That was all he wanted to discuss with me? I let out a sigh of relief and said, “Pray forgive her. Imelda is far too credulous, believing every nonsensical bit of gossip she hears.”
“It is not nonsense,” Crushington said quietly. “It’s true.”
“Oh,” was all I could think to say at first, then I protested, “But what of the parents you spoke of, the ones who christened you with all those names, the mother who taught you to blow the pain away?”
“The Crushingtons adopted me when I was seven. I have no idea who or what my real parents were. As an infant, I was abandoned in the hollow of one of the great trees in the Red Grove Forest. I would likely have perished if I had not been found by a hermit.”
“And this hermit took care of you?”
“No. Do you not know what is done with abandoned children, Ella?”
I was rather ashamed to admit that I did not. “I assume they are taken to an orphanage somewhere.”
“The Royal Foundling Asylum is located high in the hills beyond the forest. It is a grim place, more like a fortress because it is deemed necessary that foundlings be kept well away from all decent society. The conditions there were not pleasant.”
“I am sorry,” I said. “But then you were adopted by the Crushingtons?”
“I was one of the rare, few fortunate ones. Most foundling children are trained for a life of servitude in the silver mines. It was obvious I would grow to be too large for that. I most likely would have ended up indentured to a pig farmer or a goat herder on the one of the remote farms near the northern border. But then one day I was noticed by Lieutenant Benjamin Crushington.”
The commander’s tale was interrupted by the ponies. Irritated by his lack of attention, they attempted to nip at his pant leg. He bent down to pat them absently and then paced farther away from their stall. As I followed, he continued, “The lieutenant was a Border Scutcheon, assigned to the northern outpost. One of his assigned duties was to inspect the asylum. He rode a black stallion, and I remember how I used to watch for his visits. I would hide in the stables even though I knew it was forbidden and I would be beaten if I was found. It was worth the risk for me to obtain just a glimpse of that magnificent horse.
“One afternoon, I grew bold enough to creep from my hiding place and stroke its mane. The lieutenant caught me and I trembled in fear before him. He was a large, fierce-looking man so I braced myself for the blow that was sure to follow.
“But he simply stared at me for the longest time as though he was seeing a ghost. I was stunned when his eyes welled up with tears. The next thing I knew the lieutenant was counting out coin into the warder’s hand and I was ordered to ready myself to leave with him.”
“The lieutenant bought you?” I gasped.
“All foundlings are eventually sold into servitude, although usually at an older age. Such was our fate and I never questioned it.”
“But you were only seven years old! Surely you must have been frightened to be handed over to a stranger in that callous fashion.”
“Frankly, I was more excited at the prospect of riding in front of the lieutenant on that incredible horse. I did not think much beyond that. If I did, it was only to suppose I would be set to some kind of labor when we arrived at our destination. I even dared to dream I might be employed cleaning his stables.”
Crushington was so matter-of-fact about all of this, minimizing what he must have suffered as a boy. Nothing could have painted a clearer picture of his bleak childhood than the fact that mucking out horse stalls had been the pinnacle of his dreams.
He did not appear in need of my comfort but I longed to press his hand. But he had locked both of them behind his back, his stance rigid as he went on. “When we reached the lieutenant’s barracks, nothing went as I had expected. I confess I was frightened when he prepared me to meet his wife. My only experience with women was those toothless, grey-haired crones hired to clean the asylum and make sure none of the orphans were overfed. They might even have been witches.”
If Crushington thought that was what a witch looked like, he had never met Mal’s friend Delphine. But I said nothing, not wanting to interrupt.
“When I was presented to Sara Crushington, she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, as frail and delicate as a fairy princess. Her reaction to me was even stronger than her husband’s had been. She took one look and burst into tears. She caught me up in a fierce embrace, her thin arms trembling. I had never been hugged before and I am sorry to say that I jerked away from her, as wary as a cornered wild thing.”
The commander’s eyes clouded at the memory. “That was when I learned why the lieutenant had bought me. The Crushingtons had recently lost their only child, a boy named Horatio. They had both been devastated, but Sara Crushington had nearly died from her grief. Apparently, I bore a remarkable resemblance to Horatio. His clothes even fit as though they had been sewn just for me.”
“That was why they wanted you? As a replacement for their dead child?” I was unable to conceal how appalled I was. “But that—that was—”
“The most fortunate thing that could have ever happened to me.”
“But you were forced to become someone else, your own identity stolen.”
“What identity, Ella?” Crushington gave a sad laugh. “Who was I? Merely another foundling with no past and even less future. I didn’t even have a name. The warder called me Clodpole because of my clumsiness and size.
“With the Crushingtons, for the first time I had a bed to sleep in, warm clothes to wear and enough to eat. I had a real home and more names than I knew what to do with.”
The commander drew himself up proudly. “Horatio Alexander Samuel Edward Crushington. I didn’t care that it was only a borrowed name or I had to walk in a dead boy’s shoes. I would have been anything or anyone the Crushingtons wanted of me. They gave me everything, Ella, an education and a future. With the passage of time, the Crushingtons forgot that I was not their trueborn son and I forgot as well.”
I nodded. “I understand what a blessing it must have been to be adopted, but have you never wondered about the woman who bore you or the man who sired you? Have you never wanted to know who they were?”
“Why would I? I cannot bear to think what sort of depraved creatures could abandon their child to die. I prefer not to ever know how much of their darkness I might carry in my blood. There is a good reason very few foundlings are ever adopted, because of the fear of what evil might be lodged in their hearts. The Crushingtons were quite brave to risk it and I will love and honor them forever for that.
“But I never intended to go on at such length about my past. I just felt that you needed to know the truth about me. If you should decide that you do not ever wish me to call upon you again, I will understand.”
He was offering me an out, a way to end his attentions to me, something I had thought I desired. But all I could think of was driving the self-doubt and sorrow from his eyes.
“Don’t be such a great fool, Horatio Alexander Samuel Edward Crushington.” I placed my hand flat on the center of his chest. I could feel his heartbeat quicken.
“What you are doing?” he asked.
“Hush.” I furrowed my brow as though deep in concentration. I finally pronounced, “I don’t sense anything evil in there. Only honor, courage, determination, seriousness and perhaps a tiny streak of obstinacy.”
The commander gave a dubious half-smile. “You can sense all that, can you?”
“Just one of my gifts.” I lowered my lashes, feigning a simper of false modesty. “I may not be sweet, but I am exceedingly clever. Far too clever to place any stock in these nonsensical beliefs about foundlings.”
He did smile then, completely and unreservedly as he rarely did. His eyes shone with such gratitude it brought a lump to my throat. He covered my hand with his own and then raised it to his lips, brushing a soft kiss on my fingertips.
Again I experienced that strange tingle, warmer and stronger this time
. I shivered. Mistaking my response, Crushington released me. “I am sorry. Was that too bold of me?”
“No, no. It is only…” I sought for a way to explain my unaccountable reaction. “Your whiskers tickled me. I am not really fond of beards.” I flushed and added hastily, “Although yours is—is quite—”
“Tolerable?” he asked drily, arching one brow.
“Yes.” I gave a sheepish laugh.
We stood for long moments smiling shyly at each other before I gave myself a brisk mental shake.
“I really should be getting back before my stepmother comes in search of me,” I said. “There is still a great deal of sewing to be done on the ball gowns and we only have another week.”
“So you are all going to the ball?” he asked.
I pulled a face. “Yes, may all the fairies help me.”
The commander fell into step beside me as we left the stables. I led Crushington toward the back gate by the kitchens, thinking to spare him having to run the gauntlet of my family again. He stopped abruptly and cleared his throat. “I also plan to attend the ball.”
“You do?” I glanced up at him in surprise.
“Yes, the Scutcheon commanders have always been invited, but I have never had the slightest inclination to go before. However, this year is different with nearly all of Midtown going so as the head of the garrison, I feel I should put in an appearance.” Even as he offered this excuse, I sensed it was my attendance that had influenced his decision.
“Of course, I have been ordered not to stand about like a stone pillar and look as though I am policing the crowd. I will be obliged to take part in the dancing so I was wondering…” He paused for a deep breath. “I wondered if you might grant me a dance, although I perfectly understand if you do not wish to do so. I know you will be besieged with so many other offers, knights and lords. I am sure even the prince will want to—”
“Horatio!” I laughed, stopping him. “Yes. I will dance with you.”
His face suffused with pleasure. “Thank you. That will be most kind of you.”
“The kindness is all on your side. I only ever wanted to attend the ball because my stepmother and sisters desire it so badly. I dread the prospect of encountering so many strangers, especially all of those aristocrats from the Heights. It will be good to find a familiar face in the crowd.”
“I feel the same way. Especially if it is yours.”
I smiled and offered my hand. “Then consider it a pact. My first dance shall be yours.”
He beamed at me and started to raise my hand to his lips. Recalling my previous objection to his beard, he gave my hand an awkward shake instead.
I cannot explain or excuse the mad impulse that came over me. I stood on tiptoe and kissed the tip of his nose. As I rocked back on my heels, Crushington looked surprised but pleased.
He fumbled with his beret, dropped it twice before he managed to get it settled on his head. The man was so flustered, I had to help him unlatch the garden gate.
“Until next week then,” he said. He bowed and bid me farewell several times before striding on his way.
I laughed softly as I locked the gate behind him, thinking that perhaps attending the ball would not prove to be such an ordeal after all. It was only after the commander disappeared from view that I came back to earth with such a thud, my foolish grin faded.
What in the name of all the fairies was wrong with me? I had behaved as though I was some ordinary girl looking forward to waltzing the night away in the arms of a handsome man, not who I was, a desperate brigand, plotting to pilfer the king’s treasury. Idiot that I was, I had promised to dance with the one man sharp enough to guess what I was up to and seek to prevent me.
Once I had been sure if the commander ever caught me breaking the law, he would arrest me without compunction. Now that I knew him better I was not as certain. What would Horatio do if ever forced to choose between his duty and me? I did not know but I never wanted to put him in that position.
I sank down upon the kitchen stoop and buried my face in my hands. Why did my life always have to be so frapping complicated? Imelda kept insisting what a magical night the ball would be. All I had to do was look out for my younger sisters, ensure they had a good time, meet Imelda’s expectations by attracting a wealthy suitor, dance with Horatio, try not to arouse his suspicions and steal the orb for Mal.
I heaved a deep sigh. I did not know how magical the night would turn out to be, but it was certainly going to be a very busy one.
Chapter 11
The day of the ball dawned at last or far too soon, depending upon one’s point of view. I veered between both emotions, trembling with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Mal had yet to arrive with my gown. I was still clad in my cotton dressing robe as the sun set. I paced to my bedchamber window and peered down the lane. Across the street, I could see the Misses Hanson rustle out of their house in their silk gowns. They headed eagerly toward the waiting barouche, as though determined to be the first to arrive at the palace as soon as the gates opened.
I smiled as I wondered if the young ladies had thought to bring a cushion to land upon should they venture to swoon again. One could not always depend upon the gallantry of a prince as the other silly girls had discovered on that day I had come to think of as the Maiden Massacre.
My smirk faded as the barouche disappeared up the hill and there was still no sign of Mal. The moon had risen like a silver-white queen presiding over a brilliant court of stars. It would be a beautiful night filled with the promise of romance and adventure or total disaster. I was leaning toward the latter. If Mal did not get here soon, I would be attending the ball in my chemise. Where was the wretched man?
Imelda had been in a state of near panic when she had helped me to style my hair earlier. Her nervous fluttering had only increased my own anxiety. I had shooed her out of my bedchamber to go tend to the girls. But as carriage after carriage lumbered past our house, I began to feel rather panicky myself.
As I came away from the window, I was heartened by the sight of the small nosegay of white roses resting upon my dressing table. It had been delivered earlier by an earnest young Scutcheon corporal who had snapped off a sharp bow. He had handed me the bouquet with “the commander’s best wishes and compliments, milady.”
Settling onto the stool in front of my dressing table, I picked up the roses and breathed in their sweet fragrance. Once again, I examined the card that had accompanied them.
Ella,
I know you have much finer blooms in your own garden, but I hope you will find my humble offering acceptable.
Yours, Horatio
An involuntary smile curved my lips. If anyone had told me even a week ago that I would look forward to dancing with Commander Crushington at the ball, I would have declared that person as mad as a Red Grove hermit. But after hearing all that Horatio had overcome in his youth, I was intrigued and wanted to know him better. I was even willing to consider the possibility something romantic could develop between us—as long as he did not arrest me first.
As for Mal, the only thing that prevented me from wanting to kill my dear friend was the small wooden box resting next to my hairbrush. I opened the box and drew out the precious emeralds that Mal had restored to me. I had not yet been able to thank him and I resolved to do so while I was choking him to death.
I had to brush my hair back to fasten the emeralds in my ears. I had no idea if they would match my dress. Mal had been so infernally mysterious, he had refused to tell me anything about the gown’s design, fabric or even the color. He had insisted I would just have to trust him.
I was trying to do so, but as the minutes ticked by and he still did not arrive, it grew increasingly more difficult. At least, wearing my mother’s earrings afforded me some comfort. It did not matter if they would complement my gown or not. Imelda had arranged my hair in a soft cascade of curls tumbling over my shoulders. The earrings would not be visible, but I would know they were there, as though this
evening I would carry some small part of my mother with me.
As much as I loved Imelda, I could not help wishing that my own mother was here tonight. I tried to imagine what it would have been like, the shared laughter and excitement, the way she would have smiled as she insisted I borrow her “twinkles,” fastening them on me herself, the look of pride in her eyes as she hugged me. My throat swelled with emotion and it was with relief that I heard the distant knock on the front door. I leapt up and bolted out into the hall, crying, “I’ll get it!”
I tore down the stairs, nearly tripping over the hem of my dressing robe. When I reached the front door, I flung it open. “Mal! Where have you been—”
I broke off in dismay because it was not my friend. Instead of Mal, I was greeted by the blast of the royal herald’s trumpet. Rhufawn Smythe obviously recalled what had happened on his last visit because he stood well out of my reach so I could not snatch the instrument from him. I had to endure the rest of his fanfare. Leaning up against the doorjamb, I folded my arms and glowered until he finished. As soon as he lowered the trumpet, I demanded, “Now what?”
Ignoring my hostile tone, the herald tossed his red curls as he said, “A message from the royal palace, one of the greatest importance—”
“Don’t tell me. Let me guess. The royal ball has been canceled and regretfully His Majesty is unable to refund the price of our tickets.”
“Of course not, Miss Upton. You truly are the most cynical and suspicious young lady I have ever met.”
“Then you claim to bring me more good news from the palace?” I asked.
“Er—not precisely. It will depend upon how much stamina you possess.”
“What!”
Rhufawn ventured closer, although he eyed me warily. He drew forth a scroll and unfurled it. Clearing his throat, he used the light spilling from the house as he read, “ ‘His Supreme Highness King August the first of that name, ruler of the great kingdom of Arcady, descendant of the noble house of Helavalerian, declares that henceforth swooning in the presence of royalty is strictly forbidden. Any person caught fainting in the vicinity of the king or any of the noble princes, Florian, Kendrick, Ryland, Dall or Dashiel, will be subject to a heavy fine and an afternoon confined in the Yoke of Shame.’ ”
Disenchanted Page 18
