Cinderella's Phantom Prince ; Beauty's Mirror

by Jenni James

  “Bella?” Lady Beauley’s eyes fluttered.

  “I’m here.” Her voice came out as a whisper.

  “Love you.”

  “I know, Mama. Rest,” Bella urged. Would she wake from this nightmare?

  “Promise me …”

  “Anything.” Tears rolled down Bella’s cheeks.

  “Look after the children …”

  “No, no. Don’t talk like that. Rest and then you’ll recover. Dr. Adams will visit. In the morning, I will climb the mountain and find the hazel flowers—”

  “Help your father …”

  “No more talking. We’ll bring you some laudanum.”

  Bella stood to walk to the nearby table. Weeks ago, the doctor had prescribed the tonic to assist her mother’s sleep.

  “No!” Lady Beauley whispered with all the strength she could. Bella returned her gaze to her mother. “Promise,” the dying lady said.

  Bella’s lips trembled as her mother’s breathing became more erratic.

  “Promise.”

  “Yes. Yes, Mama. I promise,” she said and collapsed to her knees, resting her head on the bed while sobs racked her body. She gripped her mother’s hands tightly, but the invalid lacked the strength to return the gesture.

  “She’s gone,” the housekeeper announced.

  Bella raised her head and saw the eyes of her family shining and blinking in disbelief.

  “What shall we do, Bella?” her ten-year-old sister Gwen asked.

  As the others, even her father, looked at her with the same expectant helplessness, Bella squashed the desire to sob until she could no longer make noise. Mere rumors of magic could not help her mother, and they certainly could not assist her family now.

  “We will live,” she said as a cold chill ran down her spine.

  Chapter One

  Four Years Later

  Bella paced outside her father’s study. Her brother, George, was home from university for the first time in two years. He had chosen to spend his other holidays in London or with friends. His visits home had been infrequent since their mother died four years before.

  Bella had spent those years attempting to justify his seeming lack of care for the family. First, George was at Harrow and then Oxford. Both were long distances from the family estate near Dumfries. At first, Papa had been so proud to send his son to Oxford instead of Edinburgh. Now she heard raised voices, and it was clear the two men were arguing. Bella pressed her ear against the door.

  “Impossible! He’s a madman!” George shouted, then flung the door open. Bella stumbled forward, and he caught her.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked as he roughly set her to rights.

  “No, of course not.”

  George’s eyes held hers with sorrow and despair. “Get out of here, Bella,” he whispered, urgency lacing the words. “Run off with your own life. Father will do nothing but make a slave of you.”

  “Father needs me,” she said.

  George frowned. “Soleil and Gwen are almost grown.”

  Bella shook her head. “Hardly.”

  “Soleil is the same age you were when Mama died.”

  “It’s different,” she said. I’m different, she meant.

  “It’s not.”

  “George, what are you and Bella whispering about?” their father gruffly asked.

  Panic filled George’s eyes again. “I’m leaving, Bella. I don’t know where or when I’ll see you again. It’s not ... not safe for me here.”

  “What do you mean? Papa would never hurt you.”

  “Son, if you’re not leaving, get back in here and let us solve your problem like a man.”

  George’s shoulders tensed and then fell. He pushed past Bella.

  “George?” she called after him. “George!”

  He continued to walk on without looking back. He gathered his coat and hat. Certain he only meant to ride and calm his nerves, Bella turned toward her father. Shutting the door after entering, she took a deep breath before speaking.

  “What was that about?” she asked as she made her way to the tea tray. A cup of tea with two sugars always eased her father’s moods. A cup of tea with two sugars and a splash of port, actually.

  “Your brother got himself into trouble,” he said after a long-suffering sigh and took the offered cup. “Ah, no one makes me a cup like you do,” he said before raising it to his lips.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “I’ve done my best to keep my girls safe from the rogues of the world. But there are men who enjoy the vices of life.”

  “Are you saying George is one?” She could scarcely believe it of her brother.

  “No, but he’s been taken in by one. Men of wealth and power who see him as an easy mark. English. I should never have sent him to London.”

  She held back a retort reminding him he had once been proud to send his son to school with the English. “What can we do?” She moved about the room, picking up tossed-aside books and clearing dishes. The housekeeper died shortly after Lady Beauley and had never been replaced. Recently, they let their maid go as well.

  “I am going to meet with this bounder Erroll. There is nothing for you to do but keep after the house and the girls as usual.”

  “Is that the best course?” What did her father know about talking to peerage who held men’s debts?

  “I may not be a duke, but the name Beauley still means something. We can come to a new arrangement.”

  “Of course,” Bella helplessly offered.

  She was uncertain she agreed. From what she overheard her brother say, Erroll was a lunatic. She had heard whispers as well. It was rumored that he killed his unfaithful wife in a jealous rage and set fire to his house to mask the evidence. Now he rarely left his home. How George could be in debt to the man, Bella could not conceive.

  She said nothing more. She was not good with confrontations. To her, loving a person meant accepting their faults and bearing all things. Indeed, if she saw a flaw in them, it was proof of some wrong feeling in her, not in the other person. It was why she was so helpful in the house. She did not deserve better treatment. Servitude was her penance.

  “I will leave in the morning and will not return for over a fortnight,” her father said and held up his cup for a refill.

  Silently obeying his request, she nodded, but chewed her lip. “Will you take Jones with you?”

  “I do not think you girls can spare him,” he said.

  She nodded again. “Dinner is in an hour,” she reminded him.

  “I could never forget. Tuesday is your meat pie.”

  Bella took the tray of dishes out of the room and descended to the kitchen. She pinned up her red tresses and got to work. They had let their scullery maid and cook’s assistant go last year. How was it that when their mother lived, they had more servants? Bella took her frustration out on the dishes she immersed in hot, soapy water. She was clearly a deficient accountant. If only Soleil or Gwen had shown any interest in doing the household ledgers, surely they could do a better job.

  It was not that Bella was unintelligent. She had always been clever, and particularly liked reading and mathematics. The problem was that her mother had been able to stretch her father’s small income miraculously far. Of course, Soleil and Gwen were also children then and now had adult tastes and sensibilities. It was only natural that outfitting their wardrobe would cost more now. Bella tried not to glance down at her worn dress and the thin apron she wore to protect it from further damage.

  “Your pies ready?” Cook asked Bella as she hung up the last tea cup.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said and brought them to the rotund lady. There would be time for thinking later.

  By nightfall, George had not returned, but it was not unusual for him to spend the evening in the village. Bella was too exhausted from her chores to allow herself frivolous musings before falling asleep.

  In the morning, Lord Beauley greeted his daughters before leaving for the duke of Erroll’s estate in D
urham. “What shall I bring back, my ladies?”

  “The finest dress you see!” Soleil cried and clapped enthusiastically.

  “I want the largest diamond you can find. Look in every shop in every village,” Gwen insisted.

  “And you, Bella?”

  “I only wish for your safe return,” she muttered.

  “Come, your sisters have asked for fine things. What do you desire?”

  Bella blinked at the question. What she desired was to experience the things she used to read about. Now she had no time to read or walk in the summer garden. In fact, the summer garden had become overrun with weeds, choking the life out of anything that tried to bloom.

  “A rose,” she said. It had been far too long since she had something so simple and pure to look at.

  Her sisters laughed at her, and her father tweaked her nose. “A rose for Bella, a diamond for Soleil, and a gown for Gwen.”

  “Bella does not wish for such things because she is too plain for them. It is why she will be an old maid, and we shall find rich husbands!” Gwen crowed.

  The words did not hurt Bella. It was all true. She was plain, and they would marry before her. If they found rich husbands who loved them, Bella would be pleased. It is what her sisters deserved and what she hoped for them.

  “Well, try not to fall in love while I am gone,” Lord Beauley said. “When you see George, remind him our discussion is not finished,” he added to Bella.

  “Of course. I love you, Papa.” She hugged him tight before he left. He had rarely gone on journeys since his wife died, and never had he gone alone.

  “Fear not, Bella. I shall sort out George’s concern,” he promised with a wink and then boarded the carriage.

  Bella watched him go, then returned inside. There was work to be done.

  * * *

  There was a loud clatter in the hall, causing Leo to topple his ink. The sound of running feet and a giggle rushed by next.

  Leo stormed to the door and yanked it open. “Be quiet, you imp, or I’ll have you locked up!”

  The giggles and movement stopped, and sniffling replaced them. The nanny appeared in a flurry of skirts. At last catching up with her charge, the servant whisked the misbehaving child away.

  Returning to his study, Leo pulled the bell cord, summoning his housekeeper. The room still had remnants of the fire that nearly destroyed the south wing of the home four years ago. He welcomed the charred reminders of what he really was—a beast.

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  Leo did not look up from his writing. “How many times have I told you to hire a competent nanny?”

  “I am sorry. Lady Rosalyn is a very precocious child.”

  “And whose fault is that? Who is not teaching her to obey?”

  “Sometimes it is not the fault of the ones rearing a child. Some children have a natural inclination toward certain behaviors.”

  The old lady did not need to say more. She had argued the same thing about Leo to his mother.

  “What do you suggest, then? I must have peace and order.”

  “Mere games are not enough to occupy her. She must have a routine and learning to keep her active mind focused. Perhaps we may find a school for her—”

  “You know she cannot leave.”

  “We could find a governess, but …”

  “But what?”

  “A governess is different from other servants. They have certain liberties in a home.”

  Leo considered his housekeeper’s words. His privacy and authority in the castle had always been a chief concern before. Now, with only two months until his demise, it seemed to matter less. “Done. Place an ad.”

  “Beg your pardon, but I have placed several.”

  “And no one meets the qualifications?” A headache began to form.

  “There have been no applicants,” the lady said without any hesitation. It was what Leo had always liked about Mrs. Potter and her husband—their honesty.

  “Then you’ll have to find one another way.”

  “Your Grace?”

  Leo finally looked up from his work and met the lady’s eyes. “I assume being a governess in a duke’s home—even a duke rumored to be mad and beastly—is sufficient motivation for some desperate soul out there. I want her to be gently bred, of good reputation, and accomplished enough to teach Rosie. If you cannot find anyone who fits that, then make someone desperate enough to take the position.”

  Mrs. Potter said nothing, but a familiar look of reproach filled her eyes. “Anything else, Your Grace?”

  “No, I believe we understand each other. You’re excused.”

  She shook her head as she walked to the door, but Leo knew the lady would obediently see to her tasks. Her husband was Leo’s most trusted servant and would find a way to assist his wife should they find no other woman.

  He returned to his letters and the blessed peace that his earlier outburst now ensured. An hour later, he heard a guest arrive.

  “I’ve come to see the duke of Erroll,” a thick Scottish accent announced.

  “His Grace is not at home,” the butler replied.

  “Bullocks! Everyone knows he never leaves. I’ve come to talk to him about the debt my son was swindled out of!”

  A deep frown crept across Leo’s face. Travelers often found themselves making use of his estate. On occasion, he sometimes joined gentlemen in games of cards. A few weeks ago, a young man played and lost. Incapable of facing defeat, the gentlemen played match after match with increasingly higher stakes. In the end, he owed Leo ten thousand pounds. Then the coward left in the morning without a word. Any man of honor would pay the debt, and instead, his father was at Leo’s door acting as though his son was abused!

  “I say again, he is not home.”

  Leo heard heavy footsteps in the hall. “Which door is it? Or is he abed still? Lazy English dukes.”

  “Sir!” the butler cried out as the enraged man flung open the door to Leo’s library.

  “I’ll announce myself!” the Scot said. “I’m Lord Henry Beauley of Beauley, and I’m here to settle with you!”

  Beauley stepped closer, seemingly not caring that there was no response. “Are you deaf and daft? I tell you—” A strangled gasp bit off his words as he came closer. “You are a monster!”

  At last, Leo stood. “And you, sir, are an intruder.”

  Beauley paled when he saw Leo’s full height. He towered over the other man. “Beg . . . beg . . . beg pardon. If it is convenient for you, I would wish to speak with you about my son.”

  Beauley stared at Leo’s face. It no longer bothered Leo that people focused on the jagged scar and angry flesh leftover from the night of Celia’s demise. Now he welcomed the fear it instilled in others and the leverage it created. “No.”

  “Pl—please, Your Grace!”

  Ah, so now he finally garnered proper respect from the upstart of a Scottish baron—not even a real peer!

  “I am sorry you have come all this way, but I do not negotiate on debts. Your son owes ten thousand pounds and must pay.”

  “That would bankrupt us!”

  Leo shrugged. “That is not my concern. If he did not have the funds, he ought not to have played.” Leo paused and gave the man a long look. “Now, you are welcome to tarry here from your journey. Dinner will be served for you and a room prepared, but the discussion is over.”

  While he talked, Leo meandered to the fireplace, where a pair of dueling pistols was displayed over the top. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Beauley whispered.

  “What was that?”

  “Yes,” he said, stronger.

  “Good. Mr. Lam will show you to your chamber.” Leo nodded at the butler. Beauley obediently left, and Leo attempted to return to his work. However, his memories made it too difficult.

  Crushed under a beam with Leo, uncaring about Rosie’s health, Celia’s final words vowed that Leo would find no peace. If he could not find someone to love him before Rosie’s s
ixth birthday, or if she would ever leave the house, he would die.

  At first, Leo refused to accept Celia's words, but it soon became apparent that Rosie could not exit the house. Her simply getting close to a door brought out anxiety in Leo that he never experienced before. His library was well removed from the entry, but still in sight of it, due to the central corridor. Rosie playing in the main hall, no matter the distance from the door, kept him on edge.

  Later, Leo attempted to battle the curse through human means. He would find a lady to court, make her love him, and all would be well. But he could not leave the estate’s grounds either, and few families accepted his invitations. The ones who brought their daughters could scarcely see past his hideous face. The ones who could saw only their daughter becoming a wealthy duchess. Marriage alone was not the answer—love was the only thing that would break the curse, and Leo had at least learned that lesson—marrying without love would not make it bloom into love later.

  As it stood now, Leo was down to the final months of his life. Rosalyn’s birthday was fast approaching—if she didn’t run away, between his beastly nature and her lack of proper supervision.

  Four years ago, Leo had servants search the rubble of Celia’s rooms. They only had time to retrieve items from her dressing table—his great-grandmother’s looking glass and diamond ring—before being assaulted by flying objects. If Leo ever doubted the existence of ghosts before, the sound of Celia’s shriek piercing the air when one came near her chambers eliminated them. Even after her death, he could not be free of her.

  In time, Leo discovered that the mirror showed the desires of the heart and also reflected a person’s inner character. He kept it with him always. When not displaying images of Rosie, it showed him his true reflection—a giant brute covered in scars, his hands ending in claws, and fangs hanging below his mouth. He looked terrifying.

  As usual, Leo fell asleep reading over correspondence in his library. He awoke to voices the following morning while it was still dark.

  “Good morning, little lady,” Beauley said. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Leo reached for the mirror and saw Beauley speaking with Rosalyn in the main hall.