Cinderella (Faerie Tale Collection)

by Jenni James

  Lacey groaned again. “Oh, joy! It is nice to know the servants speak of such things to you normally.”

  “Well, it is hard to ignore when the whole house is attempting to clean up some mess or other,” she said as she added a few more fine stitches into place.

  “Stop, please, stop.” Lacey was going to cry. It rarely happened, but she had never wanted anything more in her life than the charming duke, and now it would seem it will never transpire. Ever. More than likely she was the mockery of the whole village.

  “Lacey, do not worry. I am sure it is not as bad as it seems.”

  “No. I am sure it is much worse after what happened on Wednesday.”

  “Well, would you prefer to tell me what took place with Lord Gavenston?”

  “No.”

  “Very well, you do not need to speak of it.” She slipped in the needle into the lace and gave it one final tug before reaching for the scissors and clipping the thread. She shook the petticoat out in front of her. “That came together much quicker than I thought. Now to begin attaching the ribbons.”

  Lacey watched her stepsister deftly cut several strips of ribbon within moments. It was as the quiet of the room came upon her, while she watched Ella work, that Lacey suddenly burst out, “I pushed him over and kissed him.”

  Ella dropped the ribbon and nearly lost the scissors as well. “You did what?”

  She took a deep breath and looked straight ahead. “I was attempting to pour the tea. It was not as if I truly meant to crash upon him and all those tea things land upon us both and upset the sofa cushions in the process. No. I had simply gone to pour Lord Gavenston a cup, and as I leaned over to do so, somehow managed to get my foot caught up under my dress, which caused me to stumble just that little bit. But it was enough to cause me to have to catch my balance upon the tea tray. And it was the tea tray that was not properly positioned correctly to support my weight, so it rolled right out from underneath me as the platter tumbled to the floor. I could not think of where to land, my hands were flying about every which way trying to maintain some balance or dignity.

  “Well, I was already pitching forward, so it would perfect sense as to why I would lunge upon the duke. It happened so fast. One moment I was standing, serene and happily eager to pour him a cup of tea, the next instant I was sprawled upon him on the settee. But I still could not gain my balance as I wished, with my foot tucked up inside my gown. So when Lord Gavenston began to slip off the couch with the added weight and angle of my person, I tried all I could to scramble up to guarantee I would not cause him to crash upon the ground. It was all in vain, however, for I did manage to land us both in a pile of arms and legs and cushions and tea things. And then when I did look up and I found him staring at me with this complete shaken look upon his features, I did the only thing I could think of to distract him. I leaned down and kissed him—quite forcefully—on the lips.

  “You—you kissed him forcefully?” Ella asked.

  “Yes. Quite.”

  “And what does ‘forcefully’ imply?”

  Lacey sighed and scrunched up her mouth, before replying, “It means that I had gotten so caught up in the moment of actually kissing him—I mean kissing the Lord Gavenston—I may have smashed his lips into his teeth, causing him to wince in pain.” She looked over.

  Ella was wincing. “My goodness,” was all that she said.

  “Yes, well, it does not matter how beautiful I look in my gown, I am afraid the duke will only run from me.” She placed her chin upon her knees. “Why must I act like such a ninnyhammer when he is around? Why is it that every single thing that could go wrong does go wrong when he is present? I do not understand why so much bad luck occurs. How he must despise me. How he must laugh at me when I am not present. There are certainly days when I loathe myself and this exciting ability to play the fool.” Lacey attempted to stop it, but the first tear trickled down her cheek all on its own.

  “Lacey…” Ella whispered, her heart going out to her. “It is well, it will all be well.”

  “Will it?”

  “Yes. It must. If he is meant to be your true love, then you will know it. You will stop having such atrocities happen and all will work in your favor. Or if they never do stop happening, then he will love you despite them.”

  She chuckled. “I do not believe anyone would love me and the silliness I promise them.”

  “Someone will. Do not give up hope; it will all turn out well. You will see.” Ella picked up the ribbons and began to tie the first one into a pretty bow and then had a thought. “Lacey, will you please bring me the gown you were wearing the other day? The one that made you trip? Perhaps it just needs some mending.”

  “Oh, thank you!” She jumped up and rushed to the closet. “Mayhap you can figure out what happened.” She rummaged through several dresses as she spoke, “Mother was so upset with me, as you can imagine, I had to stay in my room until supper.”

  Ella’s own stomach had been rumbling greatly the past several hours. Her stepmother still had not given her permission to eat a full meal. Though the maids had been sneaking her bits of bread and cheese and small pieces of dried fruit, it still was not enough.

  “Here it is.” Lacey pulled the cheerful yellow and white dress from the closet and brought it over to Ella.

  She collected the bows she had already tied from her lap and set them on the ground. Then she took the gown and held up the inside hem for inspection. Just as she thought, the hem had been stripped. And it most definitely did not look like an accident. No, this was the work of someone intent on making Lacey look appalling to the duke.

  Someone like Jillian.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “AND WHERE DO YOU think you are going, my son?”

  Anthony turned around from the doorframe and smiled as his mother approached. “Just out for a ride, nothing more.”

  “A ride?” She grinned and raised an eyebrow. “A ride, and nothing else? Dressed as fine as you are? You are most certainly not going out for a ride.”

  It was uncanny how well the woman could read him. “Yes, I am.”

  “Who is she?”

  He stared blankly at her. “Whom are we speaking of?”

  She chuckled and put her hand on her elegant hip, her red sleeve flaring out as she did so. “The girl you are so keen on scampering about to. The same girl you went to see yesterday.”

  He sighed and looked at his fingernails, attempting his best pretense of boredom. “Mother, I have no idea what you are speaking of.”

  “Of course you do.” She walked up to him. “Now, Anthony, are you going to tell me about her or am I going to have to ferret it out by other means?”

  Good heavens. She would call upon all her friends and the merry busybodies of court to spy upon him. Then word would be out within a heartbeat he had been playing tribute to the long lost daughter of Alan Woodston, Lord Dashlund. And then Ella would do no less than murder him for never telling her himself that he was a prince and then his father would have no one to turn the kingdom over to when his health failed him. “How is Father doing today?” he asked instead of answering her questions.

  His mother bit her lip to stifle the grin that was even now apparent upon her features. “Why do you not give up this girl and go and see for yourself? He could use some company. Unless, of course, you would prefer to stay and chat with me…”

  Anthony stared right into his mother’s playful eyes. She had to be a witch the way she could read his mind so well. He heaved a huge breath of air and walked back into the large, richly decorated, cream-colored sitting room. Plopping onto one of the great gold velvet chairs, he waited for his mother to join him, her gown splaying out as she sat daintily upon the seat across from him, before he asked, “What would you like to know?”

  “Everything.”

  “Such as?”

  She laughed. “Who she is. Where she is from. Who is her family? Just typical everyday conversation starters would be best.”

  “Mother,
I am not in love with the gel, so it is of no importance whether you know who she is or who she is not.”

  “Hmm…” She gave him an arch look and sat more comfortably in her chair. “You are not in love with her? You are sure?”

  “Of course! I hardly know the woman.”

  She raised her chin a notch while watching him a moment and then asked, “How did you come across this girl you do not love, yet smile like a fool when you are sneaking out to meet her?”

  “Mother!” He chuckled and shook his head. “You are incorrigible. I do not smile like a fool.”

  “Yes, I am sure it is not quite like a fool, for how could my handsome son be considered to look anything like that?”

  “How indeed?” He smirked. All he needed to do was stand next to Ella for a good quarter of an hour and he would feel the fool soon enough.

  “What are smiling at? What have you remembered just now?”

  He shook his head, setting his thoughts aside. “Your words reminded me how this girl you are most eager to find out more of does often put me in my place and remind me to watch how I present myself.”

  “Does she now?” The queen reached for the little bell on the table near her elbow and rang for tea.

  He watched as she spoke to the footman, ordering their refreshments. She really was a very beautiful woman. Time had smiled kindly upon her. Even her eyes, though much more clouded with the strain of the secreted illness, were still sharp and her mannerisms were all that were graceful and lovely.

  She soon turned back to him and said, “I do believe I would like to meet someone—especially someone who can keep my son in his place.”

  He shrugged. “Mayhap you would be fond of her. I do not know. As I said earlier, I do not know her well enough to decide if I like her.”

  “Is there a reason you should not?”

  “She is not a spy from one of the neighboring kingdoms, if that is what you are implying.” He rested one foot upon his knee and put his hands together. “She is simply a girl.”

  “So what are you doing with her that is so clandestine; so very secretive even your own mother must pry it out of you?”

  “You are not prying anything out of me. And it truly is not that big of an issue.”

  “That big of an issue? Anthony! She is closeting herself with this kingdom’s heir and you say that this is not something to concern myself over?”

  “She is not closeting herself with anyone. And do not jump to conclusions, Mother. Besides, she does not even know who I am.”

  The queen’s mouth fell open for a few moments before she caught herself and clamped it shut. Leaning over she hissed, “You mean to tell me there is a girl who lives within riding distance that has no idea you are the prince?”

  “None.”

  “Anthony!”

  “What?”

  “Is she a servant of some sort?”

  “I do not know.” He frowned. “She should not be, and yet, I wonder if she is being treated as such.”

  “Just a moment. Are you aware of who this girl is? Who her family is?”

  “Of course. So are you—which is precisely the main reason why I prefer not to tell you who she is.”

  “Because of her family?”

  “Just so.”

  She threw her hands in the air and then folded them, her small foot tapping upon the ground. “Anthony, if you are delving into some family you know I would not approve of, I suggest you stop this at once.”

  He stood up as the footman pushed in the tea cart. “But I cannot, Mother.”

  “Why?”

  Walking over to her, he placed a kiss on her cheek. “Because what if I am in love? I could not simply abandon the love of my life now, could I?”

  “You are insubordinately impertinent.”

  He grinned down at her and waggled his brows. “I know.”

  “Anthony?”

  “Yes?” he asked as he swiped a tart off the silver platter and plopped it in his mouth.

  She watched him chew for a few seconds and then said simply, “You will always have my blessing if you truly love her.”

  “I know,” he said, as he pilfered another tart and took a bite.

  “But, Anthony?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Be careful with her heart, please. If you do not love her, do not continue this madness where you meet with her. You are quite charming, and could make any woman fall in love with you. Do not use this gift to accidentally harm someone whose heart is already fragile. If you believe she is being treated as a servant—”

  “I know, Mother.” He quickly placed another kiss upon her cheek and stole a few more tarts at the same time. “I promise not to break her heart.”

  “Good.” She turned to collect her plate and gasped at the mayhem he had caused with the tray. “Be gone you! Go meet your secret girl. If you are not staying for tea, then kindly stay out of my refreshments.”

  He grinned and went to grab another, his other hand full, but she smacked his knuckles and shooed him. “Go, get. We will speak of this more tonight.”

  Anthony laughed as he turned to go and lightly jogged out of the room. “I love you,” he called behind him.

  His mother’s voice followed him as it echoed down the hall. “You’d better, you ungrateful wretch!”

  He laughed harder.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ELLA WASHED HER FACE with water that was brought to her room and poured into the chipped basin on her dresser. It was nearly two o’clock and her chores were finally complete. Patting her face dry with the ragged cloth that hung upon a nail on her wall, she looked around her room. How she wished she had something prettier to wear. Something that would allow John to see her a bit differently. It was quite silly, she knew, to be forever thinking of the man. His presence meant nothing different in her life, except perhaps a small change, an excitement that was not there before.

  She hung the cloth back on the nail and took the pins from her hair. He was the means of the impossible. He was causing her to have hopes and dreams she did not need. Dreams that were even now beginning to clutter up her mind.

  Taking her old comb, she began to smooth out her long hair. If only she could escape this house. If only she could one day meet a man who would love her and take her away from here. He need not be like John—so very tall and handsome and a part of the court. He could very well be a nice farmer who was hoping to start his own farm somewhere. Someone who was used to working the land—someone who perhaps would not mind so very much to own a horse or two.

  Ella’s hands paused in her combing. Every now and then a very impractical thing happened to her when she was alone in her room and not forever busy with chores, or errands, or the stresses of life. When all was quiet, there were some times when a great sadness would come over her. It would almost debilitate and hamper the goodness that swelled within her heart. When those times were coming, she would try so very hard to focus on the gladness that was in her life. The joy she felt when another of the maids would get married, or have a child. Or when she was able to help cure an old man’s rheumatism before Lady Dashlund knew he was having difficulties working. When she was able to use her gift of sewing and piece together several scraps of leftover fabric to form a beautiful blanket or tablecloth or centerpiece for someone’s birthday or their accomplishments. She tried so desperately to focus on all that was good, all that she was capable of creating for good. And keep the melancholy at bay.

  Though, some days, the sadness would come anyway. And those were the days she would need to lie upon her bed and focus and bring back cheerful times—to relive those days when all was bright and clear and happy. It was an old game that worked quite well at keeping darkness away. To constantly remind oneself of the good.

  But today, today with John coming soon, it had a different impact upon her. She could no longer focus on the good and glorious things happening now, nor could she focus on the past, for the first time ever, she wanted to focus upon a future. A cha
nge. A difference in her life. John was allowing her to see and think and breathe past just living—he was teaching her to hope again. To believe that altering her circumstance was possible.

  But with that hope and need for change came the hardest part of all—the realization that now was not content; that she truthfully needed to leave this life behind and step forward. This was not the life the daughter of Lord Dashlund should be living. She should be free, not a prisoner forced to work for those who would not care for her.

  She began to comb out her hair very slowly again.

  If she still had Sunshine, would she be here now?

  Or would she have run far away from here?

  Urgh. This is was utter idiocy. It was madness to continue to imagine a difference in her life. No. She brushed more vigorously until all the tangles were out. It was much better to focus on the present. To see the joy now. To just learn how to live once again in the midst of melancholy.

  Ella wrapped her long hair around her hand and began to twist it up high upon her head as she looked out the window to the pretty garden below. The world was certainly a better place amongst all those flowers. She reached over to her dresser and began to slip the pins back into her smooth bun and glanced to the left, past the rooftops of the outbuildings to the tips of the blooming apple orchard she could make out behind them.

  There was happiness.

  Waiting within those trees was a happiness she had not known in years. Someone who remembered her from before. Someone who saw her as a person, not a servant or someone to be ordered about. She smiled and giggled a bit. Would he really teach her new dance steps today? Would he truly come as he said he would?

  What if he did not come?

  Just then, she saw the flicker of a horse coming down the lane to the right of the property. Her heart began to thud. Was it foolish to become this excited to see someone? She twirled around and rummaged quickly through the couple of frocks she had hanging in her closet. Whisking off the simple apron and dark grey dress she was wearing, she slipped on a plain blue one. Its long sleeves and high neck had no ruffle or adornment at all, but it tucked in nicely at the waist and it was a bit brighter and more colorful than the other. She quickly laced up the nicer boots and found an old piece of wide pink ribbon to tie about her middle, allowing the ends of the bow to fall behind.