“Forgive me, sir,” Mario said, preparing himself for what would most certainly be vicious reprimand. “I did not see you there.”
“It is quite all right,” Thurlow replied formally, “accidents happen. Where are you running off to in such a hurry?”
Mario was stunned with the politeness. “An errand for his highness the prince,” he replied.
“You seem rather … overwhelmed by this task,” Thurlow asserted. “Is there a way I can help you?”
Mario was skeptical but gave it a try. “Only if you happen to know the identity of the woman Prince Leopold was communing with tonight. Some maiden with blond, curly hair and wearing a pink gown,” he said.
Thurlow clenched his jaw. “Are you referring to Ella Delaquix?”
“He said her name might be Ella and that her mother’s name was—“
“Isabella.”
“Yes. I must relay a very important message to her on behalf of the prince.”
“I know precisely whom you are looking for, young man. Give me the message and I will deliver it to her for you.”
“But I—“
“I am your superior,” Thurlow said, his words designed to pierce the subordinate’s ear with sinister undertones. “And the royal family is and always has been my responsibility. Now tell me his message.”
“Yes, sir,” Mario said, his self-esteem knocked down a peg. He complied with Thurlow’s demand and told the man everything that Leopold had told him.
“Thank you,” the captain said, distractedly. “I will take it from here. Consider your errand complete.”
Mario nodded, saluted his superior, and departed.
Thurlow stepped back and took a breath. Why was he so incensed? He knew that Leopold would take a liking to Ella, for her beauty was unparalleled. Still, his blood temperature began rising and he could hardly contain his exuberance as he reminded himself that Leopold would not be meeting anyone, let alone Ella Delaquix, at midnight.
Aislinn had been offered transportation home in the Duchess of Timmelin’s carriage. Isolda had stayed, persuading the duchess that she was too worried to leave until she knew if her niece was all right. Aislinn did not make eye contact with her mother as she lied to the duchess. It was nothing new to her.
Isolda was not telling a complete lie, however. Her reason for lingering at the failed royal party was entirely motivated by her “concern” for Ella. Or at least, concern of what happened to Ella. In truth, Isolda was not completely certain what course of action she should take to see to it her wretched niece had what was coming to her. But she could not go home; she could not face her daughters, especially Bethany, when their own mother had been so atrociously disgraced. They might not have known it at the time, but her daughters stood to gain the most of anyone from their mother’s doggedness.
Ella was a child; how had she succeeded to usurp everything that Isolda stood for, that she had worked for? There was only one person who could guarantee that Ella got her just desserts for her treachery. Ironically, it was the same person who had been obsessed with having her all to himself for years: Captain Thurlow.
Ella bounced along in the carriage as it rolled along the rocky path and tried to encourage her heart and mind to remain numb. That was the only way she was going to survive. She had done it, just like Marion had told her to. She’d freed herself from the fear of losing Gabriel forever and she had done it by letting him go. On the surface, it had indeed been liberating and the necessary gauntlet for carrying on with life. But the dragon was only sleeping and the next morning, when Ella awoke from her own slumber, it would invade her entire person and scorch her heart. She would not be able to get out of her bed, not even able to pull the blankets from her body. She would have no desire for food, for friends, for air. Ella already had a taste of what she had to look forward to and it all but drove her to flee from her moving coach and run off into her own exile apart from humanity, and fade from existence like a dying star.
At the Delaquix estate, Marguerite was trying desperately to watch the show but Louis insisted on tickling her sides and planting wet kisses on her neck.
“Not right now, Louis,” Marguerite scolded him. “I am trying to watch this.” Louis relinquished his grip on her waist and scooted up alongside his lover at the base of a wide oak tree; his head, like Marguerite’s, also poked out from the side to watch the drama unfold.
“So Marion is dancing with Frome in the moonlight,” Louis said, not entertained enough to disregard his own aching appetites. “So what? I will dance with you right now, love, if you promise we can do it without our clothes on.”
“Stop flapping those lips,” she spat at Louis, smacking him violently across his arm, “or you will never get anything of the sort ever again. What we are beholding right here and now is better than an opera.”
“But there is no music.”
“They will make their own.”
Louis took another glance. Frome and Marion were an endearing couple, Louis mused, but dancing too distantly, too courteously, for his taste.
“You don’t mind spying on them like this?” he asked Marguerite.
“You must be trying to tease me! After all these years, you think I feel anything but elation when I see two people finally admit they love one another, especially after so long of pretending they despised each other. God himself is spying on them right now, my dear Louis.”
Before Louis had a chance to respond, the sound of clopping horse hooves breached the romantic dome that they’d all been basking in that night.
“Speak of the devil,” Louis said as he watched the carriage approach the drive, “and I do mean that literally. That man Gabriel is the devil.”
“Maybe you are right,” Marguerite replied, grinning “but it is an angel who loves him.”
Marguerite and Louis scampered across the lawn and met up with Marion and Frome, who were both puzzled that their friends were coming at them from across the yard.
“Why are they home so early?” Marguerite asked. She looked over to Marion, who did not reply. She simply followed the coach with her eyes until it stopped in front of them. The driver stepped down and promptly opened the small carriage door. All four of the eager adults were holding their breaths. Ella stepped out. She was alone.
“What happened?” Marion asked, stepping toward Ella.
“Why are you home so soon?” Frome inquired over Marion.
Ella had so much to tell them, but the idea of doing it right then and there seemed unbearable to her. Still, she had to try.
“The ball ended abruptly.” Ella stated.
“Why?” asked Marguerite.
“Because King William is dead.”
Both Marion and Marguerite gasped. Frome demonstrated sincere sorrow as, even in his advanced years, he had always admired King William. “I can’t believe it,” he said aloud.
“What does this mean for Prince Leopold?” Marguerite asked.
“He will be our new king,” Ella said unemotionally.
“What do you mean he will be our king?” Louis said, chiming into the dialogue. “Isn’t he the king now that his father is dead?”
“No,” declared Frome, “it is law that mourning of the fallen monarch halt all activity until the day of his death is concluded. That includes the swearing in of a new king. Prince Leopold is not the king until midnight.”
“So, what happens until then?” Marguerite asked.
“I don’t know,” Ella declared, making her way toward the front door of her home, “but I am going to sleep.”
She knew it was unfair to make all of her loving friends wait to hear the details of what was supposed to be the most magical of all nights. But Ella would have to bear that shame. She could force her legs to hold up her body and her heavy heart no longer.
“Ella wait!” Marion said as Ella pulled the large oak door open. “What happened with Gabriel?”
Ella had to say something, just a few words to acquiesce their quarries. They dese
rved that much at least.
“He’s gone.”
Chapter Thirty
Thurlow was in a state of delirium. He had never had to take in so very much to his cognition at one time. It was tantalizingly euphoric to have so much to look forward to. In his entire life he had never, until that very night, known what it was like to experience pure unadulterated joy. He’d been born into poverty, raised as an orphan by men and women who believed so piously that one’s mortal situation had been predicated upon their worthiness in some kind of heavenly pre-existence. Therefore, Thurlow had been born to be totaled in the mass of criminals, miscreants and every other deviant that must have blasphemed against God in the most unforgivable way. As a grown man, Thurlow had grown wise to the delusions of those who believed their good fortunes had been well earned; but it had taken a tremendous amount of perseverance to come to that truth. He was strong where so many couldn’t be. To a young child, such education could very well bring about the death of the soul.
There were only three more hours to go. Leopold foolishly believed he would be meeting his future queen, Ella, at midnight. It made Thurlow laugh out loud. He was alone in a dimly lit vacant foyer, an oriel, watching through the fenestra all the commotion still resonating throughout Gwent. He could laugh all he wanted. No one would hear him.
“Is something funny?”
Thurlow jumped and looked toward the female voice. He did not startle easily and it made him rather temperamental. The woman, whomever she was, remained shrouded in shadow.
“Who are you?” Thurlow demanded. “The castle is to be vacated. I can have you arrested for being here.”
The woman did not speak, but stepped into the hazy light of the candles and revealed herself to Thurlow. He was shocked. He knew the woman, but could never have guessed why in the world she was standing before him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, curtness still abounding in his voice.
Isolda held herself confidently, surely. She could not recall a time when she felt quite so compelled in her actions. It was a pleasurable sensation for her: knowing she held all the cards.
“I am here to speak with you, Captain Thurlow,” Isolda revealed.
“Well, tonight is not a good night for a chat, your ladyship. After all, our beloved king has died.”
“Yes, yes. Tragic news that was. But I bring with me information that might assuage your deepest grievances. That, or provoke them.”
Thurlow stepped toward Isolda, cautiously. He remained silent.
“I have known for sometime your obsession with my niece, Ella Delaquix,” said Isolda. “It may interest you to know that not only does she not return your favor, she has found it in another man.”
“This is what you offer me, Baroness?” Thurlow shook his head as he chuckled. “You think I would watch your niece for two long years like a falcon and not know she has waltzed into Prince Leopold’s line of sight? Please. Don’t insult me.”
Isolda laughed, almost as loudly as Thurlow had only moments before. “You think she gives a hoot about Prince Leopold?” she said amusedly. “Now you insult yourself, Captain. Ella is no more interested in being a princess than she is in being a cat.”
“What are you talking about?” Thurlow implored, his brow beginning to perspire.
“I will tell you. But I require something in return first.”
“You are trying my patience, woman.”
“Well, we women are quite good at that. Now, as you may or may not remember, I have a daughter who is the same age as Ella. She was here with me tonight. You see to it that she gets her allotted time with Prince Leopold this very night and you will have more gossip than you could chew in a week.”
“Gossip? I could have you arrested, Baroness. How is that for gossip?”
“Not bad. But seeing as I have had my fair share of intolerable men for the evening, I would rather bypass your burly show of power and just get down to what it is that you are itching to know.”
Thurlow gazed at the woman he’d always known as Ella’s one, and only, aunt. She was a formidable human being. He liked her.
“Very well,” Thurlow relented, moving closer to Isolda as he spoke, “listen carefully. Tonight at midnight, Leopold will be alone in the northern dormitory. There will be privacy and he will be expecting…a woman.”
“What woman?”
“Whom do you think, Baroness?”
Isolda contemplated his rhetoric and her answer came rapidly. She cringed in revulsion. Why was it so expected that Prince Leopold would fancy her? “Ella?”
“None other. But she does not know yet that Leopold summoned her. So let’s spread this web a little farther shall we? Go to Ella; convince her to come here at midnight to see Leopold but tell her he will be waiting in the eastern dormitory of the castle. Send your daughter as well, separately. I will see to it that Ella is … preoccupied. Your daughter will take her place and meet with His Highness the prince. The rest will be up to her.”
“Won’t Leopold be angry?”
“I can’t solve every one of your meager problems, Baroness. Besides, if I am correct about just who your daughter is—bright yellow dress, right?—then he will not be angry for long. She is quite stunning. Several of my men were carrying on about her earlier tonight. Now just listen. Instruct your daughter to make use of her god-given attractiveness and Leopold will undoubtedly rise to the occasion. He’s always been quite malleable to pretty women.”
Isolda could not help but be flattered on Aislinn’s behalf. But even though she knew as well as anyone just how bewitching her daughter was, she was still wary of tricking Leopold; a man who was, for all intents and purposes, the acting king of Gwent and who had just lost his father as well. Did she dare trust Thurlow?
“Very well,” Isolda conceded, uneasy with the nuances of espionage.
“Now tell me what I am ‘itching to know’,” Thurlow petitioned, wondering if her sacred information was worth so much trouble. Then he reminded himself how little trouble it would actually be—that by midnight, Leopold would be … unable to meet anyone in private. In many ways, Thurlow was just humoring the baroness. It seemed a prudent way to make the clock tick faster.
“Ella,” Isolda declared, “is in love not with the prince, but another man; a man that you believe to be the Duke of Ebersol.”
“The Duke? She is in love with her uncle?!”
“He is not her uncle! He is an imposter. He is conspiring with Ella something treacherous and, seeing as he escorted her here tonight, I am guessing that treachery has something to do with this royal ball.”
Thurlow was struggling to draw breath. Perhaps it was a good thing that he was unable to inhale excessive amounts of oxygen, for if the embers of his slumbering energy were fanned in any way, he might thrash the entire room and destroy his entire itinerary for that evening just so he could find the duke, the imposter, and eviscerate him.
“How did you come to know this, Baroness?” Thurlow inquired, trying not to let his requests sound too exerted.
“I saw them with my very eyes, Captain Thurlow,” Isolda replied. “Tonight, after the announcement about King William’s passing. They were alone on the terrace. I saw it.”
“What did you see? Tell me exactly.”
“They were fighting. But first they—they—“
“What?”
“They kissed. Quite passionately. Then Ella was crying and he turned his back to her. Then she walked away.”
“Did you hear anything?” Thurlow demanded vehemently, no longer concerned with the illusion of restraint.
“Not a great deal. But I did hear Ella say his name several times.”
“Tell me!”
“Gabriel. She called him Gabriel. Does that name mean anything to you?”
Gabriel.
Thurlow’s eyes narrowed as he tried to dissect what Isolda was telling him. He had heard the name Gabriel before. But where? Earlier, the man he believed to be Peter Summerly had cajoled h
im and he was reminded of a face that evaded him. Now, he learned Peter Summerly was a fraud named Gabriel and once again the face eluded him. It induced a fury unlike anything Thurlow had ever experienced. It was like his own mind was mocking him. Suddenly, three hours seemed so little time to rummage through his memory with a pin and pluck away at mental images that may or may not pertain to his current conjuncture. And Isolda was now sucking up more of those valuable seconds than he could permit any longer.
“No, it does not, Baroness,” he lied, desperate to dissuade her from inquiring any further. That was, unless, she could shed some much needed light to his blindness. “Does the name mean anything to you?”
Isolda ruminated on the question. The captain was trying so hard to feign composure during their discourse but his upper lip was perspiring and his eyes were almost bloodshot. Isolda chuckled in silence.
He must think me quite the dullard, she thought. Still, Isolda was able to offer nothing to illuminate his quandary. “I have never heard the name before,” she confessed though she was not willing to surrender completely without utilizing her aptness for bluffing, “but bear in mind that only a month ago, Gabriel was not in Ella’s life at all. I know it. Before she met him, all that interested Ella was her misfit friends in Kersley.”
Kersley!
Thurlow almost leapt at Isolda and gripped her arms in his hands like a vice.
“Did you say Kersley?” he asked, his eyes so possessed that Isolda feared she might have been too blasé with a man so prone to aggression, and so very powerful.
“Yes,” she replied, struggling pull away. She did not have to try hard. Thurlow almost threw her out of his grasp as he sprung for the exit. He said nothing; just vanished. Isolda was left alone to deliberate on what had just transpired. Some bluff! It had all but incinerated the man to learn that Ella had trafficked with the plebeian peasants of Kersley. Why did such a revelation enrage him so? Isolda was Ella’s aunt, her family, and stood to withstand more shame than Captain Thurlow by her niece’s trifling with such people.
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