Ella

by Virginia Taylor

  “Please do.”

  “Or Cinderella? I seem to recall you telling me the night of our ball that your carriage appeared to have turned into a pumpkin.”

  “Had it disappeared, Ella?” Vianna asked, taken from her contemplation of Mrs. Lynton’s delicate flower-painted fan.

  “The clock had struck twelve. My clothes had turned into rags, and instead of being Cinderella at her first ball, I was just Dorella.”

  “A very charming young lady.” Mr. Lynton seated Mrs. Lynton on the armless velvet chair by the window. He sat on the sofa, patting the seat and indicating Vianna should sit beside him. Mrs. Cameron took the other single chair opposite Mrs. Lynton.

  “Your sister is more interesting than Cinderella,” Mrs. Lynton told Vianna.

  “Ella?” The child glanced at her in amazement. “She understands the paddock rotation system, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Exactly,” said Mr. Lynton. “Exactly.” He smiled at Rose, who stood prettily framed in the doorway, no doubt apprised by the maid of the guests. “Miss Rose, please sit here.” He stood, offering his seat to Rose, then he squashed himself between Rose and Vianna.

  Ella finally glanced at Cal, who had a half-smile on his face. The only seat left was the other two-seater sofa by the fireplace. Cal gave a confident sweep of his hand, indicating that Ella should sit there. For one cowardly moment she considered leaving the room, but judging by the determination he expressed, he would have dragged her back. And so, with no choice she sat beside him.

  “I caught your horse thieves,” he murmured over the weather conversation that had begun between Mrs. Cameron and Mrs. Lynton. “Both are currently in custody, wanted, I believe, for other offences as well.”

  “I won’t accept those horses back,” Ella said, firming her mouth. She wondered if Cal had ever looked more handsome. His shave was close, his sideburns precise, his nails perfectly manicured, and his beautifully cut trousers hinted at the long hard muscles of his thighs. “I’ll buy a riding horse of my own now that I have some money.”

  “No need.” Cal straightened the crease in his trousers. “You can have whatever you want from our stud. My grandfather would be honored. It seems he bought your chestnuts and so you haven’t lost them after all.”

  “What’s that?” Mr. Lynton asked. “It’s settled, then, is it?”

  Vianna twirled a ringlet around her forefinger. “What’s settled?”

  “My son is to marry your sister.” Mrs. Lynton resettled her skirts.

  “Please.” Cal rose to his feet and rested one elbow on the mantelpiece. He looked magnificent. “It’s for Ella to say.”

  “I’m not going to marry you,” Ella said, springing to her feet. “And I’m not going to accept your horses. I plan to buy a little house for myself and I’ve planned that all along. I will live with Vi and spend my hours embroidering cushions.”

  Rose laughed. “That’s a plumper. You hate sewing. And what would you do with thousands of embroidered cushions? Marry Cal and you’ll never have to sew again.”

  “That should tempt you,” Cal said, his voice thick with irony.

  Ella’s eyes filled with unexpected tears. “You don’t have to marry me because I saved your dog. I would have saved anyone’s dog. I wouldn’t let anything drown if I could help it.”

  “I’m not accusing you of lying,” Cal said, turning toward her. “Unlike Rose. But you can’t swim. Nor do you like swimming. I recall having to ride about five miles out of my way so that you wouldn’t have to cross the river until you reached a point where your horse would do no more than wet his hooves. You saved my dog and you can’t swim. You risked your life to save my dog. She is a very nice dog, but she isn’t your dog and you don’t like her, you told me. Therefore, you saved my dog because you like me.”

  Ella shrugged. “And why shouldn’t I like you? You saved my family from financial ruin.”

  “You did. You worked and plotted and planned and you were given your just reward. I did no more than add a little backup.”

  “You were wonderful,” Vianna said. “Ella couldn’t have got our horses back by herself.”

  “That’s exactly what she intended to do.” Cal firmed his mouth and pushed his hands into his pockets. “And I don’t doubt she would have managed, too. But I couldn’t let her leave on her own. I didn’t want my future wife put into a dangerous situation.”

  “Your future wife?” Ella echoed. “You had no intention of offering marriage to me and you know it.”

  “You had no intention of accepting me and you know it.”

  Ella glanced at the five pairs of interested eyes aimed at her. “And this is not a subject we should be discussing in front of others.”

  “I agree,” said Cal, taking her arm. “Let’s walk in the garden.”

  Ella, guided by Cal’s determined hold, managed to make her way outside without stumbling or glancing back at her sisters for help. This was like the Cal she had first met, a bossy man who brooked no argument and offered no explanation, not that she needed one. “It was my idea to talk with you alone,” she muttered.

  “Very likely. And I read your mind. Now. Would you like to explain to me why you are refusing my constant offers of marriage? You certainly didn’t refuse to make love with me and if that isn’t a reason for marriage I don’t know what is.”

  “The reason shouldn’t be a reward for good service.” Ella folded her arms and rested her back against a tall pink gum that shaded the side of the house.

  Cal laughed. “Crudely put. I didn’t know you had it in you. No, Ella, my darling Ella, my very own Cinderella. I came today to see if the shoe fits, but I already knew it did. You are the only woman for me and you didn’t have to make love to me or save my dog to prove it. You proved it with your every deed, your every word, and...”

  “And what?” she asked warily, her hands dropping to her sides.

  “I don’t know.” He moved closer to her. “I can’t think. There’s no logic to a man loving a woman. He just does. He loves the curls that escape the knot in her hair and the lovely neck beneath.” He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on the junction between her neck and shoulder.

  She took a quick breath.

  “He loves this particular curve.” His hand followed the line of her cheek. “He loves her hands, their capability and their softness, the contrast.” He held her fingers. “He loves every part of her.” His eyes met hers. “Including her obstinacy.”

  She moistened her suddenly dry lips. “Love,” she said in a voice she didn’t recognize. “You haven’t mentioned love before.”

  “It was most remiss of me. But now reminded, how many times shall I mention it?”

  “Forever.” She eased into his arms. “Forever. If you love me, I’ll marry you. I wouldn’t marry for anything other than love.”

  “But,” he said, smiling tenderly. “You can’t marry me if you don’t love me. Do you love me, Miss Dorella?”

  “You told me I do. I must.”

  “Do you know if you do?”

  “Of course I do. I could tell myself a million times that I made love with you because I wanted to, because I would never have a chance to experience anything of that nature again, because I had an urge, or because of any reason. But the reason was that I loved you. Love you. Didn’t know. Oh. I’m sure I wouldn’t have unless I loved you. Nor would I have saved your pesky dog.” She said the last as Girl’s long wet tongue licked at her hand. “Did you leave her outside?”

  “I left her in the carriage. She must have jumped through the window when she heard you say you would marry me.”

  “She can’t hear.”

  Cal smiled. “She’s a female. She hears what she wants to hear. Now, shall we go somewhere quiet and make love? Or return to the sitting room and make our announcement?”

  “The sitting room.” Ella felt a blush warm her entire body. “I’m not lost to all propriety. I have no intention of sh
ocking your relatives or mine.” She moved in his embrace so that she tucked her arm under his, prepared to walk inside with him. At that moment, she noticed five interested faces at the window. “What will Vi say? She intended to have you for herself.”

  “I think she has come to terms with my desertion.” He indicated Vianna’s face as he strolled with Ella toward the front door. “She doesn’t look ready to cut your heart out.”

  Vianna opened the front door. “Ella, Ella,” she said in a breathy excited voice. “I’m going to be Cal’s sister-in-law. I expect I will meet all sorts of important people now. But where will I live?”

  “With us,” Mr. Lynton said. “Wherever you like. Now,” he said, taking Ella’s hands in his and kissing her cheek. “What can you tell me about the paddock rotation system?”

  “It’s Cal’s system,” she answered. “Shouldn’t he tell you?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Lynton looked at each other. “She is perfect,” they said together.

  “Yes.” Cal put his arm around Ella’s waist. His eyes softened and his mouth curved. “And I never would have found her if I hadn’t decided to go out on my own.”

  “Or if your silly dog hadn’t tried to drown me.”

  “Or if the fence hadn’t been falling down,” Vianna said over her shoulder.

  “Or if you hadn’t wanted to mend our fortunes.” Rose picked up her teacup.

  Ella smiled with happiness, overwhelmed by all the good wishes. She was kissed and hugged by all and head-butted by Girl. Thoughts she’d never expressed and never hoped to dream had been realized.

  Cal took her into his arms. “Or if you hadn’t been my very own Cinderella.”

  Meet the Author

  From art student to stylist, to nurse and midwife, Virginia Taylor’s life has been one illogical step to the next, each one leading to the final goal of being an author. When she can tear herself away from the computer and the waiting blank page, she immerses herself in arts and crafts, gardening, or, of course, cooking. You can visit her website at www.virginia-taylor.com, and tweet her @authorvtaylor.

  Learn more about Virginia http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/31648

  Be sure not to miss Virginia Taylor first book of the South Landers series

  Starling

  An aspiring dressmaker, orphaned Starling Smith is accustomed to fighting for her own survival. But when she’s offered a year’s wages to temporarily pose as a wealthy man’s bride, she suspects ulterior motives. She can’t lose the chance to open her own shop, but she won’t be any man’s lover, not even handsome, infuriating Alisdair Seymour’s…

  To prevent his visiting sister from parading potential brides in front of him, Alisdair has decided to present a fake wife. He lost his heart once, and had it broken—he doesn’t intend to do it again. But stubborn, spirited Starling is more alluring than he bargained for, and Alisdair will risk everything he has to prove his love is true…

  Set against the sweeping backdrop of 1866 South Australia, Starling is a novel of cherished dreams and powerful desires, and the young woman bold enough to claim them both…

  Starling on sale now!

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/book.aspx/31133

  Chapter 1

  Adelaide, South Australia, 1866

  “Straighten your collar, girl,” said the sharp-faced clerk guarding the office door. His olive jacket faded into the green-papered walls of the anteroom. “Mr. Seymour don’t like to see his employees looking scruffy.”

  Starling Smith fingered the starched white cotton around her throat. She didn’t look scruffy in the Seymour’s Emporium uniform she had worn with pride for the past two weeks. She looked neat and anonymous in the plain gray. Any female lucky enough to be employed selling fabrics should be nothing less than tidy—and diligent, too.

  Yesterday, when the owner, Mr. Alasdair Seymour, had toured the emporium he stopped to inspect the materials she had ranked using the rainbow color scale, a new idea of her own. He had taken her name from the department manager, and now he possibly meant to commend her.

  His office door opened. “Miss Smith?”

  Remembering her place, she leapt to her feet.

  He glanced at his clerk. “I’m not to be disturbed. Come into my office, Miss Smith.” Broad shouldered and tall, he looked younger than he had the day before, under thirty and handsome enough to deserve those sighs from the shopgirls.

  Starling’s knees wobbled as she hastened past him through the doorway.

  “Take a seat,” he said, taking his own. He wore his dark hair fashionably collar-length.

  She perched on a carved chair upholstered in dark green brocade. The hovering red of sunset shone through the tall windows dressed with swags of yellow-striped silk. Sparkling motes floated to his desk where he sat, picked up a pen, and tapped the end on his blotter. His forehead was smooth, his nose precisely chiseled, and his jaw firm.

  “Do you enjoy your job?” He looked straight at her. His eyes, an assessing luminous gray, sent a shimmer of panic through her.

  She quickly lowered her gaze, trying to regain her breath. “I do.” Her voice sounded embarrassingly husky. “I like working with fabrics.”

  “You worked in a hotel before you came here.” He scrutinized a page lying on his desk. “They gave you no reference.”

  She had thrown away the crumpled piece of paper that described her as “a good worker,” hoping she could gloss over the six weeks she had been employed at the Star Inn, mentioned in the South Australian police records as a site of gambling and prostitution. “I didn’t think a temporary job would matter when I was waiting on the Seymour’s list for more than a year.”

  He glanced up, his gaze again causing a strange jumble inside her. “You’ve had a small amount of education? That is, you can read and write?”

  “Yes, sir. Or I wouldn’t have applied here.”

  “Unfortunately, you’ve been annoying my customers.” He set down his pen.

  She drew a surprised breath. “I sell them what they want, sir.”

  “You sell them what you think they should have.”

  Shaking her head, she stared at her fingers knotted in her lap. “I sell them what they need. It wouldn’t be right to sell fabrics not strong enough for their purpose or too heavy or the wrong color.”

  “And it seems you have decided on the colors they should have.”

  “I advise them on what might...suit.”

  “I don’t pay you to advise my customers to buy cheaper fabrics than those they choose or less material. I pay you to make money for me.”

  “I do, sir.” She leaned forward. “Just the other day, a young lady came back to buy more fabric. She said I’d given her just the right material for her ball gown, and she wanted me to help her again.”

  “Mr. Porter thinks the fabric department can cope without female staff.”

  “Female staff?” she queried, shaken. “But he told me I’m a quick learner.”

  He shrugged. “I’m sorry but I am not going to keep you at the emporium.”

  “You’re going to get rid of me? Oh, no, you don’t mean that. I get twice as many sales as Mr. Porter.”

  He shook his head, placing his pen in the holder. “I can, however, offer you a different position.” He aligned his blotter with the edge of the desk. “In my home.”

  A quick shake of her head dealt with his offer of a maid’s job. “I won’t advise your customers about colors. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.” Her voice rose with hope. “I would accept a position in any other of your departments.”

  “I don’t have a position in any other department. I do have a list a mile long of women wanting to work in the emporium, as you know.” He evaded her gaze.

  Focusing on her weary black shoes, she exhaled her last hope. She’d loved measuring the soft fabrics, feeling the quality, and sliding the sharp scissors across the width. She’d loved working out the profits. She stood, not caring th
at her shoulders drooped.

  He pushed out his chair and stood, facing her. “You could earn quite a bit of money if you accept my alternative. I’m much in need of a woman like you.”

  She straightened. A woman like her? “If you don’t want me, I will get a job at Harris’s.”

  “Unlikely, given that they don’t employ females with or without references. I won’t beat around the bush.” Pausing, he eased his black cravat with a forefinger. “You look respectable. I need a woman to pose as my wife for a couple of weeks.”

  Aghast, she took a step back. He didn’t want a maid. He wanted to tup her. “I don’t know what gave you the impression that I might do that, but—”

  “Money.” His lips tilted cynically. “Now, what would you say to five pounds for the two weeks?”

  “No.” Her jaw tense, she backed to the door. “I worked as a laundress at the inn. Not a prostitute.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You only have to pretend to be my wife.”

  “I’m not good at pretending. I never have been.” She opened the door and walked out.

  Cheeks hot with humiliation, she strode past the clerk and down to the fabric department where, with shaking hands, she grabbed the cloth bag holding an apple, a clean pair of cuffs, a handkerchief, and a few pennies. Tying her shawl across her shoulders, she took the staff exit leading to a narrow alley off Rundle Street. She didn’t have time to weep.

  First, she would need to retrieve her belongings from the emporium’s boardinghouse and next find accommodation for the night. The Star Inn might let her use the laundry room. If not, her friend Meg would find her a safe place.

  Starling’s chest hurt and her eyes prickled. As she pulled the heavy door, she noticed the purple haze hovering over the sunset. She stood staring, her dreams shattered and her life in pieces. Gathering her bag under her arm, she hurried down the cobbled alley, chased by the aroma of fresh horse manure and settling smoke. A hot wind whipped her hair across her face, forcing her to pause. Blinking hard, she tucked the strands behind her ears.