Today was a new day and I comforted myself with the fact the future could yet hold anything at all. Perhaps it would not be exactly what I wanted, but then it would be selfish to think that we must all have our own way in the world. I was quite content to be simply myself, to be Emelia, and live my life as it currently existed. For I was indeed blessed now. The prince and his new princess had quite decided that I was to be a dear acquaintance, perhaps even a friend going forward. I had done Cinderella a great service in saving her, that was what she had told me, though I admit I only saw my own freedom in her escape. She was the prince’s future, a role I neither asked for nor ever wished to have.
Aunt Beatrice had been disappointed to learn I would not become a princess as she hoped, and Alexa was equally as upset, if not more so. I never told them of Bradbury’s proposal. He was always such a dear friend, it would have been no trouble at all to convince them he and I were quite the suitable match, but it seemed it was not to be. Even now, I was still yearning for some kind of adventure before I was forever anchored to one home, one world, one simple life, even if it might yet be happy with a man whom I could truly love.
These thoughts ran through my head as I put on my finest jewels and checked my hair in the glass. I was to visit the palace once again, this very day. I did not know exactly why, except that Cinderella and the prince had requested I attend. It was not correct for anyone to refuse such an invitation, and relieved as I was to have removed myself from the prince’s side where I could never belong, I was only too happy to be a privileged friend to the royals. It would be a strange creature indeed who refused such a role, and Cinderella seemed to be such a dear, sweet person. I liked her already, even after such a short acquaintance, and her gratitude seemed to know no bounds.
“Emelia, my dear,” said a voice from the door and I turned to see my aunt standing there. “Are you quite ready? The carriage awaits.”
“I am, Aunt Beatrice.” I smiled as I rose and walked over to her. “I hope you are not still so terribly disappointed that I shall not be a princess,” I said, taking her hands in my own. “I can promise you, I am not in the least unhappy.”
“Then things are as they should be,” she replied, smiling back at me and squeezing my fingers.
Aunt Beatrice was such a wonderful lady. She had always been there for me, and though I was not in the least amused when she seemed determined to make me a royal, I always knew she meant well. She wanted my happiness, and believed, despite my own protestations, that marriage to the prince would bring me such joy. It was difficult for her to understand that some women thought and felt differently to herself and her friends. I was then, as I am now, perhaps too modern a woman for the times I was born into, and yet there was no changing that, and never shall be, I fear.
The journey to the palace was gloriously uneventful, and before long I was being brought into the throne room to greet the prince and his princess, Cinderella. My first surprise was to see that the king was also present. My curtsey grew tenfold at the sight of our great ruler, to the point where I was sure I should never be able to rise from the floor without assistance.
The king chuckled in a kindly way at my reverence, and all at once a hand was extended to help me to my feet. I expected the duke, perhaps the prince, but more likely a manservant to be there beside me when I looked up. It was a bigger shock than even the king’s presence had been when my eyes caught Bradbury’s own gaze.
“Miss. DeMontford,” he greeted me formally, and yet smiled in that familiar way that made my heart beat faster of its own accord.
“Mr. Bradbury,” I replied in kind, unsure what expression my face showed or what tone my voice possessed.
I was quite taken over by the whole situation, and all the questions in my head must have shown in my eyes as they darted to Cinderella. She was standing now, the prince beside her, as they descended the steps towards myself and Bradbury.
“My dear friends,” she greeted us with the brightest of smiles. “For you shall always be such, after all you have done for me,” she declared.
I confess I hardly knew how to respond, but tried in any case.
“Indeed, your majesty, I had not-”
“No, Emelia, if I may call you as such,” Cinderella said sweetly, reaching for my hand. “I wish for us to be true friends, for you to always know me as Cinderella.”
“Very well.” I nodded my agreement. “I should be very pleased for us to be such friends, as you ask.”
It was quite the happy meeting, if not a surreal one, as I heard Bradbury confess the entire plan to save Cinderella had been my own. He told of the intelligence and ingenuity I showed, the passion for a cause I saw as most deserving and entirely necessary. Whatever reward the royals had in mind for us, he wanted it to be mine alone, for he felt himself most unworthy. I was flattered beyond belief, and was sure I blushed more than I ever had before.
Of course, the word ‘reward’ would cling to my memory more than anything else. I had not thought to be rewarded for what I had done. It was human kindness in my eyes, a task any person might’ve performed and should have done if given the chance to do so. Besides which, I felt I already had my prize, since I had not been forced into a marriage I would never have chosen. Still, it seemed there had been talk of myself and Bradbury being compensated in some way for our trouble, and now he was giving the entire gift, whatever it might prove to be, over to myself alone. I was quite overcome.
“Since we are new friends,” I heard Cinderella say, as my mind caught up to the conversation at hand, “I am afraid I should not know what would make you most happy, sweet Emelia.” She smiled at me, an expression I was sure she must always wear from now on, for no other would suit her pretty face.
“I had not... Indeed, Cinderella, you are so very kind, but I could not think what to ask for, even if I had a mind to accept a gift,” I told her in earnest.
“You are too good, Miss. Emelia,” said the prince with an expression as full of light as his fiancée’s own proved to be. “You misunderstand, of course, our offer to grant you any gift is no offer at all. It is a ruling, and you may not refuse it,” he told me, eyes sparkling.
It was as if he were teasing me, and yet I was certain in that moment that his declaration was true. It seemed that they truly wished for me to choose any prize in the land, and as such, it would be imparted to me. My eyes drifted from one to the other of the happy couple, and then to the king who looked equally as serious about it. Last, but by no means least, I spared dear Bradbury a glance. He would not meet my gaze, barely bringing his eyes up from the floor. I had but one wish in my heart and he knew exactly what it would be. It pained him, I was sure, but he knew very well.
“I am afraid the only wish I truly hold in my heart is one that not even this family could provide,” I explained with a sad smile. “You will think me foolish when I explain, but since you have asked so fervently, I believe I must. My only dream is to have a ship to call my own. To be what I believe would be the first female captain of such a vessel, and to sail as far around the world as the seas and gravity should allow.”
My confession was shocking, I was certain of it. Indeed, if laughter were to be heard from every corner of the kingdom, I should not have been surprised in the least.
It was a childish notion at best, a reason to declare a person insane at worst, I was certain of that, and yet Cinderella did continue to smile so. She glanced to the prince, and then to the king. I did not breathe for fully a minute until all at once she was staring at me once again, and the words spilt from her lips.
“Then a ship you shall have, my dear Emelia.”
I swear on my honour, I heard not a word spoken after this declaration. I am sure the prince spoke of making arrangements, a ship and a crew, learned men that might help me plot courses and read maps. The king thought it was all ‘capital’ apparently, though as I said, I barely heard any of this clearly. Such a jumble of words and movement, until all at once the royals were gone, thei
r servants following behind. There was myself and Bradbury, in an empty room, and all the breath came rushing back into my body so quickly as to make me gasp.
“This must be a dream,” I said, more to myself than to anyone. “It cannot be so.”
“Indeed it is,” Bradbury answered so sadly as to break my heart, though he appeared as brave and true as ever it had been. “Congratulations, Miss. DeMontford. I am sure you will be much missed when you are gone, perhaps by myself most especially, though I should not speak of it.”
“Why?” I asked, my question spoken before I entirely thought it through, and yet for the moment, I could not care. “Bradbury why should you not speak of it? Why should you miss me at all? For... for, if I may be so bold, I wish you would come along with me on my travels.”
“Really, Emelia,” he said, sighing tiredly, as I had heard him do so many times with Alexa when she failed miserably at her latest recitation. “Such a thing would be insupportable, unimaginable. In short, there would be nothing short of a scandal!”
“Not if we were wed,” I told him, rushing in headlong as I was always wont to do when taken by my emotions, and just this once, I could not care at all. “Bradbury, darling Bradbury, you once made a proposal to me,” I reminded him what, as I dared to grab up his hand into both my own. “Do you never plan to repeat such a question to me? Will you give me no chance to express how I truly feel?”
Watching his expression fade through far and away too many emotions, I am willing to admit, I had never been so terrified. If he walked away from me now, if he professed to no longer hold the love for me he once confessed, truly my heart would break. The relief was indescribable when he dropped to one knee at my feet then and smiled up at me.
“Miss. Emelia DeMontford, the only woman I could ever hope to love as truly, passionately, and completely as this. Would you do me the greatest honour I could ever imagine, and consent to be my wife?”
“Oh, yes!” I answered immediately, tears in my eyes and a shake in my voice that I could never have imagined to be so joyful in such a moment. “Yes, Bradbury. I should very much love to be your wife.”
He was on his feet then, his arms reaching out to hold me, and yet he ceased to move at the last. This would be different, a new experience. To be close in a new way, a way I had never thought to be with Bradbury until but a few days before. Now it was all I wanted.
“Emelia,” he said, his voice soft as down, his touch just as gentle when his fingers moved stray hairs back from my face.
“Bradbury, I swear, if you do not kiss me now, I fear I shall not live long enough to even see my ship!” I declared, with a burst of laughter and tears, neither of which I had any control over at all.
Giving into a moment I felt I had waited a lifetime for, and yet had not realised it until recently, he moved to press his lips against my own. I do not know where we were then. The palace walls might have crumbled and I should not have noticed.
Looking back now, through my whole life, I cannot think of a single moment that compares. For that was the second when I knew, once and for all, how my life was supposed to be. Indeed, it marks the very end of this story that I have come to share with you, and yet, it was the very beginning of how I came to live happily ever after.
The Beauty in the Beast
By Valerie Sells
Chapter 1
They say money is the root of all evil, but I wonder at those words. Surely money is necessary enough to make the world go around, for business to be done, to keep some sort of peace and order. If everything has a value that all people understand, that cannot be so very bad. Instead, I am tempted to think that the love of money is where we come unstuck. The belief that riches will make us eternally happy, leaving no room for any other source of joy, is ridiculous to me and always has been. For what is money when compared to true love?
In the place that I lived, rumour had it that there was a castle in the woods, not far from our home. An old tumble-down place that had once been glorious and unparalleled in beauty. Its owners were a duke and duchess or perhaps a prince and princess, the tales were vague on the exact title, but they were extremely rich. Two people who had all the money, jewels and possessions that anyone could ever wish for, and yet their lives were said to have ended in tragedy.
Some say they killed each other. Others that a curse was put upon them for some misdemeanour or other. All that was known to me were rumours and campfire stories, that the worst had befallen them and the house was now dark, lonely, and haunted by beasts and creatures unknown, much-feared by all. So much for money where there was no love to be had. I was always determined that I would never fall victim to such a mistake.
My name is Beau Delacroix. At the time of the tale I am to tell, I was eighteen years old, and had been brought up in a world that demanded marriage from its noblemen and women when they came of age. There was no law to abide by that proclaimed such a duty for one and all, nor even for a particular level of nobility. It was society that demanded our lives be joined, one to another. We were to share the riches, the prestige, the family names of honour. I always thought it somewhat barbaric.
Father said that I read too many books. Though I was encouraged in study, as most young people are, novels were my downfall. In them I found romance barely seen in the real world. I sought solace in the plays of Shakespeare, the poems of Byron, and similar. I found a world where love mattered that much more than money, than status, than anything, in fact.
It was a shame then that the world in which I existed seemed to put all else above the simple feeling of love and affection. That I was effectively to be sold to the highest bidder when I came of age. Not to be respected, cared for, or wanted for my own good qualities, but bought for a price fitting for a nobleman’s son with a handsome face and figure.
“You have no idea how lucky you are,” said my father, on far too many occasions to count. “Had I been so fortunate as to be blessed as you are, I would count myself very lucky indeed. You shall make a good match. A most fortuitous liaison.”
To be sure, it would be fortuitous to him to have me married off to the richest lady in the kingdom, and there would be little I could do to prevent it. So many stories tell of the poor young maiden, doomed to an arranged marriage. They speak nothing of young men in similar predicaments. Such was my lot, however, and I do not see why I should keep my silence on the subject.
The real fly in the ointment for my father was my unwillingness to fall at the feet of any woman that should smile in my direction. I was never rude to them. On the contrary, I was politeness itself, not for their sake, nor for my father, if I am honest. No, I was taught tact, diplomacy, and general kindness at an early age by my excellent mother. She had passed away when I was twelve, but was a great supporter of my need to be wanted for myself rather than prestige, to want to marry for no reason but the truest love. Had she still been alive, things may have been different, but as it was, my fate lie in the hands of my father alone.
“I want to make myself perfectly clear, Beau,” he told me, the night of a grand ball at our estate. “Tonight, you will be politeness itself, particularly to Miss. Trevelyan. Are you listening to me, young man?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied dutifully, buttoning my jacket as slowly as I dare.
The longer I might delay attending the ball, the better I should like it. However, my appearance there was required, and there simply was no avoiding it anymore. I felt as a prize turkey being presented to the room, all eyes upon me, staring and judging. So many women wanting to claim me, and yet not a one cared to know me better.
Would it kill them to make conversation that was anything but banal? To discuss literature or the arts in general? To have opinions that were not given to them? Sometimes I wondered.
They held my amusement, at least. Though not deliberately, I was sure on that. It was some great fun for me to see what I could get away with, what outlandish, dreadful things I could say without their noticing. Many of my scathing com
ments were easily passed off as humour and teasing, and the rest were so ignored that it barely mattered that I had spoken at all.
Most women I met at these balls were harmless enough, their attention easily diverted to other young men that cared less about being sold off as if they were cattle. This is not to say some of the women were not treated just as savagely. Noblemen such as my father who suffered with having less of a fortune than was acceptable to them had to make a good match for their children, be they male or female. We all suffered the same fate, regardless of our sex.
“Miss. Trevelyan, may I introduce you to Mr. Delacroix.”
I turned at the sound of my own name and started at the sight that met my eyes. Miss. Trevelyan was not entirely what I had been expecting, at least in looks. Quite often the most affluent of people were not what one might call traditionally attractive, but usually got just exactly what (and whom) they wanted by being so very rich. Miss. Trevelyan ought to have counted herself extremely lucky as she seemed to possess both the beauty and the means to do and have just exactly what she wanted. A shame perhaps then that she turned out to be one of the worst specimens of humankind I had ever met.
The things she said to me that night as we danced were nothing short of scandalous. For someone who appeared such a delicate and charming lady on the first meeting certainly proved herself to be anything but that. Miss. Trevelyan had quite unseemly appetites, for everything that I did not like. She believed in eating precisely what she pleased, but insisted on keeping her figure by forcing her body into the tightest of corsets and other such contraptions. This she told me proudly and without pause, something I believe was supposed to impress. It did not.
Fairytales Reimagined, Volume I Page 7