Father raised his head, cleared his throat, and offered a tight smile. “Please.” He gestured toward the orchestra. “Please, continue. We shall be back with you shortly. Thank you.”
Miss Collins began to slip down the hallway, but Father caught her arm. “Not so fast, my dear. I believe we need to hear more from you, Miss Collins, so we can get to the truth.”
As Father led her toward the room Stepmother disappeared into, James stooped to pick up two charms glittering upon the stairs. A glass slipper and a golden heart.
“James.” His father’s voice held an edge of command. James searched the room for any sign of Stella, but she’d disappeared. “You’re needed, James.”
James followed his father into a small sitting room just off the stairway. Stepmother sat on the blue chaise lounge in the middle of the room, face in her hands, and Miss Collins stood off to the right, her gaze diverted, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her glove.
Sending a look in Miss Collins’s direction, James paced up to the mantel and squeezed the cool marble against his palm to gain some control over the heat scorching through his chest. Miss Collins had started the entire charade, and she almost appeared a little proud of her chaos. James pushed away from the mantel and turned to her. “Why would you conjure up such a story about Miss Emory and share it with my stepmother?”
Miss Collins raised her chin, a flint flaring to life in her dark eyes. “I didn’t want to see your family wounded by a woman who clearly has wicked designs, particularly for men of financial means. You should thank me rather than blame me.”
“Thank you? You’ve caused pandemonium, Miss Collins. If there was ever a good way to share such drivel, it certainly wasn’t this.” James scoffed, pushing his hands in his pockets and pacing nearer her. “These are serious charges to lay on a person. Serious indeed.” He rounded behind her, his breath pulsing. “Did you witness Miss Emory’s advances? Do you have personal knowledge of these deplorable accusations? Or are you passing along hearsay for some design of your own?”
“James.” His father’s voice smoothed into the quiet, curbing James’s ire a little.
Miss Collins’s eyes widened. “M…my father made Miss Emory’s behavior very clear to me.”
“So it is hearsay, is it?”
“How can you question Miss Collins so, James?” His stepmother’s shaky voice broke into the silence. “She’s a gentleman’s daughter. I knew her mother—an excellent woman. Surely her testimony holds more credence than some orphan from the mountains who may never have learned better?”
James growled and turned away, his hand fisted around the charms in his pocket. This wasn’t true. Not Stella. None of it fit the woman he knew. If she’d wanted to seduce him, she’d had ample opportunity to take advantage, but she’d attempted to leave on several occasions. He’d been the one to pursue her. No. His gaze flipped to Miss Collins. Someone was lying, but it wasn’t Stella Emory. “Stella…Miss Emory is not an unintelligent or thoughtless person, Stepmother. And if you want to know the truth, then, as in any good case of justice, you confront both parties instead of assuming that one holds all the right”—he stared at Miss Collins, who had the decency to look a little nervous—“and the other all the wrong. You’ve not done justice here today.”
“Well said, James.”
A voice rang into the room from the doorway, and all heads turned. James’s godmother, the illustrious Mrs. Eloise Bertram, stood framed by the door, cane perched at her side and a dramatic plume of peacock feathers puffing from her rather large hat.
“Godmother.” A sudden weight lifted off James’s shoulders. If anyone could command the truth, it was Eloise Bertram.
She entered the room, cane making a rhythmic tap against the floor, and her feathered gown—to match the peacock motif, James supposed—rustled into the silence. “There’s quite a bit of talk in your house, Marilyn, and none of it impressive, if I may say so.”
“Now, Aunt Eloise, I may have jumped to a few conclusions—”
“Rather off a ledge, I would say, from the response of the guests.” Her dark brow edged north as she examined each face before continuing. “Not the best way to showcase your home for the first time, is it?”
Her cane tapped the hardwoods again as she took a few more steps.
Stepmother released another loud sob.
“Marilyn, instead of dissolving into tears, use the wisdom of your stepson and examine the evidence. I think a thoughtful head and a sensitive heart are both needed to make sense of matters.” Eloise slid her attention to James, and the briefest grin tipped at the corners of her mouth. His godmother knew something.
“Miss Collins.”
All eyes turned to the young woman, who appeared to shrink into the corner of the room at the sound of Eloise Bertram’s voice.
“Is it true that a Miss Stella Emory was publicly humiliated regarding certain rumors involving a man by the name of Donald Collins?” She paused—no doubt for effect, if James knew his godmother. “Your father?”
“They were not rumors.”
“No? And are you quite sure of your stance on that rather crumbly cliff, dear?”
Her chin came up again, but her lower lip wobbled ever so slightly. “I have no reason to lie.”
“Ah. Well, there is something to say for faulty loyalty rather than no loyalty at all.” Eloise circled her. “But no reason, you say? I find that highly suspect. I would imagine you were jealous?”
Miss Collins’s gaze shot to Eloise. “Of course I was jealous. Stella Emory was my companion—a servant, for all intents and purposes, hired to disappear, and yet everyone noticed her first. Her artwork, her kindness, even the color of her eyes. I was the wealthy debutante. I should have secured the attention, not some nobody from nowhere.”
Godmother’s shoulders slumped for a moment, an uncharacteristic weariness flashing across her face as she stared at the younger woman. “I wish I’d never placed Stella in your father’s employ. Had I but known…”
Wait. James stood to attention. What had Eloise said? She’d arranged Stella to work for Mr. Collins? “You…you what?”
“I was friends with Miss Collins’s mother at the time, and Miss Emory sought employment to pay her own way as much as she could, sweet girl.” Godmother’s turned her focus back to Miss Collins. “I should have reconsidered once your mother was gone.”
“For goodness’ sake, Eloise. What is it that you know?” Father ran a hand over his face. “Since you always seem to know everything.”
James was still trying to mentally catch up with the fact that his godmother not only knew but had come to defend Stella Emory. How?
The edges of Godmother’s lips upturned slightly, just enough to show she enjoyed Father’s awareness of her apparent omniscience. “I know my great niece foiled things for all the house to see, but I feel certain she can remedy her mistake.” She leaned her cane against a chair and drew a fold of papers from the little black purse on her wrist. “I have here letters—seven to be exact—all written by individuals who have witnessed or been victim to Mr. Donald Collins’s unwelcome advances.” Her attention shot back to Miss Collins. “Seven. With three more people willing to add to my collection, should I need more proof.”
James’s grin slipped wide. Ah, his godmother was a brilliant and somewhat terrifying woman.
“Proof?” Marilyn stood from the lounge, her attention shifting from Miss Collins to Eloise. “Do you…do you mean to tell me—”
“That you caused unnecessary scandal over a false accusation?” Eloise tapped the letters in her lap. “Indeed, my dear.”
“I don’t believe you.” Miss Collins tossed her dark hair and placed her hands on her hips. “Did you compile some sort of list of grievances from disgruntled servants? They’ll tell you anything for the right price, you know.”
And this only proved what little sense Miss Collins truly had. Crossing Godmother? Oh no, no. James almost felt sorry for the girl. Almost. He crosse
d his arms and leaned back against the wall to watch the response.
“No, I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had to resort to bribery or blackmail to achieve my means, as I believe some are accustomed to doing.”
Miss Collins’s smile faded into the ghost of an expression.
He’d seen his godmother’s cleverness too often to doubt a residual sting.
“You are married to your accusations, aren’t you, Miss Collins? Humility is a step to wisdom, my dear, something you would be keen to investigate.” Eloise opened one of the letters and gave the page to Miss Collins. “This is one of the less graphic accounts of your father’s behavior. A firsthand detailing, in fact, from an infallible source.”
The young woman skimmed over the page, her hand going to her chest before she cleared her throat and looked back at Eloise, her face placid. “And which former servant provided such a ridiculous account?”
Eloise carefully retrieved the paper before responding. “Your cousin, Lady Aria Millington, Countess of Manston, who, I believe, finances your European trips.”
Color seeped from Miss Collins’s face, and she slipped down into a nearby chair.
“And there are at least two more from people of rank, along with the other accounts from a myriad of servants who’ve been misused by your father—should you need more proof, Miss Collins.”
James’s smile blossomed. He’d never wanted to hug his godmother more in his life. But he quickly sobered. Such information couldn’t be easy for the young daughter to hear. For anyone to hear.
“I am very sorry for you, Miss Collins, and I strongly encourage you to plan an extended visit to your cousin in order to distance yourself from the scandal that will erupt once these letters are made public.”
Miss Collins’s bottom lips dropped and then she buried her face in her hands.
“And should you need more proof, Marilyn”—Eloise walked across the room and took a seat across from James’s stepmother—“I also have correspondence here between Miss Emory and myself. An account from when she first experienced advances from Mr. Collins. At such time, I advised her to leave Boston and return to Asheville, which had been her plan for a few weeks anyway, while I worked to gather evidence to support her. We both knew it would be difficult to prove her innocence against the word of an established family.”
James came to his godmother’s side. “How do you know Stella.”
Eloise raised pale eyes to him. “I’ve known her for half of her life.”
Half of her life? “But…but how? She didn’t move away from these mountains until she was—”
“Eleven years old. Still such a child. A broken, lonely, grief-stricken child.”
A sudden emptiness swelled through his stomach. “I don’t understand.”
His godmother drew in a breath, her smile sad. “Stella’s father saved my life and the life of my husband.”
“You?” James ran a hand through his hair and took a few steps away before turning back to his godmother to confirm he’d heard right. “The…the river?”
“She told you?” Eloise measured him with a look. “Reginald and I found her weeping on the side of the river. We had no children, so we brought her with us to Boston and set her up in a school for girls until she was old enough to employ. She was clever and talented, so when Reginald died, I took the funds he’d left for charitable opportunities and sent her to The Boston Academy of Art.” Her expression softened. “And she’d found a place in my heart, as I can see she has in yours.”
James blinked in the news. So his godmother was Stella’s benefactress? He drew the charms out of his pocket, all the puzzle pieces coming together to create an unbelievable picture.
“I have to find her.”
Eloise’s smile crinkled at the corner of her eyes. “Indeed, you do.” She pointed her cane in his stepmother’s direction. “And you should set things right in front of everyone before James brings the poor girl back into the house.”
His stepmother’s red-rimmed eyes grew wide. “What do you mean?”
“You allowed this rumor to be announced in front of the entire room, Marilyn Craven. I think it only honorable that you set things right in front of the entire room now.”
James marched to the door, his godmother’s voice following him. “And I believe you should have your bags packed directly, Miss Collins. You’ll find no one here willing to listen to your stories.”
James slipped down the back stairs and ran along the terrace toward the drive, the moon’s glow rising as the horizon dimmed in the distance. Stella had been almost a part of his family for years and he’d never known. He increased his pace. Well, he planned to change almost to definitely.
As he rounded one of the stone pillars at the end of the drive, he nearly collided with someone entering.
“James?”
“Stella!” She stood, an apparition in silvery-blue and moonlight, her hair loose around her shoulders, her golden eyes dark and glistening. Oh, she was beautiful. “What are you doing here?”
“I…I was coming to find you.” Her breaths puffed into the cold night air. “What are you doing here?”
His grin slid wide, his voice barely working. “Coming to find you.”
“You…you were coming to find me? But I thought—”
He nodded and tugged off his coat. “I never believed Miss Collins’s accusations. Not for a second.”
She searched his face, her bottom lip pouting out ever so slightly. “You didn’t?”
“No.” He wrapped his coat around her, keeping a hold on the lapel so she’d stay close. “You’re not the sort who would do what she accused you of. You haven’t tried to steal a kiss from me even once, and you’ve had ample opportunity.” He crinkled his brow. “Which, come to think of it, should offend me.”
“You…what?” She blinked and shook her head. “But your parents?”
He shook his head, tugging her closer. “My godmother arrived as you left. It just so happens she’s also one of your biggest admirers.”
Stella’s brow puckered as she studied him.
“Mrs. Eloise Bertram.”
Her mouth widened as large as her eyes. “Your godmother is Mrs. Eloise Bertram?”
“The very same. She arrived bearing proof of your innocence, and if I’m not mistaken, my stepmother is sharing that truth to the entire ballroom as we speak.”
Stella slipped a hand up through the center of the coat and rubbed her forehead. “I…I can’t believe all of this. It’s…it’s like…”
“Heavenly magic?”
Her gaze flipped to his and, ever so slowly, a smile transformed her expression.
“Speaking of magic.” James reached into his pocket. “I have something that belongs to you—something you lost on the stairs.”
“Wha—”
He placed the glass slipper charm in her palm.
“My…my charm?”
“Pretty appropriate, don’t you think?” He took her hand and breathed a kiss over her knuckles. “A perfect fit...for my heart.”
She released a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “My prince.”
“I love you, Stella. I want to continue this story with you all the way to the happily-ever-after. To take care of your heart as best I can.” He placed the other charm in her palm. “Would you consider…um…do me the honor of becoming my—”
“Yes.” She cupped his face between her palms, her smile brimming. “Marry you?” Her eyes glistened in the moonlight. “Yes.”
“You will? Even with my affinity for plants and my ridiculous sense of humor and the fact I can’t swim and—”
She stopped his verbal tirade with her lips. Soft, warm, every bit as much a perfect fit as the rest of her.
“Well, it’s about time,” he murmured against her lips. “I’m not offended anymore.”
She giggled and dissipated the distance between them to steal another kiss. Although, it probably wasn’t stealing if it was reciprocated, and he kept her w
onderfully trapped in his arms with no intention of ending the mutual thievery for a very long time.
Stella sat by the fire in one of Cravenwood’s many sitting rooms, James by her side on the lounge, his arm draped behind her. After an apology from Mrs. Craven, a welcome hug from Mr. Craven, and a squeal and resounding cheek-kiss from Alice, Stella embraced her benefactress and friend, Eloise Bertram.
“I knew once the two of you met you’d be a lovely pair.” The older woman took a sip of her tea, peering over her cup at them with a twinkle in her gray-blue eyes.
“You wanted us to meet, did you?” This from James.
Her James.
“Do you remember this summer, when I wrote to you insisting that you join your family’s trip to the Boston townhouse?”
“Yes.”
“That was what you were hiding all along?” Stella laughed and turned to him. “Mrs. Bertram concocted some story about being sick and needing a companion, so I stayed with her for two weeks this summer. Once she realized you weren’t with the family, she experienced a miracle recovery.”
James leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. He exuded such an easy friendliness, such welcome and ready conversation. Here was someone who would reach into her solitary world and draw her into his much fuller one.
“So you’ve been behind this all along? Sending Stella to Biltmore in hopes we’d meet?”
“I had plans to introduce you once I arrived.” Her grin resurrected. “But I see a greater Matchmaker was at work before I had my chance.”
James reached over and covered Stella’s hand. “Well, the ultimate Matchmaker may have designed the unexpected meeting, but he certainly used you to pave the way for us to find each other.” He met Stella’s gaze, his deep-blue eyes rich with enough tenderness to vanquish any of her doubts about whether an heir and an Appalachian illustrator could create a future together. “Our very own fairy godmother.”
“Oh no. I’m too prunish to be a fairy.” She waved a hand. “Perhaps more of a grumpy dwarf.”
“You’ve always seemed rather magical to me, Mrs. Bertram.” Stella leaned forward to touch the woman’s hand. “Helping dreams come true.”
Finding Ever After: four fairytale-ish novellas Page 12