“Oh my sweet Ella,” Marion said warmly, “I know you love him. But why is that making you weep like this?”
“Because,” Ella replied mournfully, “after tonight, I don’t know if I will ever see him again.”
“What do you mean? Why not?”
“Because once he has accomplished what he set out to do, he will have no more use for me.”
Marion pulled Ella from her body and looked intently at her. “Why do you say that?” Marion asked, sincere and unpredictably curious.
“Why would he have use for me after Thurlow is stopped?” Ella posed. “Gabriel will be free to live as he likes. He will no longer be a fugitive and he won’t need to consort with people like me.”
“And do you think having ‘use’ for you is the only reason he might want to stick around?”
“It wouldn’t matter either way.”
“Why not?”
“He is broken, Marion. That is why. And my love will not put him back together. I know that now.”
“What about his love?”
Ella’s heart shivered. “What do you mean?” she asked Marion, her soul yearning for something, anything, to hold on to.
“Gabriel is in love with you! Do you not see that, Ella? I saw it in his eyes that first morning I met him. That was the real reason I feared for you, child. I knew that with enough time, nothing could be done to stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Why, love of course, silly girl. From its very start it is a wild journey.”
“But don’t you see, Marion, that it makes no difference if he loves me? We may have started the journey together, but I have since left him behind.”
“Maybe it is the other way around.”
Ella was breathing so deeply, so despondently, that the snug fit of her bodice was causing her chest and shoulders to rise.
“You are so afraid of losing Gabriel,” Marion went on, “that you believe every action you take, every thought that enters your head, is either the one thing that will push him away or that which brings him to you forever. You cannot tether yourself to fear like that. Gabriel may be damaged like you say but he has never paused to see whether he was losing you or holding onto you. He simply did what he had to do. And you have to as well.”
“How can I do that when all I can think about every second of my life is whether or not he will be there in the morning when I wake?”
“Trust him! Give him a chance to learn what you were born knowing, Ella.”
Ella wiped a tear from her cheek.
“What is that?” she asked Marion, like she was eight years old again.
“That life is beautiful.”
Marion spoke her declamation proudly, but somewhat put out that she had to say it at all. The two friends embraced a second time and after many moments, Ella pulled away and looked once again into the mirror.
“Well, hopefully it is not too noticeable that I’ve been carrying on like a baby,” she said, rubbing beneath her eyes.
“Marguerite will have something to help with that, I am sure.” Marion said, straightening Ella’s hair and resettling her misplaced diamond pendant. Once completed, Marion made her way toward the exit to give Ella a few last moments to herself. She opened the door and took one step toward the hallway when she turned back in Ella’s direction.
“Ella?” she said softly.
Ella turned and met Marion’s gaze.
“I wish I could promise you that Gabriel will be the man you want him to be, the man that you deserve,” Marion said, thoughtfully, “but I cannot. Even after everything, he might never accept the happiness that you can offer him. If that happens, it will hurt something awful, I am afraid. But it will pass; and until it does, I will always be here.”
Gabriel considered shaking hands with Louis that evening and apologizing again for…well, beating him something awful. But when the rather small man jumped as Gabriel approached him, he elected to save his regrets for another time. There were five of them waiting at the base of the Delaquix’s ornate spiral staircase: Marguerite, Louis, Frome, Marion, and Gabriel. All of them were anxious to see the lady of the house descend the steps and reveal to the world the woman that would win the heart of a prince and a kingdom. All of them except Gabriel. He dreaded seeing Ella atop the staircase. She would be spellbinding; of that he had no doubt.
He was in love with Ella. There was no longer any question of that in Gabriel’s mind or heart. He had loved her from the moment he held her in his arms, that very first night. He had seen her for many months before that and watched her so very intimately. She was the most alluring kind of woman: young, impetuous, smart, kind, stubborn, beautiful. But Gabriel had been taken with her only as he would have with an actress up on the stage, delivering rehearsed lines and exuding only the mannerisms that fulfilled her role; a tease to the audience’s predilections. But when he touched her, held her in his arms, the fantasy became real. Ella was no longer an illusion of something too good to be hoped for; she was goodness in the flesh. And then in that grassy clearing only the day before, when the love affair became so real even fantasy would covet it, Gabriel knew the die had been cast.
He’d lost.
But he was not out. The culmination of everything that he’d gone through in his first life, before Ella, and his second with her at his side was reaching its precipice. No matter what happened between he and Ella, nothing could supersede the mission that had brought him to her in the first place. He could not let it.
Ella emerged at the top of the staircase and was flushed with emotions as she descended the steps. She feared that she might not be able to withstand the girth of such a remarkable, tight dress and she’d tumble down the steps and land at Frome’s feet. She was exhilarated with the magic of the entire exposition; that even in her protest of its purpose or its promotions, she could still be swept up in such a thing as a royal ball and the rite of passage that it demonstrated beneath its shallow surface.
She was happy that she could bring such joy to Marion and Marguerite. Then she saw Gabriel, watching her every step and was smitten, yet again, with his miraculous conversion into the Duke of Ebersol; the lothario Thurlow believed he had blackmailed and the man with whom Isolda believed she was in love. Gabriel—Peter—was every bit as handsome as any man who might want to bask in bachelorhood. His hair was sleek, his suited shoulders firm, his posture intoxicatingly foreboding. Strong…silent. Ella remembered his lips against hers and was thankful she’d reached the bottom of the staircase as the mere recollection of their kiss just about did knock her over.
“Oh my,” said Louis in his nasally voice. “You are quite the stunner. I don’t know what sparkles more, this pretty dress or your lovely face.”
Ella smiled to both Marion and Marguerite, who, for all their adoration of Ella, anticipated and wholeheartedly agreed with her response.
“Thank you, Louis,” Ella replied, “but I assure you: it is the dress.”
Cheerful laughter rang through the foyer. Gabriel stepped calmly to Ella and took her hand, kissing it gently as he had just the day before. Though Ella relished any affection from Gabriel, it was not the same as it had been earlier.
“You look lovely, Ella.” Gabriel remarked in his typical deep timbre.
Her blood pressure was slowly beginning to rise. The laughter desisted and one by one, they all made their way toward the courtyard where, as expected, a carriage was waiting. Customary well-wishes and farewells took place and Marion snuck in one more hug with Ella before Gabriel assisted her into the coach. As the horses clopped into motion, Marion felt Frome take a place close beside her and then wave at the departing carriage.
Neither Gabriel nor Ella spoke for most of the journey. They could hardly look at one another. To Ella, it was the beginning of the departure she knew would happen; the thing that, as Marion had explained that evening would ‘hurt something awful’. To Gabriel, it was nothing more than withstanding the yearning to take her in his arms and flee with he
r into the night, to hell with the rest of the world.
“Gabriel?” Ella said softly. He looked at her, his fists clenched.
“Yes?”
“Good luck with everything tonight. I have a feeling it will all be coming to fruition this very evening.”
“Thank you,” Gabriel muttered stoically, reminding Ella of his strange, withdrawn mannerisms in those first hours of their meeting.
Ella looked down into her hands. When she heard Gabriel speak, her head shot up like just an utterance from his mouth was something her heart could sing to.
“I am grateful to you, Ella,” he said. “No matter what happens, I want you to know that.”
Ella closed her eyelids tightly. He was indeed grateful to her; Ella could discern his sincerity with ease. Gabriel was a man of integrity. And Ella was a woman of many emotions. Of all the emotions she’d experienced that evening thus far, it looked as though the one that would be her constant bedfellow was making its way back to the forefront of her soul. An eclipse to everything else that was or ever could be; even hope…
Sorrow.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Captain Thurlow stared at his face in the mirror. He had an abundantly full evening ahead of him. But as he watched the perspiration on his forehead gleam from the surface of his skin against the light of the descending sun that shone through the window, all he could do was relive, over and over again, the lamentations of his soul, performed phenomenally well by none other than the charming, handsome Prince Leopold.
Do you envy me, Captain Thurlow?
He is my father.
Just what are your duties, Captain Thurlow?
I would not want the people of Gwent to think that my first actions as their king included me ignoring their concerns.
Please be prepared for my thorough analysis and supervision
He is my father.
Thurlow took deep breaths and repeated the phrases in his hand, creating a primal rhythm to his rage. It was a great miscalculation by those who believed that chaos was the deliverer of war, for there was rhythm in madness and it was played by the basest drums that thumped beneath the slopping mounds of dirt, the territory of the poor and unloved.
He was the conductor of his future and no one, not Miles Gamely, nor King William or his sniveling good-for-nothing son would overtake him.
And Ella Delaquix would be the angel chorus in his oratorio. Thurlow could hardly contain his zeal at finally inheriting his goddess to take her place beside him. Ella would be at the ball that night. Leopold would spot her amongst the minions; he would want Ella for himself. Thurlow was certain of that. But he did not worry, for he saw the future.
Still, that did not stop the image of Leopold and Ella, sitting side by side in the thrones of King and Queen of Gwent, from compelling Thurlow’s fist to hurl forward and strike the mirror so hard that it shattered. Thurlow’s reflection split haphazardly as the spider web of broken glass occupied the entire surface. His knuckles were bloody and his duplicate face was now distorted in the mirror. But Thurlow was unmoved and remained stationary, singing the silent lyrics of his masterpiece, the lamentations of his soul.
Prince David Ellefstauser of Hedensburg was almost twice Miles Gamely’s age. The skin of the prince’s balding head would have been embarrassing to the vain steward of Hedensburg (named for the earls that peacefully annexed the land east of Gwent over one hundred years earlier), if his younger brother Hubert had not a greater handicap: he was almost completely blind.
Hubert Ellefstauser was formidable, intelligent, and idealistic. His blindness did not impede his ability to co-reign over the land of Hedensburg with a firm hand, but the red-haired man preferred not to travel, leaving that task to his far more lax elder brother. It was a peculiar partnership to say the least. David was over five years Hubert’s senior, but their socialistic father had been so insistent that his sons be raised to inherit equal patrimony, especially after his wife died while giving birth to Hubert, that he bestowed upon his adult sons a most untraditional proposal upon his deathbed: leave the governing of Hedensburg to the remaining earls or rule the land as dual partners. Neither David nor Hubert was exceedingly thrilled with their options, but they both unanimously accepted their bizarre inheritance of half of the kingdom. It had been a tumultuous two and half decades for the brothers but they had found a way to adapt and Hedensburg was thriving. That was, until relations with their western neighbors became agitated.
“This is bordering on treason,” pronounced Miles Gamely to David at a secret meeting along the Cortuain River that ran from east to west through both kingdoms. “The very fact that we are here at all is enough to have me arrested and, worse, bring about shame to the reputation and stringent patriotism that I have held sacred my entire life.”
Prince David was unmoved. “Just the fact that you are here, Gamely, means you know patriotism is useless if your country is dead,” he said, unexcitedly.
“To you perhaps,” Miles retorted, “but I still believe in my king and the kingdom of my birth.”
“Spare me your diatribe. I also happen to favor the land of my birth and I will not stand by and watch its future be threatened by the whims of a senile old man who is more dead than alive or a lunatic commander who has no respect for the art of diplomacy.”
“What would you have me do, David? Disobey my orders? Is that why you summoned me here today?”
“I summoned you because King William and Hedensburg have had a long-standing contract for almost twenty years that the residents of Kersley, which is part of your kingdom may I remind you, stay in Kersley. We have more refugees coming into Hedensburg than we can handle and unless you knock some sense into that Captain Thurlow’s thick skull, we will have no choice but to reclaim the territory of Kersley and govern it ourselves.”
“I have no conflicts with the people of Kersley, believe me. But I have few options. I have lost virtually any influence whatsoever in the management of Gwent’s army. My troops respect me, but I have trained them to honor and protect their king no matter what. They will not listen to me over Thurlow, as much as they might want to. For right now, Thurlow might as well be their king.”
“Well, then. It looks like we will have no choice than to go on the offensive,” David said, the volume of his voice rising.
Miles was not his typically polite, diplomatic self when pretentious windbags who never lifted a sword in the name of their kingdom ever in their life were challenging him.
“My army outnumbers yours almost twofold, David,” Miles stated antagonistically. “You might want to devise an alternative strategy!”
“Stop! Stop this right now!”
At first, Miles could not tell who had hollered from behind David. All he could make out was a slowly moving figure materializing within the halo of the budding moonlight. When Miles had been able to glean that it was none other than Hubert, he was stunned. And somewhat relieved.
“Hubert,” Miles said with a smug grin, “this is unexpected.”
Hubert, who was aided to his brother’s side by what looked like a female servant, was a man of few words and who had no interest in throwing around his ego or his pride like it was the dice of some audacious game of thrones.
“Nobody wants any bloodshed,” Hubert said. “That is why we summoned you here.”
Neither Miles nor David said a word.
“It is true we cannot accommodate so many refugees,” Hubert went on, “and that we are more than concerned about the gradual deployment of your troops and armory along our front. But I know you Gamely, and I know King William. This is not like either of you. I want to hear it from your mouth: what is going on in Gwent?”
Miles’ temper was allayed by his ally’s altruistic, yet cardinal tone. He may have had little influence on Thurlow or the king, but Miles was certain his role in the arena on politics and statesmanship had sired a legacy he had never imagined. His confidence was buoyed and he was grateful for Hubert.
“Hu
bert,” Miles said, “I give you my word that your guess is as good as mine. I have tried to reach King William but he is devoted to Thurlow on a nonsensical level. I do not understand it. I wish I could offer more assurance but I cannot. I can only request that you give me more time. Please. I’ll figure this out somehow.”
“Sergeant,” David remarked, “you stated that your men will, under no circumstances, defy their king. Will you?”
Miles was struck like a ram to his chest. Perhaps the answer would be swift or otherwise agreeable to another man. But Gamely was not another man. His parents had been, arguably, as pious and strict as Sergeant Halsty’s had been; certainly never having spared the rod if they felt it prudent to their son’s matriculation in the gospel. But where Halsty despised his parents, Miles had battled for years to accept his. He’d learned upon forgiving their many mistakes that his vision was made clearer and he could see the threads of wisdom in their conservative tapestry. Those threads were all that Miles had left of his childhood and his family; he could not abandon them so easily. But he could not ignore his instinct. By his parent’s purist insistence, Miles had ascertained that to be God fearing, he must also listen to the voice of the Lord in his own head, not just by the admonition of those ordained to hear it.
Still, Miles could not answer. David waited many seconds but knew, at that point, that the answer was irrelevant. Miles could not even admit to the possibility of defying his king.
“Then, like I said,” David declared, “we will have no choice but to respond in kind to your—“
“Wait!” Miles exclaimed, anxious for David’s sermon to be damned. “Hear me out. This may end up being nothing more than an exercise in our alliance’s resiliency. For have you forgotten that King William is exhaling his last breaths as we speak? At any moment, he will cease to be king.”
“What are you saying?” Hubert beseeched.
“I am saying that Leopold is the solution to our problems. I do not know why I did not think of it sooner! Leopold will listen to me; he listened to me for almost two years in his deployment. I’ve been wasting my breath with, as you said it, the ‘senile old man and the lunatic.’ God, how could I have been so stupid?!”
Midnight Falls: A Thrilling Retelling of Cinderella Page 21