“They are?”
“Yes. Your face is what you want it to be. If you do not want to be beautiful (which I am afraid you always will be), then let yourself be plain. Or crazy. Or funny looking!” Ella laughed as her mother ruffled her blond hair. Her mother continued speaking while she chuckled.
“Or mysterious, or dramatic, or—“
“Or like a fish!” Ella squealed, sucking her cheeks into her mouth and pursing her lips. Her mother laughed and mimicked her daughter, planting a wet “fish” kiss on her forehead.
“It is your face, little Ella,” Isabella promised, squeezing her daughter tighter. “Only yours.”
Chapter Four
Marion didn’t bother disguising her astonishment or her emphatic disapproval. Ella had never been one to cower beneath the blanket of social decorum. She cared little for its rules or the consequences if one were to shirk such etiquette, indirectly or blatantly. Marion knew this about Ella and admired her for it. She even went so far as to encourage Ella and boast her own hand in Ella’s proprietary freedom. But now she had pushed boundaries even Marion felt were in place to protect and benefit societal structure and even Ella herself.
“He was here all night?” Marion beseeched, fluttering behind Ella as she made her way down the corridor hall toward the kitchen.
“Well, yes, dear Marion,” Ella answered, refusing to be distracted from her errand. “I wasn’t very well going to make him sleep in the barn. We spoke until the wee hours of the morning and then I escorted him to Barrow’s old quarters.”
It was a lie; she and Gabriel hardly spoke at all before she invited him to reside in her home.
“Barrow?” Marion all but shouted, shocked that Frome’s deceased son’s bedroom was being used to house a transient. “Ella, how could you?” Marion had known Barrow since he was a strapping teenage boy who came with his widowed father to work for the Delaquix family. Some years later, he was killed in a tavern brawl that, to Frome’s severe disconsolation, the impetuous teenager had instigated.
“Marion, please,” Ella said, halting her actions and turning toward her trusted friend and mentor. “It has been vacant for so many years. I would never allow anyone to disrespect Barrow. I cared deeply for him as well, you know.”
Marion felt her temper calm a bit, assured that Barrow’s memory was alive, well, and respected. “I know that, love,” Marion said as Ella went back to retrieving random items from the kitchen, “but it is not because of Barrow that I worry so. You know nothing about this man. All you know is that he breaks into people’s homes and very well might have –“
“Might have what?” Ella asked, meeting Marion’s eyes with a smile.
Marion didn’t have an answer, but her argument was far from flimsy.
“What are his intentions?” she petitioned. “You say he needs your assistance to get justice for his dead brother. But what if he is lying to you? What if he wants to hurt you or steal your property or something far worse?”
Marion’s volume swelled as she came to the end of her list of discrepancies, clearly having saved the most horrendous innuendos for last. Ella concluded her errand in the kitchen and made her way back toward the hallway with Marion in tow. When they were at last back at the threshold to Barrow’s old bedroom, Ella stopped and placed her empty palm on Marion’s shoulder.
“Marion,” Ella said, all illusions of loving banter gone, “there are many questions that still need answering, for me as well as you. I intend to leave no stone unturned. And as for me trusting this man, I will say I do nothing of the sort. I will give him no money, no access to anything of value in my home or on my person, nor will I let him stay if I feel for one moment that he is here under false pretenses.” Ella went on, but caught Marion’s eyes in such a way as to communicate more than words, but feelings and memories. It was a connection the two women had shared most of their lives.
Ella continued. “I know how foolish I must sound to you. But you were not there last night when I spoke to him. I have not lived as many years as you and I do not pretend that I have much experience in the proclivities of men, be they con artists or gentleman. But I must follow the instincts of my mind and heart. And when I give heed to both, I am impressed that he is telling me the truth.”
Marion was blank faced for only a moment and then shook her head, displaying a shallow grin that admitted defeat but reserved the tenure of maturity and the right to, at least confrontationally, bear arms again. Ella released Marion’s shoulder and knocked heavily on the large oak door. There was no vocal permission from inside to enter, but Ella took Marguerite’s frilly, one-sided conversational dialogue from behind the partition as admission. With Marion close behind, almost like taking shelter, Ella entered the chamber.
Gabriel Solange was seated, his back to the doorway. He didn’t need to turn, however, for Ella to see the miraculous transformation that had taken place. Where once were dark, curly locks of wild, tangled hair was now the svelte, contained, perfectly trimmed black hair of a teenage boy trying to please his hyper-conservative patriarch. Its blackness was still striking but the rigid hold of Gabriel’s newly cropped mane made it appear almost ominous. Perhaps the auspiciousness was better attributed to his unwavering posture. Ella could not speak for disbelief but Marion was simply confused. The man that Ella had described depicted as much a vagrant as Marion had ever encountered on the muddy streets of Gwent. Whomever Gabriel Solange was, he was not as Marion had imagined he would be. She could see no more than the back of his head, but it was enough for Marion to understand what Ella was talking about. This was not a common criminal. Gabriel was still and composed, not slouched or fidgety. The man was tall with broad, inflexible shoulders and a composure that resembled the marble statues Marion had seen in the halls of Rome as a child. When he stood, however, and turned toward the women, locating Ella first and then shifting his gaze toward Marion, she found herself completely dumbfounded. Gabriel’s chest was smooth, pale-colored and unashamedly solid. His waist was narrow and it met his hips in perfect alignment. Marion did not know what to make of his face. It was not a typical handsomeness. Gabriel’s face was long, his cheekbones high and well pronounced. His eyes were a pale blue and the top of his nose wrinkled with every twitch of his facial muscles. Perhaps, Marion contemplated, “handsome” was not the best word to describe the man. All she could assess in its place was the word “stunning” in every possible variant, both engaging and austere. But his stunning looks, however, left Marion even more unsettled. This mysterious drifter was not a common criminal, all commonality having vanished entirely when he stood. But that did not mean he was not a worse sort: a true believer, the kind of villain that carried the creed of righteousness in his weaponry. Marion had known such offenders in her lifetime. She knew there was nothing more alluring than true conviction.
“My goodness,” Ella said, clearing her voice in a sincere effort to keep from stuttering, “you certainly clean up well.” Marguerite stepped out from behind him, her apron speckled with curly little traces of Gabriel’s once-long hair. She was beaming with pride at her work. Gabriel was as stoic as he’d ever been. He twitched his chin and thanked Ella almost inaudibly, as though it was a strange sensation to him to receive a compliment. His timidity didn’t bother Marguerite, though. She proceeded to brush off Gabriel’s shoulders and slide her fingers through his hair, in the back. Now that he was standing, she could no longer reach the top of his head. Marguerite’s motions intrigued Gabriel as she swept her hands over his back and shoulders. His eyes followed her movements as she went from side to side. Marguerite extended her hand to Ella, obviously ready for whatever item she’d sent her to retrieve from the kitchen. Ella did not see Marguerite’s gesture. She could only return Gabriel’s stare. He had shifted his attention from Marguerite to Ella and the awareness carried with it a strange, uncanny heaviness. While Ella found herself, for the first time in her life, relishing in a man’s concentration, she could take no pleasure from Gabriel in that ju
ncture. He stared at her not as a man bewitched by beauty or even entertained by charm. He scanned her almost predatorily.
“Ella!” Marguerite hollered, startling both Ella and Gabriel. “Do you have it?” Ella looked down at the item in her left hand.
“Yes, yes,” she replied, flustered, walking a white cloth and a tiny blade to Marguerite, “I am sorry.”
“Oh, it’s all right, love,” Marguerite said, physically pulling at Gabriel to get him to sit back down in the iron chair facing the window. “Who wouldn’t get a little lightheaded with such a burly, jaw-dropping man in her bed?”
“What?!” Marion shrieked, shooting her glare toward Ella, who was hiding her cherry-red face in her hands. Even Gabriel, now seated again, looked up at Marguerite in utter shock.
“Oh calm yourself, missy,” Marguerite riposted, laughing, “I was just being literal. All beds in this home belong to the lady of the house, none other than our sweet Ella here. And her handsome stranger took refuge in one of ‘em last night, did he not?”
Marion exhaled in both relief and impatience with Marguerite.
“Curse you, demon woman,” Marion said, charging at Marguerite with full design to punish her, if not physically, then verbally and right to her face.
“Marguerite,” Ella pled, her face still hot, “control yourself, please.” Having Gabriel in the room had made Ella abashed by her friends in a way she’d never been and it bothered her to be so.
Marguerite leaned in toward Gabriel and smiled, her white teeth shining with everything but embarrassment. “Pity you didn’t come to my chamber last night,” she whispered, “my bed is much too big for little ol’ me.” Gabriel leaned back, clearly not accustomed to loud women, least of all Marguerite. And the fact that she had a tiny but sharp blade in her hand did not lessen his unease.
“Oh stop it,” Marion spat, slapping Marguerite across her arm. “And what is it you intend to do with that razor?”
“His eyebrows need a trimming,” Marguerite answered, “and it might not be in his best interest to have you hitting my arm, Marion!”
Ella was still speechless. What had just happened in that last ten seconds? If Gabriel wasn’t already regretting his solicitation of Ella’s services, he most certainly had to be at that point. Had he changed his mind?
And why would she mind either way?
“Ella?” Marion beckoned loudly, clearly repeating herself though Ella had no recollection of her ever being beckoned.
“What?” Ella answered.
“Now that introductions have been made, I would like to know just why this man is in this house and why it is so vital that he look like some kind of prince.”
Gabriel lifted his hand and gently took Marguerite’s wrist, interrupting her grooming efforts. He stood and faced Ella and she was not sure what to make of his demeanor. He didn’t appear angry, but there was a hint of displeasure in his eyes.
“Ella,” he said as he made his way to the bed to retrieve his linen shirt, “don’t you think it is best to excuse your servants?” Marion snorted in disapproval.
“I am sorry, sir,” Ella said, firmly, “but if you expect me to do anything for you, I will need the full cooperation and support of my entire staff.”
Gabriel had donned his shirt and studied Ella out for a few seconds before turning his gaze back to Marion and Marguerite. “Very well,” he said, shortly, “but this is not a game or social expose to be put forth for amusement. “
“Out with it!” Marguerite spat, irritated at his innuendo that she could not keep a secret, even if she couldn’t. “You have a funny way of thanking someone that just spent the last hour turning you from a homeless vagabond into a right handsome gentleman. We have known Ella here since she was a little girl and we don’t need some mysterious nomad to remind us how to treat her. So just say what you need from the likes of us.”
Marion was not one who shied away from opportunities to express her own opinion, especially when it came to looking out for her Ella, but she merely nodded, seconding Marguerite’s sentiments. Gabriel was not thrown off by Marguerite’s words, but he knew better than to stagnate on preliminaries when it seemed clear that these two women would indeed be accompanying him and Ella on each leg of their journey.
“I mentioned much of this to Ms. Delaquix last night, but I will reiterate it for you now,” he said.
Gabriel told Marion and Marguerite the story about his brother and his fifteen years of waiting for the perfect opportunity to bring justice to his brother and exact revenge on the culprit: Captain Thurlow. Ella could not help but note the change in the air when Gabriel told the women about his brother. But the obvious nervousness that befell Marguerite and Marion upon the presence of Thurlow in Gabriel’s saga was as transparent to Ella as it was reassuring to Gabriel that these women had no intention of making light of anything that included the captain. It was apparent to Gabriel that both women despised Thurlow as much as Ella did.
“Captain Thurlow is well established in his title as both the high commander of Gwent’s army and King William’s personal bodyguard. The king believes that Thurlow saved his life and will defend the man to any allegations of treason by anyone, especially the supposedly dead fugitive that played a role in his own assassination attempt.” Gabriel moved toward Marion and Marguerite, satisfied they were paying due attention to his every word.
As was Ella, as he was revealing new information to her as well.
“To reveal my true identity would only result in my arrest and the carrying out of my original sentence: execution. As you can imagine, I have no interest in that chain of events.”
“Just kill the bastard,” Marguerite said, explicitly salient. “I’ll help you!”
“Believe me, madam,” Gabriel said, “if killing Thurlow would restore honor to my family name and my brother’s legacy, then it would have happened long ago.”
Marguerite looked at Marion, who had taken a seat in the iron chair, still staring intently at Gabriel. Ella had made her way toward her friends and stood behind Marion as Gabriel went on.
“If Thurlow dies now, he is a hero to everyone in Gwent. My brother, and myself, remain the villains. No. My only hope for true justice means that I must expose Thurlow as the murderous, opportunistic traitor that he is. That is where I need your assistance.”
Gabriel and Ella locked gazes.
“King William is an old man and though he still maintains most of his mental faculties, he is severely sick and bedridden,” Gabriel explained. “Gwent has, in the last year, been presided over by his wife, Queen Arabella. As far as I have observed, the Queen is equally amenable to Captain Thurlow. She has allowed Thurlow to take control of almost every aspect of the governing of Gwent, which, I believe, was due to William’s urging. As you already know, Arabella and William’s son Leopold will be returning this month from his military sojourn abroad and will, per tradition and expectation, marry a young woman from Gwent as soon as possible. Arabella will undoubtedly make a spectacle of this event. She will throw a ball and require every eligible maiden of appropriate station to attend. She will insist that her son choose a wife from the attendees. Leopold is independent but he does not like to upset his mother nor does he desire to do anything contrary to what his father believes is best for Gwent. He is anxious to prove his adaptability to the rigorous requirements of royal leadership. If history serves, Leopold will not go against his mother’s wishes, neither in choosing his betrothed from the maidens that attend the royal ball nor in his partiality toward the woman that Arabella favors. Leopold is the key to exposing Thurlow. He is the rightful heir to his father’s kingdom and, when William succumbs to his illness, will resume the role of King. Leopold holds no allegiances to Thurlow. He has not spent an abundance of time with the man and is so far removed from the social politics of his father, who sired Leopold when he was almost sixty years of age, that he will not ignore, for any reason, the threat that an assassin is in his midst; an assassin that once tried to kil
l his father and will undoubtedly try to do it again.”
“I’m confused,” Marion said. “What makes you think that if William or Arabella would dismiss you, Leopold won’t do so as well?”
“Because Leopold will not be learning of Thurlow’s treasonous history from me. He will be learning of it from Ella.”
“What do you mean?” Marion asked.
Ella felt her heart shutter. She closed her eyes, trying to transform her surroundings into a dream.
“Ella must attend the royal ball,” Gabriel replied. “She must use the attractiveness that seems to bewitch and captivate every living, breathing member of the male sex to find her way into Leopold’s graces. Leopold is not oblivious to such appeal; he has made quite a name for himself amongst the female servants of the castle staff. His mother has tolerated his promiscuousness in the past, but now that it is time for him to take a wife, will demand he choose his companion from noble blood. Leopold is not the type to jeopardize his throne by doing anything but what Arabella desires. If we do this right, he will see Ella as a more-than-worthy mate.”
“So you are contending,” Ella beseeched, breaking her silence, “that I must attend a royal ball and somehow entice the prince into favoring me for his wife? You are mad! For one, how can I control his preferences? There will be hundreds of women for him to choose from. Second, I have no desire whatsoever of attending a social gathering thrown for the sole purpose of designating two nameless identities to matrimonial cohabitation with no regard to love and respect. Third, what if Leopold were to choose me for his wife? Are you honestly suggesting that I go as far as to accept his proposal so that you can, through me, bring Captain Thurlow down? And what happens when it is done? Captain Thurlow is disgraced and I am left to either—at risk to my own life—refuse the prince my hand in marriage, or—at risk to everything I hold sacred—embark in a loveless marriage of which I had interest or desire.”
Ella took a deep breath. She’d said a mouthful, but it had been quite liberating for her. Gabriel examined Ella closely while she vented her skepticism. He found it almost humorous that Ella would question her ability to captivate the prince, even in choosing her over all others. She was, in fact, the most seductive type of woman. Gabriel was not blind to such attributes. After all, he’d watched her closely for some time and had seen that it was impossible for a man to look on her and not find some aspect of her face or body to worship. That was why he’d chosen her. He’d observed not only her utter disdain for the men who lusted after her for such but for her own physicality as well, with which she seemed neither proud nor satisfied. It only solidified her allure. For what was more strangely intoxicating than a siren who covered her own ears when she sang?
Midnight Falls: A Thrilling Retelling of Cinderella Page 4