I'm Not Cinderella (The Princess Chronicles)

by Montgomery, Tarrah

  “Why don’t you go?”

  “It would be impossible.”

  “Anybody who is able can go to the ball.”

  “‘Able’ is the key word,” Katie said. “I do not have a dress, and I do not have a way to get to the ball. Therefore, I am not able to go.”

  I’ll just have to do something about that, I thought, recognizing my first mission in this strange fairy-tale land. Call me her fairy godmother, but I was going to make sure Katie went to the ball.

  A tall woman met us as we entered the dining room for breakfast. With beady eyes, she looked down her pointy nose and asked, “Is this Miss Brinlee?”

  “Yes,” Katie said.

  The woman folded her bony arms across her chest. Her gray-streaked dark hair was tightly pulled into a bun under her cap. “The food has already been returned to the kitchen.”

  “That’s all right,” I said, “I’m not hungry.”

  “Nonsense,” Katie replied. “You haven’t eaten since your arrival home yesterday afternoon.”

  The tall woman kept her firm posture but said, “Katie, you may take Miss Brinlee to the kitchen and see if there is anything left to eat.”

  “Thank you,” both Katie and I said as the older lady strode off.

  “That’s Miss Brenda, the headwoman,” Katie explained. “She’s been here longer than anyone else. She’s actually a very kind woman, but she doesn’t like people to notice.”

  “I have a lot to learn about this place,” I said.

  Katie linked her arm through mine. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

  As we entered the kitchen, my gaze fell on the magical door where I’d entered this place. It looked like nothing more than a decorative design on the wall. In fact, it almost blended in completely. I had done everything I could think of to open the door. Besides endlessly banging my fists on it, I had also tried to pry it open with the fireplace poker. Strangely, there was no seam around the door—not even a crack to show where it opened. Besides the doorknob, there was nothing to prove it was a door—nothing but my being here.

  “Would you like me to warm up the food for you, Miss Brinlee?” Katie asked.

  Motivated by my roaring stomach, I sat on a wooden chair to look at the breakfast leftovers on the table. There was a plate of round biscuits, each about two inches in diameter. “What are these?”

  “Have you never had pancake puffs?”

  Uh, no. You see, I live on a little planet where we have fast-food restaurants that cook frozen pancakes in magic microwaves. I shook my head at Katie.

  “The lack of your understanding amazes me, Miss Brinlee. Pancake puffs are like a pancake but more light and fluffy, similar to a popover. Hence the name pancake puffs. A more proper term would be æbleskivers.”

  I picked up one of the puffs. “Are they hard to make?”

  “Not really, once you get the hang of it. They’re cooked in special copper pans with hammered indentations in the bottom.”

  I bit into the puff. “Not bad.” I ate three more before I said, “I’d love to meet your mother and sister.”

  Katie’s face lit up. “My mother is going to love you. She is the kindest woman you will ever meet.” Katie grabbed both of my hands. “You will love her, Miss Brinlee.”

  “I’m sure I will.” If Katie’s mother was anything like her daughter, I was guaranteed to love her.

  “And my sister, Amanda, has been so anxious to meet you.” Katie looked over her shoulder in the direction of the hallway. “She’s around here somewhere—probably dusting the entrance room.”

  “How many people live in Sherwood Manor?”

  “Besides Lady Sherwood and her two daughters, three servants live within the walls of the manor—Henry, the coachman, and Miss Brenda, whom you met this morning, and William, the headman.”

  “You don’t live here?”

  “No, I live with my sister and mother in a cottage behind the garden. A few others, the groundskeepers and stablemen, dwell in the cottages near the stables.”

  When I finished eating, I helped Katie wash the dishes, ignoring her insistence that it was below my station.

  After we were done, she asked me, “What would you like me to show you first—the locked and haunted rooms of Sherwood Manor, or the sanctuary of the gardens?”

  “The gardens—definitely the gardens.”

  My newfound friend grabbed my hand and led me outside to the lush green garden. We wandered along a stone path that bordered a small herb patch, where I smelled basil, rosemary, sage, and thyme. I was surprised to see the herbs blooming just as beautifully as the flowers nearby.

  I heard squawking and noticed chickens roaming freely just beyond the small path. A dog circled the chickens.

  “Miss Brinlee, meet Fred, our hen dog,” Katie said. “He thinks his job is to keep watch over the chickens.”

  I watched the playful dog trying to herd the hens, like a sheep dog with its lambs. Katie slid her hand to the side of her mouth and whispered, “I think he takes joy in taking charge of an animal smaller than himself.”

  I giggled, enjoying Katie’s companionship. I knew from the first moment I met her that we would be fast friends. She was almost like a sister. At that, I remembered my sister and stopped in my tracks. What am I doing here?

  In that moment the dog, Fred, bounded over, jumped up, and put his paws on my skirts.

  “Wow, he likes you,” Katie said. “He’s never that friendly with strangers.”

  “He must recognize the smell of Gabriella’s clothes.”

  “Even so, he doesn’t seem the list bit concerned that you’re a visitor, Miss Brinlee.”

  I squatted near the dog to scratch behind his ears. As he nuzzled my hand, my heart instantly warmed toward the small, shaggy gray mutt. He licked my hand, making me laugh.

  “Katie, there you are,” said an unfamiliar voice.

  I stood up and was presented with a slightly shorter version of Katie. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said.

  “Amanda, this is Miss Gabby’s friend, Miss Brinlee,” Katie said.

  Amanda curtsied. “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Brinlee.”

  I curtsied in return. The gesture seemed easier than it had when I wore sweats and a T-shirt. “I’m pleased to meet you too.”

  “I was showing Miss Brinlee the gardens,” Katie explained. “Do you want to join us?”

  Amanda planted herself on my other side, sandwiching me between the two sisters. “Where shall we go first?”

  Fred pawed at my leg. I waved my hand toward him, hoping he would go back to his chickens.

  Amanda laughed. “It looks like Fred has found a new friend.”

  “That’s what I said,” Katie put in.

  I giggled at the dog. “He’s a cute little guy.”

  Amanda said, “Just wait until he’s begging you for food under the servant’s table.”

  “Miss Gabriella was Fred’s favorite, since she was the only one who would satisfy his begging,” Katie added.

  With Fred at our feet, we continued along the path. As we chatted, I realized Amanda was like her sister in every wonderful way. She was two years younger than Katie, just as my sister and I were two years apart.

  “Good morning, ladies,” a handsome boy said as he walked out of the stable, leading a young horse. His eyes focused on Katie, and she instantly blushed. A smile crept across her face as she shyly lowered her gaze to the ground.

  When Katie wouldn’t answer and Amanda simply giggled, I decided it was up to me to address the young man. “Good morning.”

  The stable boy tipped his hat on his wavy brown hair and grinned, showing the whitest of smiles against his tan skin. It was no wonder Katie had acted so shy�
��this boy was handsome.

  I didn’t know what else to say, and with Katie and Amanda mute, he placed his hat back on his head and continued on his way, the horse following.

  “K, who was that?” I asked as I gawked alongside the open-mouthed sisters.

  Amanda recovered her voice. “That’s Krys. He was hired a year ago. Katie has never had the courage to say even a word to him.”

  “Hush now, Amanda, or he’ll hear you,” Katie whispered.

  “Maybe he should hear me. Then you can stop whining to me about how cute he is and how you wish you could talk to him.”

  “Hush, Amanda,” Katie pleaded.

  I smiled, not at Katie’s discomfort but because I had just witnessed what might be the beginning of her storybook romance.

  “Let’s go this way.” Katie pulled my hand in the direction opposite from where Krys had gone.

  Amanda, Katie, and I cut through some bushes and walked away from Sherwood Manor until we were on the gravel path on the edge of the property. Through the trees of the forest that bordered the path, I saw a cliff, probably less than a hundred yards away. Rolling hillsides mingled with mountains of stone, and I stood for a moment, inhaling the beauty of the earth and the freshness of the air.

  Scattered about were the colors of early summer. Lavender grew on either side of the path, and daylilies and hollyhocks flanked the green shrubs along the short stone walls. Before me was one of the most beautiful displays of nature I had ever seen, courtesy of the skilled groundskeepers of Sherwood Manor.

  As I turned to look at the manor itself, the sun caught the glass of a large window, and I had the eerie impression I was being watched. I shuddered.

  Sherwood Manor was built in an L-shape, with a three-story main portion, and a four-story tower on the other side. We continued our tour of the property, and I forced myself to look away from the ominous building.

  “This place is amazing,” I said.

  “Is it different than where you are from?” Katie asked.

  “There is beauty where I come from, but not like this. This place is a masterpiece.” It’s almost not real.

  “Come. If you love it out here, you’ll love it inside.”

  We entered the manor through the front entrance and stepped into an enormous, long hall. My jaw dropped as I took in the expanse of the room. I was simply awestruck. Beautifully carved beams stretched across the ceiling, and a stage filled one end of the hall. Every sound resonated through the space in the open room. My shoes clinked and echoed against the stone floor. Even my breath seemed louder.

  I heard footsteps from the opposite side of the room, and my heart paused as I saw William—Ponytail Man—walk toward us. His gaze seemed to hold me motionless.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he fairly shouted.

  “We only meant to introduce Miss Brinlee to Sherwood Manor, Sir William,” Katie said.

  Turning from his stare, I glanced toward the stage at the far end of the room. “Katie and Amanda were nice enough to show me around as I had asked.”

  William let out a puff of air. I dared look at him again and was surprised by his softened expression. As the corner of his mouth lifted into a smile, my heart nearly stopped. His strikingly handsome face with its square jaw was bewitching.

  “Welcome to Sherwood Manor, Miss Brinlee,” he said calmly.

  I was unable to resist. In the entrance hall of Sherwood Manor in a faraway land, I smiled at Ponytail Man—a very fine male specimen of the late eighteenth-century.

  As William continued to stare, I nervously cleared my throat. “Thank you . . . Sir William, was it?”

  “I’m afraid we have not been properly introduced.” He offered his hand. “I am William, the headman of Sherwood Manor.”

  He kissed the back of my hand. For reasons I couldn’t identify, I was unnerved by him. Nevertheless, I dipped into a slight curtsy with all the grace I could muster.

  “I apologize for my rudeness at our first encounter, Miss Brinlee.” He finally let go of my hand. “I did not know who you were, and your clothes gave me no indication.”

  That makes two of us who were confused. “That’s all right.”

  “Well, I must take my leave now.” William bowed his head. “I hope you enjoy your stay here, and please let me know if I can be of any assistance.” Then he turned and exited the room as promptly as he had entered.

  “He fancies you, Miss Brinlee,” Amanda whispered.

  “You’ve already won the affection of two men—Sir William and Fred,” Katie teased.

  “How will I ever choose?” I sighed. “Do I pick Fred, who will love me as long as I give him food scraps, or the beautiful headman who breathes fire when he speaks?”

  I joined the sisters in their giggling, happy to have friends to help me endure this crazy place.

  As we continued our tour of the manor, my mind kept coming back to Sir William and my eerie feelings about him. It was obvious he was hiding something, and I didn’t want to stay in Fenmore Falls and find out what it was.

  The sooner I get out of here, the better.

  Chapter 8

  Cinderella

  Germany, 1812

  “What is that useless creature doing in the best room?” asked the stepmother. “Away to the kitchen with her! And if she wants to eat, then she must earn it. She can be our maid.”

  Her stepsisters took her dresses away from her and made her wear an old gray skirt. “That is good enough for you!” they said, making fun of her and leading her into the kitchen. Then the poor child had to do the most difficult work. She had to get up before sunrise, carry water, make the fire, cook, and wash. To add to her misery, her stepsisters ridiculed her and then scattered peas and lentils into the ashes, and she had to spend the whole day sorting them out again. At night when she was tired, there was no bed for her to sleep in, but she had to lie down next to the hearth in the ashes. Because she was always dirty with ashes and dust, they gave her the name Cinderella.

  Day 4

  Thanks to the grand tour the day before, I felt more comfortable with Sherwood Manor. I began to fall into a rhythm and no longer needed Katie or Amanda to show me where to go. But no matter what, I would never fall into a comfortable rhythm with wearing a corset. How do these women do it, day after day? I wondered.

  Speaking of wondering, I spent a good part of the day thinking, Will I ever make it back home to Idaho? How much longer will I be here? The longer I stayed, the more I worried I might be destined to reside in Fenmore Falls forever.

  On a positive note, going back in time had its advantages, such as being an expert of the ultimate social scene—a place back home we call high school, where popularity determines the pecking order. In Fenmore Falls I applied the same strategies—act is if you belong, never lose your sense of humor, accept that peer pressure is everywhere, ask for help when you need it, be yourself, and forget about perfection.

  Like high school, Fenmore Falls tended to force people to fit into a mold. People born into wealth were considered cool, and the rest of the people were not. Underneath the labels, everyone was the same, but society didn’t acknowledge it.

  “Lady Catherine hosts a dinner party each Wednesday night,” Katie told me that morning as she brushed my hair.

  “Every week?” I said.

  “Yes. The guests are rather elderly men of great wealth.” She wrinkled her nose.

  Here we go again with social ranking.

  “There is talk that Lady Catherine is in earnest to find a suitor for Miss Gabriella before her nineteenth birthday,” Katie said.

  “Why nineteen?”

  “That’s when Miss Gabby will be free from Lady Catherine’s guardianship and entitled to her father’s wealth.”

  “Then why would Lady Catherine b
e so eager to find a suitor for Gabriella?”

  “If Miss Gabby marries someone in favor with Lady Catherine, Lady Catherine will receive a generous sum of money,” Katie said.

  “What if Gabriella marries someone of her own choice?”

  “If Miss Gabby marries before her nineteenth birthday without Lady Catherine’s approval, the will would be void and Lady Catherine would receive none of Miss Gabby’s wealth.”

  “When does she turn nineteen?”

  “The 27th day of August.”

  That’s in two months. Did Gabriella escape to my world in an effort to avoid a marriage arranged by her stepmother? If only Gabriella knew she would meet the prince and that inheriting her father’s fortune wouldn’t matter!

  “When Gabriella marries the prince, everything will be all right,” I said without thinking . . . again. Why do I keep doing that? Once I realized my stumble, I joked, “Since I’m intended for the lovable Fred, maybe Gabriella’s destiny is to be whisked away by the handsome prince.”

  “And I will marry the mysterious knight of the road,” Katie said.

  Glad she bought my story, I asked, “Who is the knight of the road?”

  Her grin widened. “There is a highwayman who roams the roads, protecting Fenmore Falls from criminals.”

  “You mean Black Rider?” Once again, my mind flooded with memories of the handsome masked man. He was mysterious, but not in an eerie way like Sir William.

  “Yes, Black Rider,” Katie replied. “Have you seen him?”

  “Yes, he stopped our carriage when we went into town the day before yesterday.”

  “What did he want?” Katie placed her hand on my arm, excitement in her face.

  I shrugged. “I’m not really sure. He said something about people trying to overturn the kingdom. He asked our driver some questions and then said we could go.”