him, finally. Ella had been able to thwart his sure-sightedness, his hubris. And she had done it all by exposing the most fragile and vulnerable elements of her own heart. She was twice the person he could ever be.

The carriage bucked and they came to a slow stop.

“Look, we’re here,” Ella proclaimed with overzealous glee. “This should be fun!”

Chapter Sixteen

The Duchess of Timmelin was the guest of honor at Isolda’s banquet. It had been nothing short of a miracle that Isolda had been able to persuade the woman to attend the event, but the promise of thrilling insight and delicious gossip regarding who would and would not be attending the ball two nights later was more than the duchess could resist. Isolda had secured more than a cohort in tittle-tattle however, for the Duchess of Timmelin was one of Queen Arabella’s closest confidants. She was many years older than Arabella and, in her widowhood, ignorant of any other way to spend her time and money than blathering about the hierarchy of Gwent’s society (and mocking clandestinely or even outright when those who wanted her approval so desperately fell over themselves to get it). Isolda coveted the duchess’s position more than she did anyone else’s, even the Queen. For the queen was still desperate to prove herself and do everything right. The Duchess of Timmelin was retired from such titular ambitions.

Isolda spent the beginning of the party waiting her very own guest of honor. Peter and Ella had arrived promptly and even for two people who had never appeared that interested in one another, a discernible coldness exuded from the space between them. Isolda took a moment to infer quietly what might have brought about the frigidity but gave up when it bore no significance to her intentions that evening. Ella smiled and greeted each guest who approached her. For almost an hour, she maintained that quiescent grin across her face. Isolda was certain her niece abhorred every second of it.

Ella looked quite dazzling in her mauve gown and silver jewelry, her thick curly hair pulled up behind her ears. Isolda would always assert that Aislinn was more stunning than her cousin, but that did not mean she was blind to Ella’s charms. One was always wise to know their enemy, and Isolda knew her niece all too well.

“I believe ridding Gwent of such undesirables is more than beneficial to this kingdom and should have been done long ago.”

The Duchess’s dictum was well underway as Isolda circumvented her other guests and placed herself at the noblewoman’s side. A small crowd of about six or seven guests was gathered around the silver-haired fashionista that was the Duchess of Timmelin, and those who were not completely engrossed in the elocution of her political viewpoint were feigning it marvelously.

“I know we live in an egalitarian time and believe me, I am all for progress,” the duchess went on, “but the depletion of our resources and the brazen contempt for our laws and traditions is an indication of criminality. It is that plain. The people of Kersley would do better in a cloistered community outside of Gwent. This land is simply growing too rapidly to accommodate two such opposing cultures.”

A unilateral susurration of acceptance rose from the crowd. Isolda was all too willing to second the affirmation. She noticed that Ella was not far from the group, immersed in conversation with another female guest. Isolda wondered if her niece had heard any of the Duchess’s soliloquy. Then she got an idea.

“Your ladyship,” Isolda said to the duchess, “I must introduce you to my niece, Ella Delaquix. I believe you already met her uncle, Peter, the Duke of Ebersol.” Isolda spoke stridently enough that Ella heard the invitation clearly. It was all she could do not to drop her head and sigh in dread.

“Oh yes,” the duchess said jovially, “I do remember. What an agreeable man. And you are his niece?” She directed her question to Ella who had slowly, painfully made her way to her aunt’s side.

“Yes, I am,” Ella replied, sweetly.

“How delightful.”

“Ella,” Isolda remarked, “weren’t you telling me that some time ago, you had a run-in with the Gypsies and they stole some items of yours?”

Ella’s fingertips twitched and her heart nearly stopped. She was speechless. The most she could do in that second was gape at her aunt in rage and stupor.

Why are you doing this to me, Isolda
? Ella thought, almost out loud.

She wondered if Isolda could read her thoughts. Ella felt an infinitesimal sense of relief that such a thing was impossible. For if her aunt could comprehend Ella’s anguished desperation, it would only have made Isolda’s temperament all the merrier.

“It is true,” Ella said, trying not to stutter. “But it was a very long time ago. So I am afraid I can offer little on this subject.”

“Nonsense,” Isolda said, “you are being modest. This is a subject quite dear to your heart, is it not?”

Damn her
!

Ella had always resisted the notion that her aunt was sheer wickedness. Why had she bothered?

“Oh, Auntie Isolda,” Ella said, suddenly chipper and possessed with a will to come out of that Godforsaken party alive, “you must have me confused with someone else. You were just teasing me earlier this week of how indifferent I am to social and political topics. You mustn’t try to hype me up to the duchess. I simply do not deserve it.”

Isolda grinned but her eyes were scathing.

“Well, that may be true,” the duchess chimed in, “but it is important to be fully engaged in the matters that affect you every day and will eventually affect the lives of your children.”

Ella felt the dread returning.

“Tell me,” the duchess went on, “what do you say to those who contend that Kersley should not be annexed back into Gwent and its citizens either evicted or given one more chance to work for a living and abide by the laws of the land?”

Ella hardly had a second to panic when she saw Gabriel materialize behind two gentlemen just feet away. Much to Ella’s dismay, several more guests had tuned into the dialogue and now countless eyes were fixed upon her, waiting to see her truest colors. And a better trial to expose such trueness did not exist. For even though numerous people in the crowd knew Ella’s sincere opinion regarding the unlawful, inhuman treatment of her friends in Kersley, they each stood spellbound to know just how deep Ella’s own alliances and ambitions ran. Especially Gabriel.

Ella looked at the man posing as her uncle and saw a face she could not discern. Of course he wanted her to lie; he needed her to lie. But did she detect something in his eyes reminiscent to sadness, even sympathy? Did it pain him to see her in such a predicament? Ella did not know. But it made little difference either way; she’d already consigned her own sympathies to Gabriel and there was still enough integrity left within her soul to yield a deceit greater than she’d ever feared herself capable of.

“You are so very right, your ladyship,” declared Ella. “It is easy for no one, least of all I, to declare one person of less value than another. But while we would be humanists, we must also be realists. Kersley and those that dwell within it remain a stain on this great kingdom and whatever methods our honorable King William employs to preserve the sanctity of this land and its righteous, God-fearing citizens, he has my unwavering support.”

It was done. She’d sold her soul and her only hope for redemption was if the devil had no use for feebleness and tossed her back out. Isolda looked to be enjoying the contortion of her niece’s feelings and, in that moment, Ella could not think of a more authentic replica of the devil than her aunt, who was her own blood relative. The Duchess of Timmelin appeared quite satisfied with Ella’s affirmation and commenced her ramblings to the fellow guests that were still mingling around her, though most of her audience had scattered. No one but Gabriel and Isolda seemed to notice when Ella excused herself and sauntered toward the exit of the ballroom.

Once free from the line of sight of those in the ballroom, Ella quickened her step and all but ran till she found the staircase she’d utilized so many times as a child. It boasted a great width and Ella sat slowly on the bottom step. Her gown, one that had once belonged to her mother, crumpled to each side as her farthingale contorted to a position for which it had not been structured. Once settled enough, Ella laid her head against the wall and inhaled deeply. She wanted to weep, but she did not. It would only make an uncomfortable evening that much more miserable; and she’d had enough attention for one night.