Cinderella (Faerie Tale Collection)

  She should not have said that last part. Never, ever should those words have left her mouth. Her stepmother’s eyes snapped to hers—the fire building within their depths proved to Eleanoria just how foolish she had been. Lady Dashlund’s voice was eerily calm as she hissed, “Go to your room upstairs, I will be there shortly to deal with you. My daughter does not need to witness this.”

  “Yes, milady.” Ella curtsied quickly and dashed from the room. Her feet pattering down the long corridor and up the narrow servants’ stairs as she did so. Three stories later and she burst into her little attic room. To be fair, it was the nicest of the servants’ quarters—the largest, at least. But it was merely only a fraction of what her room had been.

  She walked to the small bed and sat down upon it. Her heart pounding as she processed what was coming. Lady Dashlund was never consistent in her tempers or punishments, and Ella wrung her hands as she dreaded what was to become of her. Her eyes settled upon the small white three-drawer dresser and oil lamp that was sitting on it. It had been her old nurse’s dresser when she was a girl and one of the few pieces of furniture she was allowed. Anxious, she arose and took the few steps to the window. Pulling back the muslin curtains, she peered down below to her mother’s garden. It had been her favorite place to go when she was a girl—always pretending to be with her mother, holding her hand, speaking with her, laughing with her.

  Ella closed her eyes and wished as she used to do. She wished to feel her mother’s warm embrace. Some days when it was particularly calm, she could almost feel her there as if she did truly exist and was watching over her as Father had always said she was.

  Today, though, she did not feel comfort or calm; today she felt no happiness at all. There was nothing but stress and concern for her fate. She pulled away from the window and bent down to straighten the small, tied rug at her feet. As she was standing back up again, she heard the knock and her stepmother’s voice.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ELLA TOOK A DEEP breath and then said, “Come in.” She quickly sat on the bed and pushed her jittery hands under her legs as her stepmother walked in the room.

  Lady Dashlund looked around the small place, but did not enter all the way. She closed the door and stood by it. Her dark brown eyes bore into Ella’s for several moments—it felt like hours. Ella did not dare say a word.

  Finally, she broke contact and said quietly, “What will become of you? What will you amount to? I am extremely afraid for you, Eleanoria. You are not fit to be seen in public, you cannot control yourself, you are rude, and brash, and assume way too much for one of your station. You clearly do not have the manners of a field cat and yet—yet, I still must house you within my home. I still must treat you with courtesy, because of your father. And yet, how do you repay me? How do you rectify all the bad you have put me through and all the amount of times you wear on my patience? By continuing in this manner. No matter how many chores I give you, no matter what punishment it is, you must continually seek ways to ruin those who have cared for you.” She put one hand on her hip, her voice still low and quiet.

  “There is one simple thing you need to understand now. Just one. Are you listening, child?” She leaned toward her and hissed, “You. Own. Nothing. In. This. House.” She stood back up. “Nothing. All of it is mine. I married your father. He left all of his possessions to me. You, unfortunately, were one of those possessions I could not part with. However, the things I felt would get too much in your way and make you continue to believe you were better than my daughters, I did do away with. You do not need your own horse. You did not need the largest room in the house. You did not need your fine dresses and shoes. You did not need your paints and silly collections.”

  Lady Dashlund walked up to her and put her hand upon Ella’s head. Ella refused to meet her glare, instead she kept her eyes focused on the patchwork bedding under her as her stepmother leaned over and whispered, “You most certainly did not need your grandmother’s pearls.”

  Ella gasped, her whole body going rigid.

  “And if you are not careful, I will remind myself how you do not even need this bedroom and you can sleep near the fireplace and ashes in the kitchen and be truly a Cinderella instead.” Lady Dashlund suddenly whipped her hand back and slapped Ella’s cheek, the sound echoing around the room like a great sharp bell gong. “If you ever disagree with one of my daughters again, you will lose everything. Do you understand me?” she whispered.

  When Ella did not respond, she slapped her again. “Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, her cheek stinging.

  “Good. And remember, things can always, always get worse.” She stepped away and walked toward the door. “Until you learn to behave around those you owe your life to, then things will continue to be bad. Do not tempt me, Eleanoria, or you will truly know what it is like to lose all. For now, you will not eat until I say so. I want to be sure you are repentant of this little episode. Get your chores done.” The door closed with a quiet ominous click.

  Ella looked at the back of the door for a minute and then brought her hand up to touch her her cheek and feel the warm skin. She knew those pearls had been her mother’s. She knew it. Bringing her knuckles over to her mouth, she rubbed it a bit and willed herself not to cry. Bit by bit she turned over and gradually crawled her way up to her pillow upon the bed. Clutching the padding in front of her like a shield, she lay on her side and stared blankly at the wall. It was just a mere twelve inches from her.

  She held her hand out, allowing each of her fingers to touch the small bumps and cracks within the white wall. Following the lines, her fingers played absentmindedly in front of her, while her mind shifted and sorted through thousands of memories to find her favorites.

  The one when she was first given her sweet mare on her ninth birthday. Her father had made her wear that silly blindfold and then teased her the whole way out the door and across the graveled walk to the stables. She had no idea where she was going, she only knew it was certainly too far to be traveling blindly. But when he removed the blindfold to reveal the most beautiful horse she had ever seen—oh, the joy that had coursed through her then—the surprise! The giddiness.

  Ella had dashed to the horse and wrapped her arms as far around the wide tummy she could get them and hugged her. It was only a matter of minutes before she had the perfect name. “Sunshine.” She had spoken so clear and sure of herself. “She looks just like sunshine with her golden coat and she is quite the most happiest gift I have ever been given! She will bring me sunshine every day of my life.”

  “So do you like her then?” her father had asked, his hands in his coat pockets looking mighty proud of himself. “Am I your favorite too?”

  She had giggled then and ran over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I love you, Father. There is not a better father in all the world. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

  Not one for too much affection, he had patted her back and then pulled her up to plop her on the horse himself. Bareback and all. Many of the stable boys and Father’s friends had thought a girl just nine was too young to be given such a great big horse, but her father smiled and said, “You do not know my Ella, if you think that. If there was ever a girl who could ride a big horse, it was her!”

  Ella had laid her tummy right down upon that horse and wrapped her arms around her neck, rubbing her face into Sunshine’s golden mane. “I love you,” she had whispered to the beautiful mare right then and there. “I love you so much! I have waited my whole life for my very own horse and now I have you. We will be the best of friends, I know it.”

  She then spread her skirts more ladylike around her knees and gathered up some of that glorious mane and began to tug and walk Sunshine around the graveled yard. Wherever she wanted to go, the horse followed. It was like they were sisters or twins or something—so in tune was Ella to her and Sunshine to Ella, it did not matter if Ella wanted to suddenly halt and pick an apple in the orchard, the horse would stop and allo
w her to stand precariously upon her back or saddle and reach up on tiptoe and collect one of the apples from the tree. Sunshine would not move one inch until Ella was seated back down and tugged on her to go again.

  And the way they could fly! Oh, how Ella loved to fly with Sunshine! Darting and racing through the countryside, hair blowing behind them. So free, so fast, so fun.

  Ella smiled and blinked away the sudden tears that had collected into the corners of her eyes. Her fingers stilled upon the wall, one by one she removed them, staring blankly at the cracks again. John was right. She missed Sunshine—there were times when she could have sworn she needed Sunshine to breathe. Especially right after her father had married again. He did not see the darkness that had come into the house when Lady Dashlund moved in, but she did. She felt the loathing and silliness and snide remarks almost from the beginning. But her father was so happy and wanted Ella to be happy so very much that she never had the heart to tell him she was not. Instead, she would climb upon her Sunshine and escape for a while.

  Getting out into nature, the wind, the smells, life brimming everywhere. Out there the world was perfect. Out there everything became good again. Once she had had a good, strong ride, it was easy to come back inside and be friendly and happy and the exact way her father would have had her. She only needed to breathe first.

  Rolling onto her back, Ella stared up at the open wooden rafters of the ceiling. She frowned, her face scrunching as if she were in pain. Closing her eyes, she wished for a moment her life was different—just for a few minutes at least—she wished the world back the way it was when she was nine. When everything was free and perfect. Now, it seems, it will never be that way again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  PRINCE ANTHONY STRODE INTO the palace, his boots echoed upon the marble floors and bounced off the large pillars and ornately carved ceilings as he made his way up the stairs and into his rooms. He threw off his riding coat and tossed it on the navy blue high-backed chair for Maren to clean and sort later. Shucking off his riding boots and trousers, he quickly changed into more suitable clothes to be worn about the place. His mother never appreciated the reek of horse on him and insisted he change the moment he walked in the castle.

  As he was tying his new cravat in a dashing waterfall, he began the long-awaited berating of himself, he had held back the whole time Zedekiah was going on about his adventures within the Dashlunds’ home and how he barely made it out alive. Which was fine, it was good he continued to chatter and keep them both amused the length of the ride home, because it allowed Anthony to sit in peace and not have to relate his own excitement and confusions. It was almost as if Zedekiah had forgotten why Anthony remained outside altogether. He would remember soon enough and have his own questions, but for now—now the prince preferred his moment to reflect on it all alone.

  He slipped his day coat on and stared at himself in the mirror. Maren would be extremely vexed that he had chosen to get dressed himself and not call for him, but it was how it was. He blinked at the young man staring back through the looking glass. The man of wealth and power—he was tall, he was strong, he was handsome enough, with his father’s jaw and his mother’s hazel eyes. His light brownish-blondish hair was not quite curly, nor was it straight, but it was cropped short in the latest style. No, it was not in looks he lacked, it was in brains. There were days when he wondered at how completely idiotic he had become.

  Today was one of those days.

  What imbecile in his right mind would invite a gel he barely knew to a ball he was helping to host whilst pretending to be someone completely different? Was he mad? Honestly? Could there be a bigger mess in all the kingdom? Zedekiah was worried about what the Dashlund girls would do—why worry about them when Anthony had managed to get himself into a much bigger tangle than either of them could even contemplate!

  Anthony put his hand on his hip, causing the coat to flair out, and turned around. His head shaking as his eyes looked out the splendid view toward the rolling hills and nestling village below him. His room had some of the best views in the castle. Four sets of three tall windows each lined the whole length of his room. Their glorious diamond-paned windows truly allowed him a chance to feel as if he were literally flying over the kingdom, as if he were looking down upon it all. In the distance he could make out the top of the Dashlund home. Her many fireplaces and pointed roofs did much to distinguish the large manor home from the rest of the smallish houses around it.

  What should he have done? What could he have done differently? Other than, of course, not invite her. But she needed out. She needed a chance to remember the world again and see it for the good that it was. To be forever shut in a home leads to too much silliness and graveness. Her thoughts needed to be light again. She needed to step into the world and allow them to remember her again and see the great beauty she had become. She needed to laugh and play and have enjoyment again. This oddity that she would work and dress like a servant only proved his theory that she was not allowing herself a moment to live life.

  To be forever in mourning cannot be healthy. Her life had been hard. It must be extremely difficult to live with such a family as she had been saddled with. Especially after her own father and mother were so superior. And to not have a horse? To not be able to ride and escape the world for a bit? He shook his head. Ella needed a horse, like he needed sustenance. He loved his horses—he always had—but she was born on one. Never had he seen a rider use the techniques and skills she had—and at such a young age! To be so naturally gifted.

  What a cruel thing to do to the girl—shortly after her father dies, you take her horse too! He could not fathom what would have possessed Lady Dashlund to sanctify such a thing. It made no sense. Did the woman not know how much the horse meant to her stepdaughter? How much Ella was destined to have such an animal in her life?

  He sighed and pushed away from the window and sat upon the settee near his bed. It was all a muddle. Tilting his head from side to side, he relaxed his neck from the pressures he felt mounting there. Why was he taking such an interest in the girl anyway? Why not allow things to be? She seemed happy enough. Why now, of all times, allow himself to be immersed into someone else’s problems? He had his own to worry about.

  Perhaps that was the answer right there. Perhaps focusing on Ella, he could allow himself the respite of trying to solve the affairs of his father. Heaven knew he needed a respite from that—his father’s illness only grew worse every single day.

  His mother refused to believe so—announcing loudly and convincingly to everyone that all was well with the king; that he was as perfectly healthy as he had always been. But it was not so. The strain, the pain, the confusion, it was all there within his eyes if anyone but looked closely enough to see them.

  If Anthony did not get his father to open up and speak of his ailments soon, they could all lose precious time—precious time where a physician or herb woman could be helping him. Curse their fool pride! Curse their fear of weakness! Why? Why must the world hide behind this inane strength? Why is it so difficult for people to admit their faults? To admit when something is wrong? To live in a farce is no life at all! And yet—and yet—his father and mother are so buried within their own that they have refused to speak of it to him.

  He had not been trained and counseled with the affairs of the kingdom since before he went away to school. It had been years since he knew of anything that went on—and if they did not open up soon, if they did not drop their pride and allow him the ability to help and learn where he could, his father would die and all of the affairs would suddenly rest upon him. The affairs he knew nothing about!

  How was he supposed to sustain and maintain this great land and all of her people when those who love it most were not willing to allow him to? He ran his fingers through his hair and rested his knees upon his elbows, his hands clasped together supporting his forehead.

  His father was dying. The great king was not so great anymore.

  Oh, how he loved that ma
n! How he needed him. He could not go—not yet. He could not leave them now. His mother would surely collapse; her love was so strong—so perfect, so true. He had never seen a bond like they had. He could not ever imagine one so pure.

  Ugh. He knew that was why they insisted upon this ball to begin with. They needed their son to find a wife and settle down. Ha. Like he could just pick in a hat and choose a name and be forever grateful to her for desiring to accept his hand and to live happily ever after. It did not work that way. Not all love can be as bonded as his parents’ was.

  No, he needed time, he needed patience, he needed to truly learn to trust and accept a woman before he could fall in love with her, let alone begin to think about living his life with her.

  He smirked. Perhaps that was why he chose to hang about the ball with Eleanoria Woodston? It gave him the perfect excuse to hide from those he was expected to fall in love with and instead, bring happiness to someone who needed it most.

  His heart warmed. It was perhaps a very good thing indeed he decided to help someone instead of worrying about his own upsets. He needed a release from life—and this Ella, with her no-nonsense and frank ways, was the perfect girl to achieve such a thing. He stood up and, grabbing his nice leather boots from the armoire, he tugged them on and hastened out of his room and down the stairs. It was time he found his mother, there was a ball invitation he needed to secure and deliver tomorrow.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ELLA WAS IN THE rear kitchens helping the lower servants make currant tarts when the knock from the footman came announcing John had arrived. “Miss Eleanoria Woodston, his lordship John is here to see you. He is waiting in the back, in the orchard, if you wish to accompany him.”

  The other two maids’ eyes were round as Ella wiped her hands upon her apron. “Thank you, Paul. Could you kindly see that no one else is aware of his presence?” she asked.