Cinderella (Faerie Tale Collection) Page 2

  Anthony grinned. “Are you really turning me down?”

  Ella looked at him incredulously. “Yes. I have a lot to do this morning and I do not have time to waste chatting with someone I do not remember.”

  “Well, then!” He could not help himself—his grin grew. “Now I know what this feels like.”

  “What? People not having time for you?”

  “Essentially, yes. And not wanting to have anything to do with me either.” He took a step closer to her. “So much so, they lie about remembering me.”

  “I did not lie! I do not remember you.”

  “And yet another falsehood slips from your mouth.” He stepped forward again. “What are you trying to hide from me?”

  She sighed and folded her arms. “Why would I have anything hide?”

  His gaze slowly made its way from her wispy hair, pulled back in a hurried bun, down the length of her servant’s attire, all the way to her dirty shoes and then back up to her face again. He did not say a word, his heart a slow sympathetic beat for her.

  Ella raised her chin higher. “Yes? Is there something you would like to know?”

  One eyebrow rose as a challenge. “Ella Woodston, daughter of Lord Dashlund—one of the wealthiest merchants in the kingdom—why are you dressed as a servant? What has happened to you?”

  She threw her hands in the air in an act of disgust and turned on her heel again. This time making her way past the house into the small orchard behind it. The pretty trees were in full blossom. “You are still the same nosy boy you were back then—I am positive you have not changed a bit!”

  “Ah-ha! So you do remember me! I knew you did!”

  “Of course I remember you, John.” She paused and picked a few pink flowers from one of the stems. “How could I forget the only boy who actually cried when I beat him at the races?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “CRIED? I DID NOT cry!” John sputtered.

  Ella giggled and plucked at another branch, glad she could get under his skin. “What are you doing here with the duke, anyway?”

  “I am his outrider.”

  It was her turn to take a good long look at him—her eyes inspecting the fine clothes and expensive boots. “He dresses his outriders well—almost, I dare to say, better than himself.” Her eyes met his.

  John nodded. “We do use the same tailor. I am intended to be at court most of the time, so this is how I dress, yes.”

  “Hmm…”

  “I am at court every day.”

  “I am sure you are. But it does not explain why I have never seen you here before.”

  “Oh, well, today he has express news from Her Royal Majesty, so I attended him. It is more official that way.”

  “Well, then, what news does your duke bring the ladies of the manor this morning?” she asked in a tone that implied she was not curious, even though she was more than a little bit interested.

  He waved it aside. “Just an invitation to a ball the queen is hosting in a fortnight.”

  “A ball?” She thought of all the work she would have to do to get them ready for it and grimaced.

  “You do not like balls?”

  “No, I imagine they are horridly boring, actually.”

  He looked shocked and then grinned. “But they say the prince is going to be there, does that not entice you to want to go?”

  “What?” She threw her head back and laughed. “The prince? Why?”

  “I thought all lovely maidens wanted to have their chance at winning his heart.”

  She laughed harder. If John did not stop, she may expire right then and there.

  “I am quite serious. What is so hilarious about this question?”

  As if she would ever want to fall in love with a prince. After some time, Ella was able to catch her breath. But when she saw his countenance, she began laughing again. “Stop!” she gasped. “Do not look that way—it is too funny.”

  “Ha ha. I am glad I can be of some amusement for you,” he answered ruefully, glancing away from her.

  After a few more moments she said, “I am sorry. No, really, I do apologize.” She straightened up, but a grin still lingered upon her mouth. “I simply do not see the excitement over such a ridiculous man.”

  John’s eyes grew wide. “Silly man? You are calling m—er, Prince Anthony a ridiculous man? Do you even know him?”

  “Know him? Why would I want to know him? He must be the silliest foppish man in all the kingdom.”

  “But why would you say such a thing? I truly thought all women loved him. He is said to be quite handsome, you know.”

  “And that would allure me how? Any man who spends more time looking in the mirror than he does actually living life is of no consequence to me. I would prefer any man to a spoiled, pampered prince.”

  “Any man?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come to the ball with me.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  John looked more surprised than she did. “I am—uh, I am so sorry! I do not know where that came from. I—I—”

  She grinned. “Are you attempting to retract the invitation now?”

  He stepped back. “No!”

  She took a step toward him. “I understand, first you wish to invite me to guarantee I would become eager to attend, and then you hope to dash all my dreams to smithereens.”

  The look on his face was so horrified and confused she could not help herself, she had to laugh again.

  When he realized she was jesting he asked, “Do you mock all of the men who come to court you?”

  “Are you courting me, then?”

  “I, uh—” He clearly was way out of his element.

  She took another step closer to him, her hand reaching out to trail up his arm. “John, is there something you wish to convey to me?”

  “Uh…”

  “Something that expresses the true reason why you have followed me to this secluded copse.”

  He swallowed and froze as she drew nearer, his hand going out to a trunk to steady himself.

  Slowly, Ella stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, “It would not matter if you were the prince, I certainly would not go with you to the ball.”

  He suddenly caught her shoulders before she could pull away. “Why?”

  Her eyes locked with his. “Because I do not like to dance.”

  “How do you feel about being courted?”

  She blinked a few times and then answered, “Not very well. Not even if you meant it.” She took a deep breath. “Which clearly you do not mean any such thing—you only mean to unsettle me. And I will not be unsettled.”

  “Ella, what happened?” he whispered.

  They were still way too close, but she did not dare move out of his arms. “What do you mean?”

  “You used to be so fearless and unguarded. And now—now you are cautious and reduced to…” He pointedly looked down at her attire.

  He knows she is a servant here. Her heart skipped a beat as she pulled out of his arms. “I like to help out and I prefer not to get my nice clothing soiled, and so I dress like this because I want to.”

  He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded his head. “Very well, I see you are in good spirits and so I will not tease you out of them again. Instead, let us talk about happier things. How are you? How is your family? Is your father well?”

  She opened her mouth to speak and then looked away.

  “I have done it again, have I not? I have said something that disconcerts you.”

  “No.” She shook her head and attempted a smile. “No. You obviously have not heard the news.” She tossed the blossoms to the ground and pasted a brave smile upon her face. “My father passed on a few years back. But his wife—my stepmother—Lady Dashlund and my stepsisters are all in good health. And you will most likely see them at the ball, for they will certainly attend such entertainments.”

  “Ahh…forgive me. I am sure my mother mentioned the news of his death, but I had not reme
mbered. And that would explain why no one has seen you—or why you have not been presented at court.”

  “Yes, well, there was my mourning period, of course. And then—and then—I do not believe I ever fully got out of mourning. It is just not the same without him.”

  His eyes traced her weary features. What must it have been like to have faced such tragedy, for no one had loved his daughter more than Lord Dashlund did of his Ella? She must miss him terribly. Like he would miss his father.

  Determined to cheer her up and change the subject, he asked, “Do you still ride your swift mare as fast as you used to?”

  Her features clouded in pain. “No.”

  “No?” He was stunned. “What do mean? Who rides her then?”

  “I do not know. I had to sell her shortly after the funeral.”

  John paused before saying slowly, “You had to sell the horse your father gave you—the horse no one could beat you on, not even me? The horse you were made to ride. She is gone?”

  “Yes. But, I am well with it. I mean, I am sure it would have brought on too many memories of my father to ride her as I used to.”

  “Or helped you heal from those memories quicker.”

  She took in a shaky breath. “Yes, well—”

  “Ella?”

  “Yes?”

  His eyes were so gentle. “I am sorry.”

  She brought her lips together and sniffed. “’Tis nothing, really.”

  “No. It is something. It is something indeed to lose your father and your best friend at the same time. And I am sorry.”

  Folding her arms, she looked down and blinked a few wayward tears. How did he know? How did someone from so long ago, truly remember her—but not only remember her, how did he know what no one else did? That she was suffering. That she had suffered? How did this man reach through every tight barrier she had and shake her to her core. No one had been able to before. No one had ever cared. “Thank you,” she replied quietly.

  His boots came into view and then she felt his strong arms wrap all the way around her. Ella gave in for just a few moments and allowed her head to settle upon his chest. For just that little instant, she soaked in his calming heartbeat and allowed the world to drift around her.

  He rubbed his chin on top of her messy bun. “Ella Woodston, I know you do not like dancing, but will you go to the ball with me? We do not have to dance. We can sit quietly and watch others, or wander the gardens and talk—catch up and enjoy the moonlight. Will you, my old rival, will you allow me to accompany you?”

  “I have not been personally invited,” she mumbled into his superfine coat.

  “I have just done so. Would you like your own invitation then? Would it make it easier to accept your very own, instead of one addressed to the whole family? Would you feel obligated to come then? I could certainly arrange it.”

  She fiddled with lapel of his jacket. “You must be very well acquainted with court to have that type of leverage over the royal family.”

  He chuckled softly, his chest rumbling and moving slightly as he did so. “You have no idea.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, surprising herself.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes, I will come. Only if you promise I do not have to dance.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ELLA WAS GOING TO be ill. Why in heaven’s name did she agree to go to that ball? How would she get there? What in the world would she wear? And how would she be able to convince her stepmother to allow her to go—assuming she was able to find her own way to the castle, as there was only room in the carriage for the three of them in their finery, and if she could find a dress for herself. It was a hopeless mess and the sort of stress she certainly did not need at this time. All ready, the chore list had nearly doubled in their excitement to have everything just so.

  “Ella!” Jillian shouted from down the corridor. “Ella! I have just found the perfect lace for my gown. Come this instant and tell me what you think.”

  Ella sighed. Honestly? She could not have me come to her later, it must be this second? She dropped her dusting cloth and stood up from the baseboard she was cleaning in the hall and made her way to Jillian’s ornate green room. Everything was done in a series of greens and golds with an elegant hand. The finest of fabrics and furniture gloriously bedecked the room that had cost her father a small fortune to create for his stepdaughter. When he remarried, he wanted the girls to feel at home and so allowed them each to create their own lavish rooms, in whatever style and color they preferred. As he reminded Ella, it would be the room they spent the most time in and must be the most comfortable and perfect for them as possible, so that they could feel like they belonged.

  He offered to redo Ella’s room as well, but she refused to have the decorations her mother had chosen removed. It was done in the colors of soft blues and yellows just for her when she was a small girl, and Ella could not bear the thought of changing a thing. Some of the pictures and paintings within that room were her most treasured possessions.

  Though she was not allowed in it at all anymore, the room still remained the same. And on days when things were not too busy, or had become too difficult to abide, Ella would slip into her old bedroom and stay in there, allowing it to wash away all the hurt and awfulness until she was calm again and could face her new life once more.

  She passed the door that had once been hers and stepped into the bedroom next to it. “Yes, Jillian? Did you need me?”

  Her stepsister spun around from her mother’s old standing looking glass. She had on her finest gown. “What do you think?” she asked as she moved forward with the delicate lace peeking out from the bodice. “Do you think it will do?”

  The bits of white contrasted beautifully with the light mint colored silk. “It looks very nice and adds the perfect touch to set off the fabric.”

  “Does it not? It is simply wonderful!” She skipped over to the tall jewelry armoire and pulled out a drawer. “Now, what do you think of these pearls?” she asked as she placed them around her neck. Does it not look the perfect thing?”

  Ella’s heart went cold. “Jillian, those are mine. They were my mother’s pearls she had inherited from her mother.”

  “No. Are you sure?” Jillian slipped them back off and studied the exquisite two-strand design. “I am sure these are the ones Mother bought me for my presentation at court.” She turned them from side to side. “Look at the clasp.” She pointed to it. “These are not antique, they are fairly new.”

  Ella took a deep breath and walked toward the necklace. She touched the small gold filigreed clasp. There was a dainty rose carved in the center, the same rose that had been there for years. “I am afraid not. These are most certainly mine. Do you see this flower in the center? It was especially commissioned for my grandmother. Her name was Rose.”

  “Mother!” Jillian unexpectedly shouted.

  Ella jumped and stepped away. “What have I done?”

  Jillian refused to look at her. “Mother!”

  Lady Dashlund was quick to enter the room, her breath coming out in great pants. “What—what is it dear? Has something happened?” she asked as her hand reached out to steady herself upon the bedpost.

  “Yes!”

  Ella shook her head and began to walk backwards toward the door. How did these things always occur to her? Why could she not remember that she had no say in this house? She could be such a fool sometimes.

  Jillian pointed to Ella and held the necklace out for her mother to see. “Do you see this? Cinder-Ella—”

  Ella winced as she used the horrid nickname.

  “—was trying to steal my pearls!”

  “No.” Ella shook her head more and brought her hands out to try and defuse the situation. “No, I was not. I was simply stating—”

  “You filthy liar!” Jillian hissed. “Mother, she is telling as many falsehoods as she can to gain all the control within this house. It is ridiculous.”

  “No, Lady Dashlund, I promise—”

/>   “Silence!” her stepmother bellowed, her nostrils flaring. She took a calming breath to ease the quaking within her. “Now, Jillian, my dear, tell me what happened. Start from the beginning so that I may ascertain the punishment required for this. Tell me everything.”

  Jillian’s bottom lip began to shake and Ella willed herself not to roll her eyes at the dramatics offered upon display by her spoiled stepsister.

  “I was showing Ella my gown and the pretty lace we had acquired to go with it and she was admiring it and approving. So, I decided to be nice and continue to talk to her and treat her as I should—you know how you are always saying we should tolerate those below us to demonstrate that we are true ladies. Well, that is what I determined to do. So I went to my jewelry case and pulled out these beautiful pearls, the ones you gave me for my presentation at court. And then Cinder-Ella—” she pointed right at her, “declared them to be her pearls. Hers! Saying they had been commissioned for her grandmother named Rose. And I know they were not! I know it! They are mine! And she would have taken them. I know she would have with her convincing lies. But I would not fall prey to such madness—I called you immediately so that you may see for yourself how your stepdaughter has chosen to disgrace us again.”

  Lady Dashlund’s impatient gaze met Ella’s. “Is this true?” she asked coldly.

  “I, uh—not exactly.”

  “Would you like to have a moment to speak for yourself, where you convince me of your innocence, or would you prefer to leave things as they are and allow me to punish you now?”

  Ella knew from past experiences to continue talking and defending herself would indeed secure a much harsher punishment than if she allowed the one testimony to stand on its own. She knew she should keep her mouth shut, she knew it, but this time—this time she could not. She had to speak up. “Forgive me, milady, but I believe Jillian misunderstood. It did happen as she said it did, but I was only pointing out the necklace was mine—given to me from my mother, commissioned for my grandmother—and I was showing her the proof. I would not have taken it. I promise, I would not have. I was only telling her it was mine; that I believed it was mine. But, perhaps I was mistaken.”