Beau clears his throat and adjusts the bag. Then, after one more backward glance at me, he strides down the road after Puss.
Chapter 20
First, the cat can talk. Second, Etta smells like earth and sunshine.
Those two thoughts jumble about in my brain, making me dizzy. With Etta’s bag over my shoulder, I stalk after the cat. Only after we’ve walked nearly fifteen minutes do I stop. I have a perfectly good horse. Why am I walking?
Growling under my breath, I continue on. There’s no use going back now.
As if I’m trivial to his grand master plan, the cat doesn’t talk again until we near Rynvale.
“Go straight to the king. Do not speak with the prince,” the cat instructs just when I begin to worry that I’ve imagined the whole thing.
“Yes, Monsieur Cat.”
His eyes flash with irritation at my tone, and I march past him and over the drawbridge. I eye the nobles who lounge around, hoping that I won’t recognize anyone. Luckily, paying my respects to the king was the last thing on my mind when I settled in Glenridge.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, now that I think about it—the king is in attendance. I wait my turn, more than ready to be done with all this. Finally, I’m admitted into the throne room. Next to His Majesty sits the man I remember from the street, the one who was speaking with Etta the first day I laid eyes on her. And it all shifts into place.
Steeling my jaw, it takes an amazing amount of restraint to keep from rolling my eyes. The prince looks like all the other princes I’ve ever met—including both of my second cousins on my mother’s side. Kerrick’s handsome. He’s quick to smile and reeks of charm and charisma.
One made-to-order prince.
What really rankles is the lovely blond confection at his side. She’s perfectly beautiful, probably smells like rose water and vanilla, and has eyes so large she looks far more innocent than she likely is.
The pair is too busy murmuring sweet nothings to each other to pay any attention to me. Any attention, that is, until I inform the king that I’ve come bearing a gift from the Marquise of Carabas.
At that, Kerrick’s eyes whip to me so quickly, it’s possible he’s injured his neck. Some dark, petty part of me smiles at the thought.
“Partridges!” the king exclaims, and then he looks up, a wide smile on his face. “I really must meet your lady.”
“She, as well, would love nothing more. Alas, the marquise has traveled overseas for a holiday, and we do not yet know when she will return. I will, however, promptly send a message, telling her how pleased you were with her gift.” I bow, playing up my part as the marquise’s devoted right-hand man, hoping to irk Kerrick. I’m not disappointed.
The cloak of easy charm has left the prince’s face, and his features have gone sharp. He watches me with narrowed eyes, wondering just who I am and where I fit in.
“A shame,” the king says, his voice full of sincere regret. “Where are you from, again? I can’t quite remember.”
“A march to the south of your kingdom.”
The king nods and then leans forward. “Forgive me, but you must tell me, is this marquise of yours lovely?” He flashes a look at Kerrick. “Perhaps…unwed?”
Mangy cat—so that’s his plan. But what does the Carabas family have to do with it?
“Yes, unwed. And may I answer you bluntly?” I ask.
The king nods, eager.
“She’s the loveliest.” I again glance at Kerrick, hoping to unsettle him. “Her hair is like spun gold, her eyes the fawn of a newborn doe. And her skin…” I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Perfection.”
The prince has grown a satisfying color of red now that he realizes I’m speaking of Etta, a deep shade not unlike that of the poisonous tomato that merchants from the southeast try to pawn off on us in shipments.
King Deloge raises his eyebrows and clears his throat. “Well…splendid. Yes, quite. I hope you’ll extend our invitation for a visit. I’d love nothing more than to meet her.”
“I will, Your Majesty.” I bow again and take my leave, pleased that I ruffled the prince’s feathers but irritated now that I know what the cat is up to.
I leave quickly. Just as I’m out the doors, I locate the beast near the entrance, sitting on the garden wall to the left. Without a preamble, I pick him up by the scruff of the neck and stare him in the eye. “What does the family Carabas have to do with your schemes to marry Etta off to Kerrick?”
He hisses and twists to pull away. I watch him struggle for several gratifying moments and then drop him to his feet.
Indignant, he leaps back onto the wall so we’re closer in height. “There’s none in the Carabas family line left. They’re gone, forgotten.”
I meet his eyes, my face grim. “There’s one.”
Instead of answering, his whiskers twitch, and he studies me very carefully.
Using a great deal of self-control so that I don’t give into the impulse to knock him off his high and mighty perch, I bow in front of the cat. “Allow me to formally introduce myself, feline. I am Beauregard Marchand Carabas…the Marquis of Carabas.”
Chapter 21
There should be no satisfaction to be had from stunning a cat into silence. Sadly, I’m rather satisfied.
Finally, Puss stands, and with a calm, matter-of-fact tone, says, “You’re not the marquis.”
And with that, he hops from the wall and saunters through Rynvale. Again, I grab him, but, this time, I don’t set him down no matter how he squirms. “I am.”
Then, as if I have something to prove to this ridiculous beast, I show him my ring, hoping that if he knows something of the name, he’ll at least recognize the crest. As soon as he sees it, he hisses.
I toss him to his feet.
He eyes me, his tail switching back and forth, highly agitated. “You could have stolen it.”
Kneeling down, I say, “My father was the youngest son in the family line. The family title went to his eldest brother. Wishing them his best, Father left the family to make his fortune at sea. Which he did. He married a lovely noble-blooded adventuress—my mother—and lived a happy life…at least he did up until a month before he died.” I pause, making sure the cat is listening.
“Oh, please, Master Carabas,” Puss drawls, irritated at this hiccup in his plans. “Do tell why the month was turbulent.”
“Father received a letter from his youngest sister, apparently written on her deathbed, stating that the family estate was lost to an ogre of immense magic, and his brothers and parents, were dead.”
“Tragic.”
“It also said that he had inherited the title, the estate, the land, and all that goes with it.”
The cat narrows his eyes, and for a moment I wonder if he’s going to lunge at me. “How fortunate for you.”
“But herein lies my problem. I can’t seem to track down the ogre or the estate. And in all of the province, the only person—and I use that term loosely—who has any knowledge of my family name, is a cat.” I tap Puss on the head, eliciting another hiss from him. “Why do you think that is?”
“Because they’re under the ogre’s curse,” he growls, “and cats are immune.”
I was beginning to figure as much.
“Do you know where my family’s estate is located?” I ask.
He glares at me. “Yes.”
“Excellent.” I sit back on my heels. “I will make a deal with you. I’ll help you with this charade if you’ll take me to the castle. I have no desire to stay in this kingdom. As soon as I remove the ogre from my family home, I will be gone. Etta’s free to live there, cost-free, for as long as she wants. Forever, if she wants.”
I’d rather she do that than marry Kerrick.
“It’s a start,” the cat finally agrees. “But mark my words, young marquis, I intend for Etta to marry the prince.”
Less satisfied, I stand. “Fine.”
Though it’s nearing evening, I decide to walk back to Glenridge in the dark. We�
��re almost out of Rynvale, just about to the stately gates, when the last person I had hoped to have a chat with finds me.
Unable to avoid the prince when I see him barrel through the crowd toward me, I stop, hoping to look only half as put out as I feel. “What a surprise. Hello, Your Highness.”
“Who are you?” Kerrick demands without fussing over pleasantries. His eyes narrow at Puss. “And why do you have Suzette’s cat?”
And it becomes apparent, to me at least, that I’ll be staying the night in Rynvale after all.
Chapter 22
The sun has reached its highest point, and now it’s slowly lowering. I pace the lane in front of the mill. They should be back by now. I had hoped they would have been here when I returned from the baron’s estate, but only Eugene was here to greet me.
My afternoon crawled by so slowly, I feel as if it’s been days since Puss and Beau left for Rynvale, and not less than one. Hawking with the baron was uncomfortable, to say the least. He was overly attentive, overly complimentary, overly helpful. I’ve never been so relieved to be away from a man in my life. And the whole time, he just kept smiling in an indulgent way that made me slightly queasy. I’m sure nearly every other girl in the village would be grateful for his attention, but the whole ordeal made me wish I’d stayed hidden in the brush with Beau yesterday.
“Etta,” Eugene calls from the field. “Can you spare a moment from your pacing to help me?”
Sighing, I turn from the road. I spend the rest of the afternoon helping Eugene thresh wheat. By evening, I begin to grow nervous. Where are they?
“Can you manage supper for yourself tonight?” I ask my brother as I pull a shawl from my peg by the door. My arms ache from the day’s chore.
Eugene glances out the window. “Where are you going this late?”
“To the village. I need to see Beau.”
My brother frowns. “Etta, I’m not sure it’s wise—”
A knock sounds at the door, saving me from cutting Eugene off myself. I open it, hoping for Beau and Puss, but only Sarah-Anne stands on the other side.
My face falls.
“Happy to see you as well, Etta,” Sarah-Anne says with a laugh as she brushes past me.
Eugene lights up when he sees her, and, if nothing else, he won’t mind me leaving now. I wave a quick goodbye and dart into the evening. The sun is just setting, so I’ll have plenty of light for the walk to Glenridge. I reach the chocolate shop just as the lampposts are being lit for the night. Unfortunately, I find the windows dark, and the door is locked.
With a worried sigh, I lean my back against the wood and close my eyes.
“Etta?” someone calls from down the street.
My eyes fly open. There, not far away, Beau and Puss make their way toward me. I let out a relieved breath, and then I set my hands on my hips. When the pair is near, I demand, “What could have taken you this long?”
A perturbed look crosses Beau’s face. “Everything was well and fine in Rynvale until your beloved took me aside and interrogated me on your whereabouts. He detained me until late this afternoon.”
My chest tightens at the mention of Kerrick. Part of me had hoped he wouldn’t be in attendance when Beau saw the king. Another part was hoping that something just like this would occur.
“What did he say?” I ask, trying to appear only mildly curious, but my voice is too eager.
“Well,” Beau begins, “at first he was very interested to know who I was.” Beau can’t quite hide his smirk, but he does his best to school the expression when I give him a chastising look. “Don’t look at me like that. I set his mind at ease, explaining that your heart is nothing but true to him.”
I grimace. “You said that?”
“Something to that effect.” He shrugs. “I can’t remember the specifics.”
For a moment, I study Beau and wonder what Kerrick’s reaction to him was. If the prince were inclined to jealousy, Beau would likely make him see green. Though, in the most traditional sense, Beau’s not as handsome as Kerrick, there is a reason all the girls in Glenridge swoon over the chocolatier.
Beau crosses his arms and cocks his head. “What?”
Blinking, disconcerted, I look away. “Did he say anything about me?”
Looking uncomfortable, Beau furrows his brow. He says, his voice deadpan, “Only that the days are endless now that you’re gone from his life, and he’s desperate to see you again.”
My heart warms at the thought of it, but the warmth is quickly replaced with an ache. Why did I send Beau in my place? Kerrick could have told me those things himself.
Still, I’m uneasy about all of this now that Kerrick’s involved.
Beau unlocks the door and ushers us inside. As always, the smell of chocolate overwhelms me, making me hungry and reminding me I skipped supper.
“You’re missing the point,” Puss says to me, unable to stay silent any longer, “which would be that the king was very pleased with the partridges you sent.”
“You mean that you sent,” I say.
Puss tilts his head, silently informing me that we’re not going to squabble over details.
After Beau lights several candles, he starts a fire. The evening is not quite chilly enough for one to be needed, but the cozy crackle is welcoming. Puss, unable to help himself, settles on the rug and stretches in front of the warm flames.
“How was hawking?” Beau sits at the table.
I take the seat opposite him. “Awkward.”
“Do you think it was simply a nice gesture…or was there more purpose there?”
Rolling my shoulders, I turn my gaze toward the fire. “If I were anything other than the miller’s sister, I would say there appears to be a purpose.” I turn back to Beau. “But I am the miller’s sister. It’s an absurd thought.”
Beau studies me like my brothers did not so long ago. “Perhaps, but you are very lovely.”
For some reason, when he says it, I can’t help but smile. “Not lovely enough to become the baroness.”
Leaning forward, his eyes suddenly serious, Beau says, “Lovely enough to enchant a prince.”
Uncomfortable, I turn my eyes down and study the signet ring he wears. “Did the king ask again where you were from?”
Slowly, Beau nods.
“The boy told him his lady hailed from a march far to the south,” Puss says before Beau can answer. There’s a glint in Puss’s eyes as he turns his gaze on Beau. He doesn’t seem impressed with the chocolatier’s impromptu ad-libbing.
Beau shrugs. “It sounded plausible.”
“What good will deceiving the king do?” I ask Puss. “Even if he eventually sees me and believes that I’m this fine lady, I will have nothing to show for it—no land, no riches. I fail to see how any of this is helpful.”
“Patience,” Puss says, continuing to be cryptic in his responses. He yawns wide, and then, as if deciding it’s a good time for a nap, closes his eyes and stretches onto his side.
I shake my head and turn my attention back to Beau. “Thank you, all the same.”
“Do you love him?” Beau asks. Though curious, he looks indifferent to my response. “Kerrick?”
“I like him a great deal.” I rub the spot above my collarbone that begins to ache every time I think about the prince. For the first time, feeling like I truly have a friend in Beau, I admit, “I think some part of me might.”
Frowning, Beau says, “Even though he lied to you?”
Slowly, I nod. “I can forgive him. Besides, it’s not worse than whatever it is I’m doing to his father.”
Beau looks at the cat, who is now asleep. “Puss intends you to marry the prince—that’s his plan.”
My heart nearly seizes in my chest. “That’s not possible.”
“It’s very possible for a prince to marry a marquise.” Beau swallows, looking as if he’s deciding something. “I’ll help you however I can.”
“You’d do that?” I ask, elation churning with my doubts. “You’
d do that for me?”
His jaw tightens as he smiles. “Well…we’re friends, aren’t we?”
I want to clasp my hands over his, but I remember how tense he became when I embraced him, so I keep them to myself. “Yes.”
He claps his hands on the table as he stands, the conversation obviously closed for now. “I’m starving. Let’s find something to eat.”
Chapter 23
“You’re a natural,” Broussard says as he matches my pace.
It’s my second outing with the baron, and I’m not any more comfortable with him than I was the first time. He’s handsome enough, charming as well, but I can’t help but think he’s intentionally swindling my brother.
I do enjoy the horses, however, and it’s nice to be riding through the fields and meadows outside Glenridge instead of lying stomach-down in them.
As we attempt to flush the hares out, Broussard’s hawk perches in a tree, waiting.
“Rumors are abounding through the village that you’ve become a proficient huntress.”
I glance at my companion for the afternoon. Perhaps most would warm at his praise, but his words make me uncomfortable. “I do well enough.”
Broussard glances over. “There are other rumors of you as well.”
Purposely avoiding his gaze, I scan the field, staying silent.
“Is there any truth to them?” he asks. “What are your feelings for the chocolatier?”
“May I be blunt, Monsieur?”
He smiles. “Of course.”
I meet his eyes and give him a bare smile. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
The baron tips his head back and laughs. “Fair enough.”
We ride through a thick patch of brush, and a rabbit darts from the bracken. Immediately, the hawk cries out and swoops down to snare her prey. It’s an impressive thing, watching the hawk hunt.
Broussard, delighted, dismounts his horse and offers the bird a strip of raw meat in trade for the hare. He holds the animal up for me to inspect.
The Marquise and Her Cat: A Puss in Boots Retelling Page 9