I'm Not Cinderella (The Princess Chronicles)

by Montgomery, Tarrah

  I glared in his direction. His soft expression almost had me fooled, but I knew better. I continued my hard stare until our carriage began to move and I no longer had to look at his beautiful face.

  “What did he want?” Rose whispered to me.

  “I don’t know.” I exhaled, finally relaxing now that he was out of my sight.

  “Was he completely awful?” she asked.

  “Completely.” Completely breathtaking.

  Chapter 6

  A Memory of My Father: Dancing in the Kitchen

  My few memories of my father were foggy and sketchy, and not all of them made sense. Sometimes I’d be alone, and sometimes my sister would be there too. Sometimes there was another girl. Why would there be a third child in my memory?

  In this memory, I was twirling in the kitchen, holding onto my father’s finger while he spun me around. My mother was there, laughing and smiling. I was laughing and smiling too. And then my father held my hands and had me step on his feet while we danced across the floor. He called me his princess.

  I think my fixation with being a princess began much earlier than I’d remembered. I think it started because of my father.

  I never realized it until now.

  The Kingdom of Fenmore Falls

  As our carriage rounded a bend, Fenmore Falls’ castle finally came into view. On top of a hill, the white stone palace stretched tall into the sky. The arched windows sparkled, making the place look magical, just like in the stories.

  “Only in a fairy tale,” I breathed.

  “What did you say, Miss Brinlee?” Fanny asked.

  “Oh, I was just admiring the castle.”

  “What do you think of our kingdom’s palace?” she questioned.

  “It’s incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “What have you heard of our royal family?”

  “Only that your prince has just returned from a trip overseas.” I didn’t tell them what I knew of the prince’s ship being captured by pirates, since Katie had advised me to keep quiet on the rumor.

  “The prince’s ship was captured by pirates,” Rose explained.

  I raised my eyebrows in feigned surprise. “What happened?”

  “Prince Patrick Channing was injured in the attack.”

  Ahhh, Patrick Channing. What a wonderful name for a prince.

  “But thankfully he was able to escape and return home to Fenmore Falls,” Rose added.

  “Thankfully,” I agreed.

  Seeming annoyed with the chitchat, Fanny said, “There is no fact in the gossip, Rose, and you know it.”

  “Just think of it.” Rose dreamily sighed. “Our prince fighting against ruthless pirates.”

  I smiled at her dramatics.

  “Honestly, Rose,” Fanny snarled.

  “In celebration of the prince’s safe return, Fenmore Falls is having three balls,” Rose said happily.

  “Three?”

  She nodded. “There will be a dance at the castle in the evening of each Friday for three weeks.”

  I reflected on the different Cinderella stories. Some versions spoke of three balls, giving the prince three chances to see Cinderella.

  “Can anyone attend the balls?” I asked.

  Fanny snickered. “Anyone who is suitable may attend.”

  I frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “Anyone who can present himself or herself as civilized may attend any event held at the castle,” Fanny answered.

  “Any event?”

  “Yes. There should be stricter guidelines, if you ask me.”

  “So, the only requirement is to look and play the part of a gentlewoman?” I asked.

  “As long as they wear a mask, since it’s a masquerade.”

  How interesting—a masquerade. This meant that all citizens, including servants, were invited to the ball if the conditions were met.

  “They say the balls will serve two purposes,” Rose put in. “In addition to celebrating Prince Patrick’s return, the balls were planned for his betrothal announcement. He has been asked to marry for peace among the citizens of our neighboring country, but he has until the third ball to select a bride of his own choosing, if he wants.”

  “And then he’ll choose Gabriella.” I didn’t realize I was saying my thought out loud until it came out of my mouth.

  Fanny laughed boisterously. “How foolish would that be? Cinderella marry the prince?”

  Rose looked confused, but she smiled.

  I summoned my greatest strength to keep my mouth shut and not lash out at Fanny. There would be a time and a place to challenge her, and now was not the time. I would have to pick my battles carefully in this strange world.

  Fanny chuckled. “And yet Cinderella is not here, is she? Even if she qualified to come to the ball, she’s not even here to fulfill your prediction, Miss Brinlee.”

  My chest ached at the truth in Fanny’s words. Without the real Cinderella, what would happen to the story? Realizing what Gabriella’s absence meant to the most loved fairy tale in history, I foresaw catastrophe.

  This is getting way too complicated, I thought. I needed to find a way home and bring Gabriella back—and now.

  Our carriage reached the heart of town, and my gloom disappeared as I looked at the buildings and walkways. People stopped to see who was arriving in such a fine vehicle. I mimicked the stepsisters’ reactions and faintly grinned and nodded at our brief superstar status.

  As we rode along on the street, I was fully immersed in the mode and fashion of this outdated world. For example, men tipped their three-cornered hats or lifted their walking sticks as a gesture of greeting. Most of the high-class women wore full, hooped skirts and were accompanied by a helper who carried their supplies.

  Little girls and boys wore white dresses with sashes at their waists. Boys over about three years of age wore suits with long trousers rather than knee breeches, a fashion visibly not in favor with adult men. This transition from skirts to pants seemed to be a step toward becoming a “little man.”

  A toddler caught my eye as he ran across the road with a padded cap on his head. “What is that little boy wearing on his head?” I asked Rose.

  “Have you never seen a pudding cap, Miss Brinlee?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “No, I have not.”

  “It protects a child’s head if he or she falls,” she explained.

  Interesting, I thought. The pudding cap was an early version of the crash helmet.

  I watched a woman striding slowly along the walk near the merchant store. Two servant girls followed closely behind, one carrying packages and the other restraining a lively youngster by strings attached to the shoulders of the child’s garment.

  I was unable to restrain my laughter as I watched the small child pull the servant girl forward until she bumped forcefully into the high-class woman in front.

  “Honestly, Miss Brinlee,” Fanny chastised me. “Do not laugh so loudly in a public area.”

  “Sorry.” I covered my smile.

  “When in company, do not put your hands to any part of the body,” Fanny added.

  Seriously?! I sat carefully with my hands in my lap, trying to look the part of the perfect gentlewoman. I did not drum my fingers or cough, sneeze, sigh, or yawn. I did not roll my eyes or puff up my cheeks, because when I did, Fanny said it made me look like a fish. All in all, I tried to conform to the silly rules of etiquette in their society.

  The driver drove our carriage along the street, passing many unmarked buildings. I desperately wanted to ask what everything was, but I didn’t want Fanny to yell at me again. So I kept my questions to myself.

  Thankfully, Rose began guiding the tour. “That is Williamburn’s Tavern.” She pointed to
a redbrick structure. “Most gatherings of Fenmore Falls, besides the events at the castle, are held there.”

  “Are you going to dictate our entire trip?” Fanny asked.

  “Miss Brinlee is new to Fenmore Falls, Fanny.”

  Fanny straightened in her seat and turned her head away, clearly provoked.

  Rose continued, ignoring Fanny. “Across the street is Malee Tavern.” I followed her gaze to see a white building made of wood. “And that is Wilson’s coffeehouse down the street.” Again, I followed her lead and looked beyond the immediate shops to another white building, this one smaller than the first.

  I listened intently as Rose told me about the rest of the buildings in Fenmore Falls. She pointed out a wheelwright building, a weaver shop, and a cooper store. There was a courthouse, a parish church, and even some shops for professions I recognized—a silversmith, tailor, shoemaker, wig maker, gunsmith, and brick maker.

  I even saw the armory magazine—the one with the missing key that Black Rider traded for. Rose gave an account of how the king had the house built of brick to protect the kingdom’s arms and munitions. The magazine was next to a public gaol, a type of prison. And a tall octagonal tower was erected to safeguard shot, powder, flints, tents, tools, swords, pikes, and flintlocks. The buildings were clean and the kingdom was lovely, but nothing compared to the castle that shined like a beacon on the hill. From every place in the city, it was visible, a magnificent reminder of the city’s strength.

  “So the royal name is Channing?” I asked. I liked how similar it sounded to “charming”—like Prince Charming.

  “Yes,” Rose answered. “‘Chan’ means ‘snow,’ so Fenmore Falls royal symbol is a snowflake.”

  “Never mind the Channing, bring on the Charming,” I quietly uttered.

  “Hmm?” Rose said.

  Oops. “Just thinking out loud—terrible habit.”

  So, Channing was the surname of Fenmore Falls’ prince. If the prince was anything like the Prince Charming in my Cinderella books, I couldn’t wait to meet him.

  We finally pulled up to our destination—the milliner’s shop. My legs ached from the long ride, and I was grateful to exit the coach. As we entered the shop I instantly felt the humming of the crowded space. Happy chatter from a roomful of women, all with the same motive of ordering a new dress for the ball, sounded through the small room.

  “Don’t these peasants have anything better to do?” Fanny griped before heading to the counter.

  Three workers were hard at work, each taking orders, measuring customers, and stitching dresses. Fanny walked right up to one of them—an older, plump woman who was sewing, with two needles held in between her teeth—and said, “Miss Margaret, we are here to select new fabric.”

  The woman pulled the thread through her last stitch and slowly removed the needles from her mouth. “All of Fenmore Falls is requesting new fabric for the ball, Miss Fanny,” she said, still looking downward.

  “Yes, but does all of Fenmore Falls have the wealth of my family?” Fanny challenged.

  Miss Margaret’s eyes fluttered upward. “No, not everyone.”

  “Precisely. Now, we would like to see your newest fabric.”

  “Our newest material is what you see on the shelves.”

  Fanny marched over and began to rummage through the fabrics on the shelves. She shoved a couple of girls along the way. Watch out, future Bridezilla in the making.

  Meanwhile, I walked alone and looked at the rest of the shop. It looked like the milliner sewed and sold not only gowns but also masquerade dresses, cloaks, mantles, hats, hoods, caps, gloves, petticoats, hoops, and riding costumes. Jewelry, hosiery, shoes, and other accessories were offered as well. The displays were stunning.

  “I am disappointed in your selection, Miss Margaret,” I heard Fanny say to the worker. “Don’t you have anything else?”

  The woman shook her head. “Our last shipment was delivered two days ago. The next isn’t due for another week.”

  Fanny rummaged through the pile she had made on the counter. She tugged on a green piece of cloth. “This one will have to do.”

  “Fine choice, Miss Fanny.” Miss Margaret took the soft fabric from Fanny, along with a light blue textile chosen by Rose. “I’ll get started on these right away.”

  From studying the Cinderella story, I knew fabric was the largest cost for a dressmaker. For that reason, fabric was not sold to customers. Instead, the dressmaker cut, fit, and sewed the dress in the store.

  “The gowns will be ready by Thursday,” Miss Margaret said.

  “That will be fine,” Fanny replied. “We’ll return on Thursday morning for the fitting.”

  “What about you, miss?”

  I didn’t realize Miss Margaret was speaking to me until Fanny answered, “Miss Brinlee will not need your services today. She is not a citizen of Fenmore Falls.”

  “Thank you anyway, Miss Margaret. Your work is amazing,” I said.

  “You’re welcome, Miss Brinlee.”

  I nodded and moved to follow Fanny and Rose out the door. But suddenly I felt a hand at my elbow. Miss Margaret was at my side. “You’re not like them.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Wait, does she know something?

  “You’re different—in a good way.” She leaned closer and whispered, “People like them don’t show appreciation like you.”

  “Um, thank you.” How sad that it was unusual for people to thank others for their hard work.

  “Don’t conform to their standards,” she said.

  “I won’t.”

  She patted my arm. “Good.”

  “Hurry, Miss Brinlee,” Fanny said from outside the door. “Our carriage is waiting.”

  “Thank you again, Miss Margaret. Your work really is amazing,” I said.

  The old lady gave me a warm smile as I left.

  I met Fanny and Rose outside. They stood talking to a girl who looked like her corset was a few inches too tight.

  “Miss Fanny, Miss Rose, what brings you to town?” the girl asked.

  “Miss Gretchen, I’m so glad to see you.” Fanny smiled, but I knew she was faking it.

  The blond beauty half smiled and then looked at me. “Who is this?”

  “This is Cinderella’s friend, Miss Ashlee . . . I mean Brinlee.” Fanny snickered.

  Oh, Fanny, you’re hilarious.

  She and her equally evil friend Gretchen shared a quiet laugh.

  “Well, Fanny,” I began, “I’d choose my nickname any day over yours rather than having to constantly be reminded that my name was the butt end of a joke.”

  Immediately the chuckling stopped, and Fanny’s face turned red with embarrassment and anger.

  I curtsied in her friend’s direction. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Gretchen.” With that, I turned and climbed into our carriage.

  Rose followed, and then Fanny. Suffice it to say, we rode back to Sherwood Manor in silence. Every bump and jolt of the journey in silence. It was a long two hours.

  Where was Black Rider to break up the monotony when you needed him?

  Chapter 7

  Cinderella, or The Little Glass Slipper

  France, 1889

  Once there was a gentleman who married, for his second wife, the proudest and most haughty woman that was ever seen. She had, by a former husband, two daughters of her own, who were, indeed, exactly like her in all things. He had likewise, by another wife, a young daughter, but of unparalleled goodness and sweetness of temper, which she took from her mother, who was the best creature in the world.

  No sooner were the ceremonies of the wedding over but the stepmother began to show herself in her true colors. She could not bear the good qualities of this pretty girl, and the less because they made her
own daughters appear the more odious. She employed her in the meanest work of the house. She scoured the dishes, tables, etc., and cleaned madam’s chamber, and those of misses, her daughters. She slept in a sorry garret, on a wretched straw bed, while her sisters slept in fine rooms, with floors all inlaid, on beds of the very newest fashion, and where they had looking glasses so large that they could see themselves at their full length from head to foot.

  Day 3

  The next morning, pain shot like fire from my back to my neck. Every time I moved, I was reminded of the carriage ride the day before.

  “Good morning, Miss Brinlee,” Katie said as she entered my room.

  I lay motionless on the bed, afraid to move my sore limbs.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes, I’m just a little sore.”

  “Nothing that a warm bath won’t fix.”

  Mmm, that sounds nice.

  Servants brought in a tub and pails of warm water for my bath. I washed the grime from my hair and soaked until the water got cold. After Katie helped me dress, I realized my tired muscles did feel better. And when she tightened my corset, it helped support my stiff body and prevented me from moving too much.

  “Was the castle beautiful?” she asked dreamily as she brushed through my damp hair.

  “Have you never seen the castle?” When I returned from my trip the night before, and all morning, I’d talked on and on about the beauty of the castle, but I’d never paused to wonder if Katie had been there.

  “No, I have never left Sherwood Manor.”

  Sad, just sad, I thought. Even I, from my little town in Idaho, had traveled the great distance of the United States because of my mom’s career. How would it be to only know your home and nowhere else?

  “I can only imagine how it would be to dance in the palace,” Katie said.