Chapter Eleven
Thurlow did not get many opportunities to socialize and, as much as it belied his reputation, he rather enjoyed it. He had donned his finest uniform, a white tunic of boiled leather that depicted a resting falcon in gold thread across the breast, and felt overwhelming pride to have been instrumental in the garment’s conception. It was an emblem of Gwent’s resilience and supremacy.
The captain had yet to attach the holster for his sword. He debated whether to do it at all. He had created an indomitable bulwark to secure Gwent in its entirety. So effective were the Hussars that it was not vital he take any weapon at all with him that night. His Hussars, his real army, were always standing by, never more than stone’s throw away. Thurlow had groomed them to be like the falcon in keenness and stealth. He did not worry in the slightest for his safety. Furthermore, he would not be attending this particular event as an armed soldier. That night, he was just a man. A gentleman, just for Ella Delaquix. Thurlow had, by his many resources, been able to glean that not only would Ella be attending the event that night, she would be bringing a guest: her uncle. Thurlow was confident, assured in fact, from his most recent conclave with Halsty, that he and the uncle would share a rapport that transcended polite formality. For the Hussars were also excellent spies. Thurlow grinned. Ella’s uncle would be the key to making her Thurlow’s wife at last. It no longer mattered her resistance to his advances. Perhaps her perpetual protest would even provide for Thurlow a spot of much needed fun.
There came a loud knock on the door of Thurlow’s dormitory. He was expecting it. Thurlow turned and waited for the visitor to enter.
The man, named Karl, entered the chamber and acknowledged his superior, his teacher. Like all the Hussars, Karl was not only indebted to Thurlow, the man who gave him a purpose; he was in awe of him.
“What news?” Thurlow inquired.
Karl smiled at the privilege to please his mentor. “It is done, sir,” he replied gleefully. “Everything you asked. We have secured more than enough prisoners for you to choose from.”
“Excellent, Corporal,” Thurlow said as he returned to the mirror to tweak his ensemble. “Where is Halsty now?”
“In the dungeon, securing the prisoners, sir.”
“Go and tell him that I am busy tonight, but will come on the morrow.”
“Yes, sir.” Karl bowed and departed from Thurlow’s presence.
Even with such good fortune, Thurlow’s face was staid. He had not come as far as he had to become cocky or flippant about the elements most vital to his happiness; that which would all but grant him a place in the pantheon: a wife whose beauty exceeded all and a kingdom that he’d tilled and gentrified into a dynasty. A dynasty he’d been denied for so very long.
Ella inspected the home of the Baron and Baroness Ritzlare Delancelle. Their enormous ballroom was a garden of color and light. The Baroness Nicolla Delancelle had been right weeks earlier at the market: whoever had manufactured her amazing tapestries was truly a gifted artist. The borders of the large wall-hanging were a lustrous shade of green, darker even than jade, and depicted in the center were cherubs in some kind of orgy of mischief and experiment. Ella did not like the scene but acknowledged the craftsmanship of its conceiver.
Ella searched out her co-conspirator. Gabriel was a fine actor. When he became Peter, he smiled and laughed, talked and joked. Every so often, he would glance in Ella’s direction and wink when he was sure no one would see him. In spite her dislike of such a condescending gesture, her heart still leapt in delight whenever it happened. Enraged with the conflict of both liking and hating something at the same time, Ella discreetly made her way from the crowd and toward the darkened halls that hugged the ballroom. Gabriel was swarmed with partygoers and did not seem to notice Ella disappear from the assemblage.
The Delancelle mansion was slightly larger than the Delaquix estate. Ella didn’t mind that her home was smaller; what difference did the size make when all that mattered to her was the space and the light. The Delancelle household employed many lanterns along its walls, but Ella still felt like darkness was eclipsing every candle flicker. Perhaps the gloominess had less to do with light than it did with company.
As Ella descended a staircase and approached a lit room at the end of one of the hallways, she heard laughter and wondered—hoped—she could possibly irradiate her evening with a different kind of company.
There were approximately ten servants in what appeared to be a laundry room of sorts. Most of them were women, some as young and younger than Ella, some as old as Marion and even older. When they caught sight of the woman at the threshold of their own soiree, each one of them stood as rapidly as prairie dogs and their parlay halted as though it had been severed from the atmosphere with a blade. Their visitor dumbfounded the workers.
The young woman that stood before them appeared shy and unmistakably nervous. She must have wandered by accident from the gala and become lost in the maze of hallways and rooms. There could be no other explanation. She certainly did not belong with the laundry. Her dress was made of red velvet with a bodice that gathered just above her bosom. The hem was lined with gold trim and her sleeves mutton-chopped at her shoulders, revealing a sliver of pale skin. The gold trim of her bodice looped her slender waist several times before ending at the top of a tiered bustle skirt.
And she was spell-bindingly beautiful.
“Are you lost, Madame?” an older woman asked, as sweetly as if Ella had been a trembling ten-year-old child.
Ella, who might as well have been a trembling ten-year-old child, answered in the most truthful way she could. “Yes and no,” she said.
Oh wonderful, thought the older woman, she’s drunken as well!
“I’m sorry?” another servant, much younger, remarked. Ella scolded herself. Why couldn’t she just speak freely like she did with her own servants, the gypsies—even Gabriel? All she was doing was causing uneasiness for everyone and she hated that something so promising was not coming more naturally to her.
“I apologize,” Ella said with a snicker, “I don’t know what I meant by that. In truth, I am not lost. It became quite stuffy up there in the ballroom and I wanted a change of scene.”
No one moved or said a word, but their faces were cast in puzzlement.
“I give my word,” Ella went on, “I chose to come down here when I heard the laughter and I was hoping I had not missed some hilarious anecdote or perceptive jibe at Baroness’s Delancelle’s perverted tapestry.” Ella giggled and immediately felt like an imbecile.
Still, no movement and no reply.
“Please,” Ella said, “I dislike most of those people as much as you do and desperately just want some place to go while my … uncle schmoozes every last one of them. Just go on. I swear you will get in no trouble from me. I don’t even have to remain with you. I will just go sit out in the hall on this chair here and secretly agree with everything you say!”
Ella did not realize until the end how desperate she sounded. She hadn’t even noticed the dejection entering her tone. She was embarrassed and turned to leave the workers to their more than deserved respite.
“What if everything we say happens to pertain to you?”
The voice was distinctly male and Ella turned back to see almost every person in the room aghast at one particular young gentleman, their mouths gaping. Ella grinned at the man she’d never seen before in sheer gratitude.
“That’s even better!” she exclaimed.
Gabriel could not find Ella’s face in the crowd. It had been almost an hour since he’d last spotted her and his frustration at her truancy turned to inquisitiveness and then worry. Had she gone home? He looked and beheld Isolda watching him unabashedly. He did not particularly relish speaking with the woman, but knew she was the next likely person who would trace Ella’s footsteps.
Isolda watched as Peter made his way toward her. She slapped her husband’s arm and the short, barrel-chested man with a full head of brown curls grun
ted in displeasure of being torn away from his own conversations.
“Ah, Peter,” Isolda said, her arms wide as if inviting the man in for a hug. “I was afraid you would never find your way to me. You don’t mind if I call you Peter, do you?”
“Of course not, Baroness,” Peter said with a smile, “we are family, after all.”
“Peter, do you remember my husband Henry?”
Henry Armitage turned toward Peter and shook his hand.
“My memory is as reliable as a sand castle,” Peter said, his hand still entwined with Henry’s. “I ask your pardon that I can’t recall your face, Baron.”
“Not at all,” Henry replied stoically. The Baron’s eyes were drawn slightly and he examined Peter carefully. Gabriel could not discern the motive behind the man’s scrutiny, but it left him unsettled. Henry bowed politely and turned to resume his previous relations with another guest.
“Baroness—” Peter began but was interrupted.
“Isolda,” the baroness insisted.
“Isolda,” he complied, “have you seen Ella as of late?”
“Not in the last hour. I imagine she scampered off to the gardens for a stroll in the cool air. She is like that, you know.”
“Yes, I do. I would just like to be sure, as it is now my duty to look after her.”
“And you are performing the task marvelously! Between you and me, Ella would never have been invited to attend this event if it were not for you and your restorative influence.”
“How do you mean?”
“The Baroness Delancelle has been disenchanted by Ella’s frequent dismissals of her sincerest counsel. The baroness is very sensitive. As her friend, it is often up to me to make amends for my niece’s careless actions.”
“You have been good to Ella. I thank you on her behalf.”
“It is I who must thank you on Ella’s behalf, Peter. Everything you do and the way you do it is in our niece’s best interest. It is your good nature, kind rapport, and staunch observance of family and tradition that aided me in convincing Baroness Delancelle to invite Ella tonight. And this will be the first of many invitations. It is all because of you, Peter.”
Gabriel nodded, but felt uncomfortable with Isolda’s praise. Why was Ella’s aunt so complimentary of a man she’d only met a few times? Had he just been portraying Peter so well that she could not help herself but swoon? If such was true, it had come far too easily for Gabriel to reconcile. He mulled over the ramifications of each possibility in his mind.
Until he saw him.
It took only a fraction of a second for Gabriel’s line of thought to be eviscerated by the firestorm of wrath that had been kindling for some fifteen years in his soul. He felt as though his skin had been turned inside out and his heart run through with a dull sword.
Wilhelm Thurlow Degent.
A demon that had lain dormant in his heart for years awoke and teased away at Gabriel’s thoughts.
He betrayed your brother after pretending to be his best friend. You could kill Thurlow right here in this ballroom. You could rip his limbs from his body with your bare hands. It would be so easy for you.
Thulow had entered the gala and gone through the pleasantries of greeting his hosts and countless others. He searched for Ella’s face but was unsuccessful. It was no great concern. He was there to locate Ella’s uncle, Peter. He had not an inkling of what the man looked like. It created no hindrance for Thurlow, however, as Baroness Nicolla Delancelle, who’d already groveled over the handsome Duke that evening, pointed him out with ease.
Thurlow watched the man for several minutes, discreetly. This was Ella’s uncle? The man was much younger than Thurlow had believed he would be. He was tall, displaying a mien of mystery. There hovered around him almost a menacing quality.
And the man looked nothing like his niece.
He looked very familiar to Thurlow. He could not quell the nagging urge to stare until the uncanny resemblance to … whomever was finally revealed. But it was not happening fast enough and Thurlow began walking toward the gentleman, who, until that very second, had been fully engaged in discussion with a pleasant looking woman in a golden dress.
As he neared, the duke made eye contact and Thurlow got a chill down his spine. He did not know why such a thing would happen, but it displeased him greatly. He did not get chills.
“You must be the Duke of Ebersole,” Thurlow said, extending his arm, “it is a great pleasure to meet you. I am Captain Wilhelm Thurlow Degent.”
Gabriel did not instantly raise his hand to greet the captain. He heard the voice in his head buzzing at him like it was not enough just to think the thoughts; he had to be bludgeoned by them as well.
Shake his hand. If you are not going to kill this man, you are going to be his friend.
“Likewise,” Gabriel said, returning the handshake.
“I hear you are settling here in Gwent after a long sabbatical,” Thurlow went on, unknowingly delivering his own blows to Gabriel’s brutal assault.
“Well, I don’t know how settled I intend to make myself, but you are close enough, Captain.”
Thurlow laughed boisterously and set his sight on Isolda, who stood behind Gabriel. “I am sorry,” Thurlow said, taking Isolda’s hand and kissing it tenderly, “I don’t believe I have had the pleasure.”
Isolda blushed and turned to Peter with a pout. Gabriel knew what he was expected to do. “Captain,” he said, shifting his body so that Isolda could step closer, “this is the Baroness Isolda Armitage.”
“How charming,” Thurlow said warmly. He was an excellent liar. He knew precisely who the woman was. It was his business to know. She was Ella’s paternal aunt.
“Thank you,” Isolda said. “Peter and I were just discussing the niece he and I both share.”
“Oh?” said Thurlow.
“Yes,” she replied. “Her name is Ella Delaquix and we both are troubled that she has wandered off.”
Isolda was far from satiated from her and Peter’s discourse and hoped to entice Thurlow to go after Ella. She was well aware the wild obsession that the captain had for her niece. She would have been hard pressed to find someone who didn’t know. Thurlow did not take the bait. He felt assured that Ella was quite safe, wherever she was. The Hussars guarded him; they guarded her.
Gabriel remained silent.
He wants to take Ella against her wishes. If you kill him now, you won’t just be avenging your brother, you will be ensuring Ella’s safety and her peace of mind. Even her happiness.
“Yes, she has indeed,” Gabriel added, “and seeing as she and I must depart soon, I will go and find her. Good evening to you both.”
Isolda and Thurlow watched as Peter stepped away and began navigating the ballroom, seemingly in search of Ella. Isolda was disappointed. She turned to Thurlow. He did not return her gaze. His eyes did not waver as they followed Peter around the room. She opened her mouth to speak but Thurlow departed with little warning.
Gabriel tried not to appear frantic. He was failing.
“Pardon me,” Thurlow said to Gabriel, who had made his way to a deserted area of the ballroom, hopeful Ella had chosen to sit quietly in solitude and he had only overlooked her. “I was wondering if I might have a word with you in private.”
Gabriel stood erect.
Breathe. It is not time yet.
“In private?” Gabriel questioned, standing toe to toe with Thurlow…the man, the villain.
“Yes, and I think right here will do just fine.”
“What is it you would like to discuss with me, Captain?”
“Well, it has been my intention for a quite sometime now to woo your niece and take her hand in marriage. Her father passed away before I could request his blessing. It looks as though that privilege falls to you.”
“You want to propose marriage to Ella?”
“I do. I can promise you it will be a union that will provide for her every luxury she can imagine. She will never want for anything, I assure you.�
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“I am certain she won’t. But I am a modern man and I would not be acting in my niece’s best interest if I did not consider her feelings.”
Thurlow peered deeper into Gabriel’s eyes.
Breathe.
“Does she fancy you?” Gabriel asked, matching Thurlow’s stare without blinking.
Rage followed, for both of them. Thurlow counted the seconds in his head until his blood cooled and he relaxed enough to speak without his temper erupting.
“In truth, sir, I am overwhelmed with matters of state every hour of every day,” he said with pained pleasantry, “and I have had very little time to spend with Ella. Any doubt she may have about me will be put to rest after we get to know each other better.”
Time is something you have little of, Captain.
“I understand, Captain,” Gabriel replied with neither pleasantness nor pain. “Once you have had more time and Ella’s doubts are indeed at rest, call on me again. Until then, good evening to you.”
Gabriel intended to step away from his enemy quite gracefully, but found himself locked into place by Thurlow’s fixed, reptilian stare.
You are not the only predator, Captain Thurlow.
“The Duke of Ebersole,” Thurlow stated boldly, readjusting his footing but remaining casual in stance. “I wonder what it takes for the son of a wealthy, reputable duke and duchess to flee from a life of luxury just to explore the nuances of this brave new world.”
Gabriel did not budge.
“I mean,” Thurlow went on, “it is almost like you were running away; like you had something to hide. But what do I know? Rumors are mere conjecture. You don’t need me to remind you how our pasts can catch up to us.”
You will be reminded soon enough.
“Why don’t you speak plainly to me, Captain,” Gabriel replied stolidly, “for this seems a one-sided dialogue for which you have the only script.”
Midnight Falls: A Thrilling Retelling of Cinderella Page 11