Another ten minutes crept past before he spotted his quarries. All three of them, in fact. He set off down the path to meet the slowing conveyance. A quick smile touched his lips at the sight before him. Gray skies parted teasing the party with a sliver of blue sky for the first time in several days.
Prince hesitated to think the heavens parting might be the vision of Cinderella in a frock of soft cream trimmed with shimmering bronze ribbons. He vowed, if she were to ever grace his arm in union, he’d never allow her to wear brown. No matter how rich the hue. She deserved rainbows, with the pot of gold at the base.
He hauled himself up the path. These were dangerous—traitorous thoughts that brandished him inside out. He spun for a quick leave. Truly, an act of cowardice. And attempt to withdraw, but fate stepped in. He was too close to the carriage to retreat benevolently. Still, though his steps moved forward, they did so more slowly.
He searched out the warmth he knew he’d find in Cinderella. Her graceful presence struck a subtle, yet elusive, chord. His heart thumped wildly against his chest when her lips tilted at the sight of him. She would not be a hardship to marry…if he had to marry without finding his mysterious princess perhaps…
"Sir?" Pricilla shook him out of his reverie.
"Lady Pricilla, may I be of assistance?” Prince offered his arm aiding her descent. "Lady Esper—Esmeralda.” He gave her a low bow. Over compensating, he realized, but what could he do?
"Mercí," Essie demurred, with a narrowed gaze.
The heat surged up his neck and he turned quickly. "Lady Cinderella.” His voice dropped a fraction in a husky resonance. The air came alive with an unexplained brilliance. His fingers tingled with sensations he had difficulty identifying, not unsimilar to the ones he’d experienced the day they’d arrived. The day he lay flattened on the flagstone. He prayed his wince was inward.
Turning back to Pricilla, he cleared his throat. “I trust you found your ride pleasant.” Prince did not think he’d ever struggled with maintaining such a façade before. ’Twas decidedly awkward.
Hands clasped at his lower back he escorted the trio toward the west lawn. From the corner of his eye he spied Alessandro’s determined gait bearing down on them, Niccòlo fast on his heels. Prince suppressed a sudden urge to grin at the picture of a not-so-far-in-the-future more mature Niccòlo giving Alessandro a legitimate run for his money when it came to paying attendance to the ladies.
“Very much so,” Pricilla answered. She cast a glance over her sisters. “It was very enlightening.” She was quite a picture when she held her head like that. Finding her an advantageous match should not be so difficult, he thought graciously.
He sensed a change in the three, some secret they seemed to share. Yet, he did not sense an urge for unrestrained laughter. More likening to an affable affection. No trace of the prior hostility lingered. Prince found himself charmed by their unexpected amiability. “How do you ladies fare at archery?”
“Fair, sir,” Pricilla answered. Her tonality was much less harsh, almost warm.
The distinct sound of a snort resonated from one of the other two. And since he was most positive Cinderella would never resort to such inarticulate sonority, it stood to reason the sound bounded from Esmeralda. He took a moment to savor the thrill in getting her name right, even if ’twas only in his thoughts.
“Buon pomeriggio, onorevoli. May I present my fratello, Niccòlo?” Alessandro offered with a tilt of his head, slightly out of breath.
Prince held back a burst of laughter as Niccòlo clicked his heels together loudly when he bowed. Oh, the very young.
“Charmed,” Esperalda responded, and beamed him a bright smile and short curtsey.
Please, Prince wanted to shout but managed to restrain. Nor did he roll his eyes to the heavens. It took effort.
Cinderella and Pricilla offered their short curtsies as well. Prince narrowed his eyes on Alessandro when he grasped Cinderella’s hand and placed it on his arm. Niccòlo followed suit with Pricilla leaving Prince no other option. Biting back a sigh, he offered his arm to Emalia. Now his mind could not even conjure up names remotely close. A less than gentle breeze kicked up the air.
Perfect.
Chapter 25
“Faustine, what the devil are you about?” Thomasine hissed. “And what is with this wind, dear sister? I do not remember an agreement to such.”
“Such language, dear,” she sniffed. “The wind is not my doing.”
“Of course, it is. Who else could it be?”
Thomasine cast about a glance making sure all curious ears were out of range. She sat in an elevated chair observing the festivities before she swung her gaze back to Faustine.
Faustine stood postured through a break in the trees tapping her foot impatiently, one hand fisted at her hip, the other waving in a precarious position. Her face skewed in abject affront at the accusation, giving Thomasine pause. “Well, then…who…?” The question trailed as Thomasine searched out the source and light dawned. “Ah, my apologies, sister dear. I see the problem. It appears Alessandro has dominated Cinderella’s hand yet again. Hm. You don’t suppose Esmeralda harbors a secret desire for the Conte’s elder son, do you?”
“Humph.” Faustine’s grunt sounded through the branches. “Where is the hag, dear?”
Thomasine’s gaze swept the grounds once more until she located Hilda cornered by the Conte near a tent set up for refreshments. “She is being nicely detained at the moment. Your handiwork?”
“Well, I had my doubts it would work a second time, ma chére. After all, I can only offer the suggestion by way of…” she waggled her hand. “I cannot make him fall in love. Somehow, I’ve misplaced by wand.”
“Hmmm, a shame that. He could sweep her away, out of Chalmers.” A rousing cheer drew her attention.
“What is it, Thomasine?”
Thomasine cocked her head toward the archery targets. “Esmeralda just hit a bulls-eye on the archery target.”
“Esmeralda?” Faustine asked, clearly stunned. “I thought Pricilla the expert with a deadly weapon.”
Chapter 26
The pressure bearing down on Prince’s chest equivocated to an African elephant crushing his breast bone. The betrothal ball was but a mere sennight away and he found he was no closer to a solution than the moment the glass slipper slipped on Elma’s dainty foot. That name was just wrong.
He moved to the open window and placed a palm over his face, frustration miring panic. What if he could not find a way out and he really wound up married to a human advection motion detector? He lifted his head and stared out at what promised to be a beautiful day with the peek of the sun rising over the horizon. His breakfast remained on a tray, cold and untouched. Not unlike his mood, he thought glumly.
Mayhap a day of mending walls and tending tenant matters would help in deciding how best to divert the dilemma of an impending wedding doomed for disaster. The only solution that seared his mind was that under normal circumstances, the female of the union could cry off. The one to break the bounds of the betrothal.
Hmm. But, non, Prince was not fool enough to believe Hilda would allow either daughter any such thing. And, what of Cinderella? Was she her daughter also? Mayhap he could ask Mamán, if she could spare an audience, he declared in silent sarcasm. ’Twas looking less and less of a possibility. Still, if it saved a wedding with the wrong woman…
He let out a resigning sigh. Non, her consuming hatred of Cinderella stifled any union of that sort. And, short of sudden death he foresaw no graceful way from the situation.
Two hours later, Prince pounded his vexation on a fencing post, making great strides in his efforts. “What am I to do about this betrothal ball?” Prince posed to Arnald. He slammed the hammer on the post sending it deeper into the ground. Each whack sealed the debacle in which found himself, facilitating the complications of the most important decision his life. He could feel the moisture glistening off his body, muscles rippling fiercely with each swing. He welco
med the unseasonably brutal sun.
“You could stage your own siege,” Arnald suggested. He hammered away at another post several feet over.
“’Tis obvious I cannot marry the chit,” Prince continued. The misery of a future with Earline threatened to unman him—a disaster of his own doing.
“Or your own kidnapping.”
“She is not so bad, I suppose. And her eyes do seem to have lost some of their wind power,” he mused aloud. But to marry her when I love another? Non. There must be another solution. Ideally, he would have found his mysterious princess by this time, but each hour that passed pushed that promise more hopelessly out of reach.
His lips tingled unexpectedly at the thought of touching them to Cinderella’s hand and he missed the post altogether with his next propulsion. He stumbled forward like a clumsy oxen. With a forearm, he swiped the sweat from his brow. Unfortunately, not the picture it brought to mind.
“That is because you do not make her nervous any longer,” Arnald pointed out ruthlessly. “What about fainting again? That appeared to work well.”
Prince cast a glance over his shoulder to Arnald, coming out of his reverie. “Did you say something?”
*****
The hours moved into days and Cinderella was amazed to find how natural her relationship with Pricilla and Essie progressed. To her absolute astonishment, if her opinion differed from one of the other two, then a word battle ensued before they were soon laughing it off. Her meek behavior, though not completely absolved, was sure to be a thing of the past soon.
It was not perfect, of course. She was the first to realize there was much to the past to be forgiven, but for the first time in her life she felt a connection, as if they were truly her sisters. Most importantly, she was not destined to the isolated existence that seemed so prevalent just days before. At least until they realized she was the mysterious princess, she grimaced. Then they would hate her for sure.
And Prince? Would he resent her, as well, for deceiving him? Would his family?
She swallowed tears. ’Twas not the time she’d blubbered like a fool.
Arm in arm with Essie, they made their way down the path toward the Eros pond. For some reason Cinderella found comfort in the silly statue’s presence even if Essie was destined to marry the love of Cinderella’s life. For certainly, Prince was he. But at what sacrifice?
The sun beat down on her new fashionable bonnet, forcing droplets of perspiration to gather at her nape. They meandered slowly along waiting on Pricilla. What could be keeping her?
"What on earth?" Essie sputtered, spinning. Pricilla's footsteps pounded down the path. "You sound like a herd of horses, Cill.”
Pricilla’s breaths came in short stilted gasps as she pulled up grabbing Essie’s arm, bent at the waist.
"You best take care, Pricilla, before you cause Stepmamá an apoplectic seizure. Or yourself. What is that contraption in your hands? And where in heaven's name did you find it?" Cinderella had a bad feeling.
“’Tis a silver stick, see?" She rose slowly, and held it out turning it at various angles. It is the strangest thing."
"What do you mean?" Cinderella dreaded the answer as a deep foreboding took hold.
"It sort of quivers when I tilt it just so.” She demonstrated by grasping the slightly widened end.
"Mayhap it just looks like it quivers due to its sparkled and shiny exterior." Cinderella eyed it warily. But sure enough, a small yet discernable tremor emanated from the skinny stick jiggling Pricilla’s fingertips.
"Quivers!" Essie snatched it from Pricilla's hand. "Oh, my," Essie breathed.
An odd shiver of apprehension snaked over Cinderella's skin. "Where did it come from?” Cinderella whispered.
“It sort of just rolled in front of me.” Pricilla shrugged. She shot a mischievous grin in their direction, and plucked it back from Essie. “It feels almost…alive.”
"Rolled in front of you, where?" Essie demanded.
"In the castle, silly," she said rolling her eyes. Under Essie's fierce scrutiny, Pricilla continued. Cinderella thought it a brilliant tactic. "In a portion that may not be so inhabited," she hedged.
"Not inhabited?" Cinderella squeaked. She could feel the panic closing her throat.
"Cill, you know we are not supposed to explore that area!"
"Oh, please, Essie, who will know," Pricilla huffed. Pricilla narrowed her eyes on Essie. "Unless you take it upon yourself to say something, that is."
Cinderella had a notion they verged on the edge of blows—again. Someone had to do something. "For the sake of heaven, both of you!" Cinderella exploded. "Do you hear yourselves? This constant bickering is…is embarrassing, not to mention annoying.” Two gaped expressions turned on Cinderella that had the heat flooding her face. Eyes squeezed tight, she place both palms to her cheeks. "Oh…oh, I'm sorry."
Silence filled the air, when finally Essie barked out a sharp laugh and threw her arms about her. "Oh, Cinde. We truly are sisters, now.”
Tears burned the back of her throat. Cinderella opened her eyes to see Pricilla giving her smile one could only refer to as self-deprecating.
"Oui." Pricilla was concurring? "When one takes comfort in raising one's voice to another as you have, Cinde, it does appear the relationship has truly evolved.” To Cinderella's complete and utter astonishment Pricilla reached out to hug her too, poking her in the side with her shiny stick.
"Umph," Cinderella grunted. "Um, Pricilla, your new stick is poking me."
"Oh, je suis désolé, sorry," she said, standing back. "Interesting little thing, is it not?” She swished it through the air creating a soft whistle.
The most astonishing thing happened.
Blooms sprouted in a rainbow of colors. From the tips of the tree limbs, throughout the fields for as far as the eye could see. The air fairly choked with the convergence of overbearing sickly fragrances.
That sick feeling of dread she'd experienced over her skin spread to a chill down her spine as she spun in a slow circle gaping at the wonder of it all. When Essie collapsed in a heap on the stone bench facing Eros hand covering her open mouth, Cinderella chanced a peek at Pricilla.
Her mouth hung open too but her gaze was stuck on the silver baton in her hand. "What the—"
"Cill!" Essie snapped as she happened to be the first one to come to her senses. Cinderella could not take it in. Periwinkles, thistle, daisies, goldenrods, orange jewelweed. They sprouted everywhere with no end in sight. Kept sprouting, in fact. "Make it stop, Cill."
"I…I don't know how."
Cinderella had never heard Pricilla in such panic—and she was the sensible one.
"Wave the blasted thing," Essie commanded.
“Oh, of course.” She did. In the blink of an eye the flowers faded away, leaving behind the scented atmosphere, which appeared somewhat bland in the aftermath. Pricilla stood immobile appearing as stunned as Cinderella felt.
"What…what happened?" Pricilla's voice trembled.
Cinderella had yet to find her own voice. She swallowed hard and could not seem to keep her eyes from the stick in Pricilla's fingers. The thing positively exuded a shimmering effervescent glow.
"I do believe its magic," Essie said, awed.
Pricilla dropped on the bench beside her. "I do believe you are right."
"How does it work?" Essie's curiosity spilled forth.
There would be no stopping her now, Cinderella realized. A certain terror gripped her, yet she could not pinpoint an accounting.
"How the devil should I know," Pricilla said softly. She was clearly still shocked, bewilderment touching her tone.
"Try something else," Essie said. Her shock had blazed past, straight through to excitement.
"I have no idea what I did in the first place."
"We need to put it back," Cinderella squeaked out.
"Do be serious, Cinde. Surely, you are not adverse to a little fun?” Essie said, her eyes riveted to the object. It had her mesmerized.
<
br /> Oh, this was a nightmare. What if it belonged to—
"What did you do that for?" Essie cried. "Oh, no. My shoe is getting too snug."
"Oh, Ess, I'm sorry. Truly, I am. I just had a fleeting thought that if your feet were the same size as mine and pointed the stick…Oh, Essie—" Pricilla gasped.
Cinderella felt almost sorry for Pricilla. Her horrified expression made clear her intention was not to make Essie's foot less dainty. But, she changed the size of her foot! This verified the disaster. That stick could only belong to one person, and they needed to return it. Without delay.
"Pricilla!" Cinderella was determined. "Come. Now.” She spun on her heel without waiting for either one of her newfound sisters. Newly embraced or not, she strode up the path, praying they'd have sense enough to follow, they had to return that stick.
"I will not return it. Not just yet," Pricilla called after Cinderella. "If this thing can adjust the size of one's foot, just imagine the other possibilities."
Cinderella halted in her tracks, groaning. She’d never be able to stand up to the both of them. She would just have to confiscate the thing in secret and return it herself. If Fairy Godmother got wind of this…well, it was bad enough she’d lost her shoe, but to have stolen her magic stick? ’Twas inconceivable.
She could only hope reigning terror did not befall them all in the interim. This thought occurred as streaks of silver and gold glitter fell gracefully from the sky.
Chapter 27
"What do you mean 'you've misplaced your wand,' Faustine? If this is another one of your little practical jokes, I'll have you know, my sensibility level is knee-high, at best," Thomasine ranted.
"Good heavens, Thomasine. What on earth could make you believe I would jest about such a thing? Why, the very idea of my wand in the wrong hands leaves me alarmed beyond comprehension," she shuddered. "And, because the blasted thing has gone missing, I am stuck in this dust, rat-infested hole until we locate it."
The Wronged Princess - Book I Page 14