But I could not doubt Horatio’s sincerity when he had said to me, “I am a plain man, Ella. I tend to view things in black and white, occasionally shades of grey. But when I am with you, you make me see the world in vibrant color and—and it’s glorious.”
How could any woman fail to be moved by such a declaration? I certainly could not, especially when Horatio had followed it up with a kiss that left me tingling from head to toe.
“Horatio,” I sighed at the memory, hugging my pillow. I could almost believe that my heart had finally healed, that I could find my lasting happiness with this good, honest man.
There was only one problem. If Horatio ever found out what I had really been doing at the ball, I was not sure my upright commander’s love for me could weather the discovery that I had pilfered from the royal treasury. I could argue that the orb I had taken rightfully belonged to my dearest friend, Malcolm Hawkridge, but I doubted Horatio would accept that excuse.
Horatio already suspected Mal of being engaged in illegal enterprises, suspicions that unfortunately were all too correct. Realizing that Mal had persuaded me to commit burglary would not endear my friend to Horatio. Nor I feared would it increase Horatio’s love for me. He might find that a woman who was a liar and a thief a bit too colorful for a Scutcheon commander sworn to uphold the king’s laws. If I was fortunate, perhaps Horatio would never find out what I had done, but could our romance flourish while I harbored this guilty secret?
I squirmed, such reflections disturbing my state of drowsy bliss. Was it too much to ask that for once I could savor the prospect that there might be a happily ever after for me without any added complications? I hugged my pillow tighter, determinedly banishing these troubling doubts.
Rolling over in bed, I peered dreamily at the small bouquet of white roses I had left upon my night table. Horatio had sent them to me before the ball. I struggled to an upright position and breathed in the delicate nosegay’s perfume. Yawning and stretching, I recalled a passage from one of the stories my stepmother Em used to tell me and my two stepsisters when we were children.
…and the virtuous young maiden awakened every morning to the sweet scent of roses and the sound of cheerful bluebirds twittering. These magical little creatures would fetch the maiden’s royal robe and fly it to her bedside.
Unfortunately the only evidence of a bird in my bedchamber was the white droppings spattered on my windowpane and the only sound was the angry rumble of my stomach. I had never made it to the midnight supper at the palace and I realized I had not eaten anything since early yesterday afternoon.
I did not hear anything to indicate that anyone else in the house was up and stirring and that was just as well. I did not want my stepmother getting downstairs before me and attempting to fix breakfast. Em was a warm, affectionate woman with many wonderful qualities, but the ability to cook was not one of them.
Flinging back the covers, I eased out of bed, wincing when my sore foot hit the floor. My well-worn old dancing slippers had rubbed quite a blister on my heel. I hobbled toward my washstand, nearly tripping over the ball gown I had been too tired to put away the night before.
Just like the prospect of the royal ball itself, the elegant river of silk appeared to have lost its luster in the bright light of day. I could see where it had been torn during my regrettable encounter with Prince Florian in the palace gardens. I wondered what all the other lovelorn maidens in Arcady would think if they realized I was the one Florian had chosen to be his bride. Me! The only woman in the kingdom who had no desire to wed that arrogant fool.
Florian had been in an inebriated state from snorting pixie dust and his proposal had been less than gentlemanly. He had tried to lift up my skirt and when I kicked at him, he had grabbed my foot. During the struggle, my shoe had come off in his hands and the prince had stumbled backward and cracked his head on a tree root. He had passed out, allowing me to escape, but I had been unable to retrieve my shoe. That continued to worry me.
The penalties for insulting or harming royalty were extremely severe, but Mal had assured me that I had nothing to fear. Apparently snorting pixie dust left one’s brain in quite a befuddled state. Mal insisted that when Florian awoke that morning, the prince would have forgotten all about me. I only hoped that my friend was right.
Pouring water from my ewer into the basin, I splashed cold water on my face in an effort to come more fully alert. As I toweled myself dry, I heard stirrings that indicated that someone besides myself was awake. But not in my house. Lowering the towel, I listened intently and realized that the faint sounds seemed to be coming from outside. I moved over to the window and tried to peer out, but my view was obscured by the bird droppings. I threw up the sash, letting in a warm summer breeze and a hum of voices.
Looking down at the lane that wound past my fence, I was astonished to see half of the neighborhood spilling out of their houses. Many of them had obviously slept in as late as I had because I spotted some older gentlemen still wearing their nightcaps. There was a great deal of excited chatter, although I could not hear what was being said. Some were gesturing and pointing in the direction where our lane wound upward away from Midtown.
I leaned out the window as far as I dared, craning my neck to discover the source of all of this commotion. From my limited vantage point, I still could not see anything, but I heard the distant blare of trumpets and the tattoo of drums. I froze, a terrifying thought seizing control of my brain.
The king’s guard is coming to arrest me!
Someone must have seen me kick Prince Florian. Or perhaps the theft of the orb had been discovered and traced back to me. I jerked back inside the window, banging my head on the sash. As I rubbed my throbbing pate, I tried to still my racing pulse.
“Take hold of yourself, Ella Upton,” I scolded myself.
I knew right well that arrests in our kingdom were conducted quietly, not accompanied by such fanfare. I was letting my guilty conscience get the best of me, causing my imagination to run wild. Still, I could not be easy in my mind until I discovered what was going on.
Fetching my wrapper, I shrugged into the garment as I darted out of my room and down the stairs. My sore feet were forgotten as I hurried out my front door and through the tangled mess of flowers and overgrown bushes that comprised my garden. Trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible, I crouched behind an enormous weed near my fence. This strange plant seemed to be growing bigger every day, its stalk the thickness of a small tree, its leaves sprouting in every direction. I had allowed this weed to grow merely to tease my next-door neighbor and I had even nicknamed it Frank.
Mrs. Biddlesworth loathed my untidy garden and suspected me of practicing some dark, illegal magic. I am ashamed to admit I often amused myself by squinting and muttering made-up incantations when I knew Mrs. B was spying on me. But when it came to allowing Frank to get out of control, I had carried one of my jests too far. The weed’s roots were embedded deep in the earth by now. I was going to have a dreadful time getting rid of the ugly plant, but it proved useful at the moment, sheltering me as I joined my neighbors, all of our heads turned toward the cavalcade approaching down the lane.
By now, I could clearly see a contingent of royal guards, decked out in their old-fashioned blue tabards, blowing triumphant clarions and beating drums. Beyond them, I caught a glimpse of an impressive equipage pulled by a team of snowy white horses. It was the king’s golden carriage, only brought out on the most important state occasions. King August never came to Midtown these days, not even to deliver his annual speech. What could be the reason for this unexpected appearance? Whatever it was, I assured myself it could not possibly have anything to do with me.
All the same, I felt nervous enough to retreat to the side of the house. I peeked around the corner and was relieved to observe this mysterious parade passing on by, heading toward the heart of Midtown. As the guards marched past, I noticed one lone sentry bringing up the rear. It was Sergeant Ned Wharton, the very tall an
d handsome young guard whom my stepsister Netta had become infatuated with at the ball last night.
Unlike the other soldiers, Sergeant Wharton was not beating a drum, but walking one of those huge hairless aura cats, the creature straining at the leash. In honor of the occasion (whatever that was), someone had affixed a bright blue bow to the huge cat’s collar. It looked rather ridiculous upon such a fearsome beast and the poor creature appeared to think so too. It let out a ferocious growl and sank down upon its haunches, refusing to budge.
For one dreadful moment, I thought that both cat and sergeant would be run down by the approaching carriage. But the royal coach lumbered along at such a sedate pace, the driver easily reined in the team of horses in time. The entire parade came to an abrupt halt. Sergeant Wharton ceased struggling with the cat and looked expectantly toward the carriage. I could hear murmurs circulating through the crowd of spectators, everyone clearly as puzzled by this turn of events as I was.
One of the bewigged footmen leapt down from his post at the rear of the carriage. There was a hush of anticipation from the crowd as he opened the door and let down the steps. Sighs of disappointment followed when the only person to emerge was the king’s majordomo.
Clad in his nondescript grey uniform, the thin, balding little man hurried toward Sergeant Wharton. The majordomo carried something. My jaw dropped when I realized what it was: a square pillow trimmed with golden fringe. Nestled upon the center of the purple silk was my beat-up old dancing slipper. Numb with horror, I watched as the majordomo bent down and presented my shoe to the aura beast. The cat stared at it, then rolled its head toward my front gate and emitted an ear-splitting roar.
No! This was not possible. I had an unregistered aura! There was no way that cat should have been able to connect that shoe to me. My pulse pounding hard, I flattened myself against the side of the house, but I had to see what would happen next.
The majordomo had returned to the carriage. He appeared to be conferring with someone inside. My heart sank when Prince Florian emerged to loud applause and the usual squeals of feminine delight. The prince acknowledged his adorers with a toss of his long blond hair and his blinding smile. His broad shoulders strained beneath a royal-blue frock coat, a snowy cravat knotted about his throat. His taut thighs were encased in a pair of breeches so tight, it left not nearly enough to the imagination.
According to Mal, the prince should have been back at the palace recovering from his pixie dust binge, not striding toward my front gate with that determined look on his face. I was certain that Florian’s infatuation had been inspired by snorting that silvery powder. Surely he could not still be intent upon marrying me? I was not waiting around to find out.
Stealthily backing away, I scrambled toward the rear of the house. My first panicked impulse was to scale the backyard fence and flee toward town. I could burst into the Midtown garrison and beg Horatio to hide me. Yet of the two men in my life, Mal was the one more likely to know how to conceal a fugitive. But Misty Bottoms was even farther away and what was I thinking?
What if I was wrong about the prince’s intentions? I would seem like a complete lunatic, rushing through the streets in my bare feet, clad in nothing but my nightgown and wrapper.
I raced for the house instead and tore up the stairs. I blundered into Em coming from my younger sister Amy’s room. Unlike me, my stepmother was already dressed, a becoming lace cap perched atop her dark curls.
I must have looked as though I was being pursued by a horde of hobgoblins because Em drew back from me in alarm, “Ella, what is all that commotion outside? What is going on?”
“I don’t know, but we have to pretend we are not at home.”
When she started to protest, I gripped both of her arms. “You have to trust me on this, Em. Don’t answer the door. And whatever you do, don’t let him inside.”
Em looked bewildered but nodded her head in frightened agreement. I darted past her and into my room, trying to get my frantic thoughts under control. Maybe I was panicked for nothing. Maybe the prince had sought me out to—to do what? A scornful voice inside my head demanded. Return your shoe?
I tiptoed over to my window and stole a cautious look into the front yard. The prince had breached the gate and was heading up the garden path, preceded by the majordomo bearing the pillow with my shoe. The rest of his entourage milled about in the lane, while the majordomo knocked at the door.
The prince shifted restively, leaning to one side. I thought he was merely trying to peer into the front library window to see why no one hastened to answer the door. When he shook back his golden mane of hair and smoothed his hand through it, I realized he was merely checking his reflection in the glass. His tongue snaked out to moisten his lips.
I shuddered. This could not be happening. Mal had promised that Florian would forget me. I would never have believed that the king would allow his heir to marry anyone less than a wealthy princess. Yet Florian had arrived in the royal coach. Did that imply that he had his father’s blessing to wed some impoverished Midtown girl? I could not believe it. What would the king’s response be, especially when he realized that girl was me? I remembered how oddly the king had reacted last night when he had been reminded that I was Julius Upton’s daughter. Was Florian even aware there was some strange past connection between his father and my parents? My head swam with all of these troubling questions.
The majordomo knocked again, louder.
“Open in the name of the most valiant Prince Florian, heir to the kingdom of Arcady!” The servant had a booming voice for such a little man.
The prince made an impatient gesture to his men crowding around the gate. For one wild moment, I feared he had commanded someone to fetch a battering ram. But he had only signaled the royal trumpeters. They let forth another blast.
As the last note died, I heard Em rushing down the stairs. I should have known my stepmother would never be able to ignore such a summons. I tore out of my room to stop her, but I was already too late. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, Em had flung the door open. She curtsied, gushing out a greeting to the prince, welcoming him inside. I whirled and fled back to my room.
Leaning up against my bedroom door, I wished I could sink through the floor or turn invisible. Invisible? The thought reminded me of those glass slippers tucked in the back of my wardrobe! Mal had insisted that they worked, that I simply had not used them properly. Of course, Mal was also the one who had assured me I would never be troubled by Prince Florian again.
Still I was desperate enough to try anything. I moved toward my wardrobe just in time to avoid being knocked down as my door burst open. Netta rushed inside, closely followed by a pasty-faced Amy.
The girls were in their nightgowns and Amy had a strip of linen knotted around her head, holding some sort of compress in place. My sister was obviously still feeling the effects of all that cheap wine she had swilled at the ball. The tie ends flopping down gave her the appearance of a bedraggled rabbit.
“Ella, I thought I heard trumpets,” Netta cried. “Whatever is going on?”
“Have they no compassion for a dying girl?” Amy moaned.
Before I could explain, Netta darted over to my bedroom window and glanced down into the street.
“Oh, it’s Ned.” She blushed. “I mean Sergeant Wharton and Baxter.”
“Baxter?” I echoed.
“His aura cat.”
That thing had a name?
Amy stumbled after Netta. Shielding her eyes from the sunlight, she stole a look out the window as well. She drew back with a gasp.
“The royal carriage! Can it possibly be? Has my beloved Prince Dashiel come for me?”
Amy pulled the linen bandage off her head and perked up, looking as though she had decided she might live after all. I hated to be the one to disillusion her about the arrival of her prince, but I did not have to.
My bedroom door burst open again. Why had I not thought to lock it? My wits truly had gone a-begging this mornin
g, I lamented as Em bustled inside. My stepmother was so excited, she could hardly speak.
“Oh, girls,” she squeaked. “You must all get dressed at once. The most wonderful thing has happened.”
“Prince Dashiel is here and he has come to ask for my hand in marriage?” Amy asked, breathlessly.
“No, my dear. It is the heir to the throne himself who has come to call. Prince Florian.”
Amy’s face fell. “Oh. Whatever is he doing here?”
Em sighed. “It is so romantic. The prince fell in love with some mysterious beauty at the ball last night and vows he will have no other for his bride. From the prince’s description, he has to be talking about our Ella.”
I shook my head in a weak attempt at denial, but Em beamed at me. “You foolish child! Why did you run off without making sure the prince knew your true name? If you had not lost your shoe, he might never have found you again.”
My stepmother’s nose crinkled. “It is a little embarrassing, Ella. Could you find nothing better to wear to the ball than those scuffed-up old dancing slippers?”
“They were my most comfortable pair,” I said. “I never expected one of them to end up paraded all over Midtown on a silken pillow.”
“I am glad the prince found your shoe,” Amy chimed in. “Those slippers were always my favorite as well.”
I turned away from Em to stare at my youngest sister, a dreadful suspicion forming in my mind. “What do you mean, yours?”
Amy hung her head. “Um, I may have just borrowed your shoes a few times when I went to the Baftons’ to practice my dancing with Fortescue.”
So that explained how my dancing slippers had gotten stretched and how the shoes had been traced to my door. Amy’s aura had to be all over them. I had to grip my hands together to keep from strangling my little sister.
“Blast it all, Amy! How many times must I tell you to stop taking my things without asking—”
Disenchanted Page 32
