All the Ever Afters

by Danielle Teller

  I saw the girls approaching before they spotted me. They both wore dark gowns, which reminded me of the gray frocks they had worn at the abbey, and they leaned together conspiratorially, as they had when they were children. I could tell by Charlotte’s tone that she was scolding her sister, though from afar, her words were mere song, like the call of a bird. Matilda laughed.

  I greeted them, and Matilda said, “A secret meeting, how diverting, Mother!”

  “You are in good spirits,” I replied.

  “Ah, but I can see that you are not. Tell me your troubles.” Matilda linked her arm through mine, and we started down our usual path.

  “I met your friend, Baron Barboro.”

  Matilda glanced at me warily. “A peculiar little man, is he not? His chambers are next to ours, so we see him often. He shares his books with us. He seems amiable enough, but there is something cloying about him.”

  “He certainly brought disturbing news.”

  Matilda squeezed my arm.

  “What did he say, Mother?” Charlotte asked.

  “He is concerned that we will be forced out of the court by those who believe us to be a liability to Prince Henry.” I did not mention the tower. It did not seem necessary.

  “Ella would never allow it!”

  “When was the last time you saw the princess?” I asked.

  “We have been busy.”

  “Have you met your new nephew?”

  “No,” Charlotte said uncertainly.

  “It is not your duties that keep you away,” I said. “You are not wanted there.”

  “But of course Ella wants to see us!”

  I shrugged. “Perhaps. It does not bode well that she has not sent for us.”

  “Where would we go if we have to leave?” Charlotte asked.

  “I am not sure. If we could secure a loan, we might start a brewery. You both have learned to brew.”

  Charlotte chewed her lip nervously. “What if the brewery failed?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We could go to Venice,” Matilda said in a small voice.

  I stopped walking. “Venice?”

  Matilda looked at me timidly. “Niccolò has invited me. I had said no, but I am sure that he would be happy if I changed my mind.”

  “But you don’t want to marry him!” Charlotte said.

  “Marry him?” I was incredulous.

  “Why do you look so shocked, Mother? Did you think that nobody would ever wish to marry me?”

  “I . . . No, of course not, it’s only that . . . I was not expecting this.”

  “Well, it seems that Niccolò admires me despite my face.” Matilda poked my side with her finger. “Who would have thought that such a thing could happen?”

  “Oh, sweetheart, you are a treasure, and you know I think that you are one of the finest women ever to walk the earth. One of the finest two,” I said, smiling at Charlotte. “One of the finest three,” I quickly corrected myself.

  “But, Tilly, you can’t!” Charlotte said. She looked at me beseechingly. “She doesn’t love him, and she does not want to live in Venice!”

  “If Niccolò would allow you both to come with me, I could resign myself to such a fate.”

  “You cannot marry a man you do not love!” Charlotte said.

  I was astonished at her naiveté. “Nobody marries for love,” I said.

  “Ella did.”

  “Your stepsister married a prince. Please do not tell me that you, of all people, are listening to these minstrel tales! These are the very reason we are being forced from the court!” I was outraged. “Prince Henry is not some heroic figure who saved Ella from a miserable fate, and Ella did not toss all reason to the wind to marry some pauper who stole her heart. She married one of the wealthiest and highest-ranking men in the land! You speak of love? Love is a sickness that causes men and women to do stupid things, the sorts of things that leave them sad and broken when the fever passes.”

  “And I suppose you think that anyone is a fool to fall in love with me?” Matilda said angrily.

  “You are the fool if you do not realize that such fancies pass quickly when families raise the issue of inheritance!”

  Matilda pulled back as though I had slapped her. The hurt in her face was wrenching. I drew a shaky breath and said, “I am sorry. I do not know how we got so cross. I love you so very dearly.”

  “I believe you are the one who got cross, Mother,” Matilda said, “and isn’t love a sickness?”

  “Not the love I have for you!” I was perilously close to tears again. “You are my own flesh and blood and bones. You are my own heart!”

  Charlotte put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “It is not right,” she said, “for a woman to give her life to a man she does not esteem.”

  Her comment stirred my ire again. “You know little of the choices women must make,” I said. “Do you suppose that most women get to live at liberty in manor houses and castles, eating stuffed pheasant off silver plates? That most women have any control over their own fates? Every woman serves a master, be it an overlord or a husband, and she is fortunate if he does not beat her and treat her cruelly. Everything you have, I got for you either through marriage or hard work. There is no alternative. Do you suppose that freedom was ever a choice for me?”

  “We are grateful to you, Mother,” Matilda said coldly, “and we are sorry that you have suffered.” She said the word as though she did not quite believe in my suffering. “If marriage is to be my only salvation, then I too will suffer. We happen to have a sister who is a princess, however, and before any of us do anything foolish, I am going to speak with her.”

  Charlotte, ever the peacemaker, said, “Now, Mother was not saying that you must marry.”

  Matilda’s eyes glittered. “I know perfectly well what she said, thank you, Lottie.” Matilda spun and walked away, back toward the palace. Charlotte gave me a chagrined smile and then chased after her sister, calling her name. I sank to the ground and wept, oblivious to any prying eyes that might have been watching me.

  A summons from Ella came the next day. I had spent the night awake, pacing in my narrow chamber, and I was not yet clothed when a messenger knocked loudly on my door and told me to report to the princess’s quarters. I was surprised that Matilda had managed to arrange an audience so soon, but I dressed as quickly as I could and hurried to the royal apartments. As hostile glances had become commonplace, I wore a long veil and kept my head bowed in the dimly lit corridors.

  An uncharacteristic timidity overtook me as I approached Ella’s private chamber, but before I could hesitate, a stony-faced servant opened the door and ushered me inside. Ella sat on her daybed, wrapped in a purple brocade robe and flanked on each side by Charlotte and Matilda. As I curtsied, Ella asked, “Are you ill?”

  I covered my eyes for a moment with my hands, realizing that they must be red from weeping. There was no looking glass in my chamber, so I had not seen the damage wrought by my sleepless night. I touched my eyelids gingerly with the tips of my fingers; they were puffed up like bread dough. “I am fine, Your Highness,” I said. “It is nothing some rest cannot cure.”

  Matilda jumped up and rushed to embrace me. Her expression was anguished, and I could tell from her pink-rimmed eyes that she had also shed some tears.

  “I am so sorry, Mama,” Matilda said. “I was an ungrateful wretch yesterday. How could I treat you so horridly when you have done so much for us? Can you forgive me?”

  I did not trust my voice, so I held Matilda tightly in my arms until the storm of feelings subsided. Then I said, “I hope that you will forgive me for my harsh words, my darling. I am not myself. I have been so worried—”

  Matilda took my face between both hands and kissed me. Then she smiled and said, “Our princess has found a solution to our troubles!” She put her arm around my waist and turned to the others.

  Charlotte and Ella looked pleased. Ella tucked a stray lock of glossy hair behind her ear and said, “
My sisters tell me that you are unhappy at court.”

  Out of politeness, I began to protest, but Ella cut me short, saying, “I don’t always like it here either. Sometimes I wish that I could get away. I like to make pilgrimages to the abbey, because it is always quiet and peaceful. I cannot choose to live there, but perhaps you should.”

  “But how can we live at the abbey?” I asked, confused. “We are not nuns, and we have no money of our own.”

  Ella laughed, showing her pearly little teeth. “Do you forget that the abbess is my godmother? She will deny me nothing.” She cocked her head to the side and looked up through her lashes. “When my grandmother died, she left nearly all of her considerable estate to the abbey. My mother received some statuary and tapestries, a mere pittance. I was denied my rightful inheritance. Mother Elfilda settled some money on me for my dowry, but that was a tiny piece of what should be mine. If I tell her that I want the use of Rose House, she will gladly agree.”

  “Do not argue with her, Mother!” Charlotte said. She smiled happily. “You have longed to go back to the abbey. Think of how contented we should be there! Ella will visit often, and we can take the children to hunt for frogs around the pond without anyone telling us that it is not proper. We shall have all the books we wish to read and no awful courtiers. We shall be together!” Charlotte leapt to her feet and took my hands in hers. “Do say that we may go to Rose House, Mother!”

  Ella stood also. She looked from one of us to the next with her big, luminous eyes. “If you have no objections, I shall make arrangements for the move.”

  I stepped forward and curtsied low. Charlotte and Matilda quickly joined me.

  “I cannot properly express my gratitude, Your Highness,” I said. “You are too generous.”

  “You are my family,” Ella said simply. “We have had our differences, but I never doubted your love.”

  My soul shrank within me as I remembered shameful lapses in my love for Ella. My affections had never flown to her naturally; I had needed to push and shove my heart toward my stepdaughter, and I had, at times, turned a blind eye to my heart’s obstinacy. I made excuses, telling myself that Ella was strange, and that anyone would find her difficult. That Charlotte and Matilda were more inherently amiable. That I was not Ella’s real mother.

  “Thank you,” I said, bowing to Ella again. “You are far more kind than I deserve.”

  The perfumed air was suddenly oppressive. I could tell that Charlotte and Matilda wished me to linger, but I felt stifled and light-headed, so I excused myself. The feeling of suffocation did not improve in the corridor, however, nor could I stand to be alone in my dark chamber. I fled to the garden, seeking fresh air; when I burst from the door, bright sunshine dazzled my sore eyes, and I could draw an easier breath. Accusing glances and whispers still clung to me, however, feeding on the guilt that I had tried so long to hide, even from myself.

  24

  Return to Rose House

  We moved to Rose House a decade ago, and I sleep in the same chamber my mistress, Lady Wenslock, slept in so long ago. Though there is plenty of room, even when Ella and her children visit, Matilda and Charlotte have chosen to continue to share a chamber. We take all of our meals together but keep busy with separate occupations for much of the day. Matilda teaches Latin to the convent students; she has become great friends with many of the nuns, and she sneaks them home for dinner whenever she gets the chance. Charlotte works in the scriptorium; she has great talent for illumination, and her volumes have gone to the best families in the kingdom. I have continued to write, mostly poetry. I don’t know if anyone will read my work, but writing brings me joy. Our favorite hours are spent together in the library, where we know our favorite books by heart.

  It has been a relief to escape the judgment and spitefulness we faced at court. I am certain that Ella has done nothing to promote stories about her ugly stepsisters and selfish stepmother, but she is so radiant, so simple and cheerful, and we are her shadows. In order for her to embody beauty and goodness, we have to be darkness and perversity. This is the way of mankind, and it has always been so, since God cast us out from the Garden of Eden. We can only know virtue by understanding vice; we would be animals otherwise, living, mating, breeding, and dying in a world without righteousness or sin.

  We did perhaps treat Ella too harshly when she was a girl, but I know that Charlotte and Matilda truly wanted their stepsister to be happy. So did I, though not nearly so much as she deserved. I am still trying to make peace with my failures.

  In a more complicated way, we also wanted Ella to be undaunted in the face of difficulty, thoughtful about the motives of others, hardy in the face of God’s small punishments. Charlotte and Matilda’s teasing, like my discipline, was meant to temper her character, as fire tempers steel. It was perhaps not in Ella’s nature to learn these things, and stringency may not have been the proper tool for teaching her, but we meant her no malice. It is only in old age that I recognize that not all characters have a core of steel. Ella’s character is made of something finer and less substantial, like morning mist or the sparkle of sun on water.

  Ella visits us every season and delights in the peacefulness of the abbey. She usually brings some of her children. She has five little princes and princesses now, two boys and three girls. The twins were named Charlotte and Matilda, but little Charlotte died in the cradle, so my daughters now share the duties of godmother to Millie. She is a sweet child, a ray of sunshine. Though she inherited her father’s brown eyes and dark hair, Millie’s face is as fair as Ella’s. I am sad that Charlotte and Matilda will never know the joys of motherhood, but they love their nieces and nephews, and they are grateful for the unusual freedom they have been granted.

  Ella dutifully visits with Mother Elfilda, who is now abbess only in name. Her sight is failing, and she is frail. The prioress manages most of the daily functions of the abbey, and Ella ensures that we are well cared for.

  The years pass quickly; of the half century I have been alive, the last decade has flown most swiftly. Every spring, I sit in the rose garden, where I watch the reflected light from the pond dance along the bower. When I hear the crunch of footsteps on gravel, I expect to see Fernan with his satchel slung over his shoulder, flashing his brilliant smile. Instead, it is my daughter. She takes her place beside me on the bench and strokes the back of my hand, smoothing down the blue veins that now worm beneath my spotted skin. I kiss her cheek. We may not deserve it, but we are happy.

  Acknowledgments

  Years ago, I had a job interview with an imposing and revered chair of medicine. With passion, I described my heartfelt belief that the pursuit of science needs to be recognized as a team effort, and that the myth of the lone genius hampers progress. I thought that the gentleman would agree with what seemed a self-evident truth, but instead, he was appalled. “Why,” he said, “that’s like claiming that a great novel can be written by more than one author!” I didn’t know how to respond at the time, but all these years later, I finally have my answer: Novels are created by teams of people too.

  I am deeply indebted to all who have contributed to this book. To those who read early drafts and shared wise critiques and advice, including Jennifer Bird, Liese Schwarz, Lynn Stegner, Masie Cochran, and the astute team at InkWell Management, I am enormously grateful. Thanks also to the members of Pegasus 4, my physician writing group, for their perceptive comments and encouragement.

  I am thrilled to have the opportunity to work with Jennifer Brehl and her team at William Morrow, members of the publishing pantheon that gave life to some of my most cherished stories. It is a dream come true.

  Michael Carlisle, my agent, is the real Prince Charming in this story. He was determined to lift Agnes out of obscurity, and I cannot thank him enough for his unflagging faith and enthusiasm for this work. (He also happens to be a prince of a man, and most charming.) Un grand merci aussi à Alexis Hurley for introducing this book to the world beyond the shores of North America.

/>   With all my heart, I thank my family and friends for love, inspiration, and support. Special mention goes to my daughter Claire, who has been a fierce champion for my writing aspirations; to my father, whose instincts for storytelling have been my guide; and to my wonderful husband, without whom this book would not exist.

  About the Author

  DANIELLE TELLER received her medical training at McGill University, Brown University, and Yale University. She has held faculty positions at the University of Pittsburgh and Harvard University. In 2013, Danielle pursued her childhood dream of being a writer. She is the author of one book of nonfiction, Sacred Cows: The Truth About Divorce and Marriage, and has written numerous columns for Quartz. She lives with her husband, Astro Teller, and their four children in Palo Alto, California. All the Ever Afters is her first novel.

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  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  all the ever afters. Copyright © 2018 by Danielle Teller. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  first edition

  Cover illustration and design by Leo Nickolls