A slight shudder rippled over Prince, but he was not one to kick a gift horse in the mouth. He shifted his gaze to Edwerdina sitting pretty on a blanketed ground, unaware of the drama that had been averted just behind her. She sat in oblivion with her bright day muslin skirt spread in a pool of orange spice surrounding her. He would have thought the shade would clash like a violent storm with the red in her hair, but it somehow managed to match her coloring to perfection.
Rooted to the path, he watched as Cinderella and Pricilla rushed toward her in an agile attempt of protection. Apparently, they’d not seen Conte de Lecce step into their mother's path as yet.
“You shouldn’t run,” Evangeline chastised. He barely heard the words but for the light winds that carried them his way. “You’ll secrete unsightly moisture.”
Prince had been unable to ascertain the dynamics between the two sisters and Cinderella that only begged his curiosity more so, amplified his interest.
One moment Pricilla's dour features boasted good natured humor and the next had anger flashing her eyes from gray to silver in narrowed chips of glacial ice and lips pressed in acute displeasure. In this moment, however, she rolled her eyes. “Secrete unsightly moisture, Essie? You could not say sweat?”
Cinderella clapped a hand over her mouth thus cutting off a burst of laughter. Prince managed to stifle his as well, but not his grin. How enlightening these sisters were when they thought no one paid them any mind.
Just then Prince caught sight of Alessandro walking up to assist Cinderella to the ground next to Eglantine. He hissed a sharp intake of breath snuffing out his amusement.
’Twas not jealousy, he told himself.
When the cur had the unmitigated gall to shift the picnic basket toward the center of the palate as a ruse to progress closer to Cinderella, something violent jarred in his chest. Mon…Dieu. This was all a bad dream!
High color singed her cheeks. Prince bolted into action. “Pardonez-moi,” he said, squeezing between the two. In essence pushing Alessandro nearer to Ellaralda, who, curiously, also sported high spots of red on her face. But, somehow, he had the notion Erwanda could take care of herself. She managed to disguise her discomfort by reaching in the basket to sort through the contents.
A plate was thrust into his hands with a leg of chicken, cheese and bits of fruit. Prince ate slowly contemplating how to find his mysterious princess before this madness went any further.
Glancing round the circle of the company in which he now found himself, decided him. He had three young maidens to protect from one over-zealous Conte’s son who clearly thought himself the king of seduction. Mayhap he would teach them a few defense tactics. One never knew when such a weapon would be required.
And Cinderella? A fierce sense of protectiveness stole over him. She needed him more than most, he decided. He blew out a pursed breath.
“Are you well, sir?” The object of his thoughts startled him to the present. Cinderella looked lovely in her bright yellow day gown with her olive complexion and rich dark locks. When he looked at her he could almost imagine…non!
A sliver of cheese caught in his throat. Heat rose up his neck as he started to cough. He reached for a glass Cinderella held out, when he felt a heavy pounding on his back. He turned to see who wielded the strong arm—to meet the mischievous eyes of Pricilla.
Things were complicated enough with no idea in mind how to halt the mudslide of entanglements threatening to suffocate him. Could the ground just not swallow him up?
“Do not pound so hard, Pricilla,” Cinderella snapped.
Surprise lit the features of both sisters, the undercurrent unmistakable.
Oui, ’twas past time to locate his mysterious princess. Once he found her mamá would have to cease these infernal wedding plans. It quite appalled him to realize he’d quite given up on the search since the invasion of their current houseguests. He felt almost dizzy with the simplicity of it all. The air around him seemed suddenly vibrant with scintillating sparkles.
“I’m…I’m fine,” he assured them once more in control.
Prince smiled his most charming smile, resolve making him suddenly itchy to jump on his horse. He knew now what he had to do, and he was most anxious to proceed.
Chapter 23
One Week Later
"How do I find her, Arnald? Was she just a dream? Just one lovely night in the moonlight?” Prince found himself drawn by some inexplicable pull, standing before the statue of Eros. How was it that a piece of marble could issue such a smug and irritating smirk?
He was at a total loss as to where to navigate from here. For a week past, he’d trod dusty roads, endured cold rain and brisk winds as he traveled through the countryside led only by the strings of his heart.
When his horse paused before the cottage where the slipper had slid so effortlessly onto Efterpi's foot, with no further substantiation for his mysterious princess, he knew it was time to head home.
"Mayhap she's hidden right beneath your nose, cousin."
Of course, that made no sense, and he shot Arnald a disgusted look that told him so. “Perhaps,” Prince said slowly, “we should find you a bride, my friend?”
“Oh, no, cousin. I require no such effort,” he shot back, palms crossing confirming his abject denial, backing away.
The panic in Arnald’s voice drew a quick smile from Prince, satisfying his jab. "Leave me be, Arnald. I will meet you in time to change for supper."
"As you wish.” As if unmarried debutants were fast on his heels, Arnald almost tripped in his haste to get away. If Prince had not felt so despondent, he might have laughed at his retreating figure.
Instead, he pushed tired fingers through his hair and studied the statue before him, the curls, almost feminine, etched in the marble sculpted hair. His mouth tipped in memory of his last visit before this very spot.
Surprisingly, it was Cinderella's deep brown eyes, and not his mysterious princess, that pulled at him. He shifted with unease. This whole bizarre situation with Ermaline, and the fast coming wedding were playing havoc with his normal sense of balance. He gave up all pretense of trying to recall her name, even in his own head.
Prince lifted his eyes to puffy white clouds filling the sky. A cool gentle breeze nipped the air. He tried to revel in its crispness but found it impossible. He wandered to the stoned-garden bench and sat heavily.
He had not yet seen his mother, father, his betrothed or the three women who so quickly embodied the future of his life. In fact, one would find difficulty convincing him he'd been missed this week past. Drawn to this pond by some unspoken message, he searched for comfort. But the impending sense of doom pressed a profound burden against his chest.
Prince leaned forward, elbows on thighs and dropped his face in his hands. What was it she'd quoted that day? That Eros was described as "bittersweet" and "cruel" to his victims. Oui, that was it. The irony of it punched him deep in the torso. Also known as unscrupulous...He let out a groan. Now, he was a victim, or worse, unscrupulous?
Could anything be worse?
"Your highness?” Ah, well…apparently, it could.
Yet, the serene velvet Cinderella’s soft voice offered seeped through to his weary bones. It dawned on him how desperately in need of a bath he was. After a week’s disappointing journey he could not help finding a hint of welcome warmth. He wanted nothing more than to sink into the bliss.
In the blink of an eye he felt the shift in the wind.
And then there was the other matter. He sighed before lifting his head and stood.
*****
“Your highness? May we assist you somehow?” The sight of her beloved’s bedraggled demeanor had Cinderella ready to abandon all propriety in smothering him with attention or tear off screaming in the opposite direction. His hair was in desperate needed of a comb, his chin a shave. “Are you ill, sir?” She marveled at how calm she sounded.
“Ill?” he choked out.
“Essie, my arm,” Cinderella whispered tryi
ng to pry Essie’s whitened knuckles from her person. But Essie held tight.
Cinderella glanced at her face and realized at once Essie’s shocked and confused expression teetered on seeing the very thing Cinderella desperately wanted to hide. That she loved Prince. Once her batting lashes slowed to a normal pace, Cinderella had no illusions that that was exactly what she would see.
She turned back quickly to Prince. Stilled the tremor in her voice. “You…look…” The words stuck in her throat. “Je suis désolé. I am sorry.” She was appalled by her forthrightness.
“Ill? Fatigued? Frustrated?” he muttered.
He was jesting, of course, though, he looked extremely fatigued. Not at all princely. The edge to his voice sounded raspy, desolate, hopeless. Her heart reached out to him.
“Cinde! We must go,” Essie hissed in her ear.
She struggled to jerk her arm away, ignoring Essie’s alarm. Her gaze flitted back to Prince.
“Do not worry for me, ladies,” he said, with a formal bow. “Shall I see you at supper?”
“Oui, oui,” Essie stuttered.
Cinderella’s only opportunity to further her acquaintance with Prince had now slipped from her grasp. He mounted his horse before she could utter another word.
They watched him set off in a cantor.
“Are you mad?” Essie scolded her.
“Obviously,” Cinderella muttered. One must gather one’s wits when one adopts a new sister, she sighed.
*****
Prince started for his chambers but preparations for the betrothal ball were in full bloom forcing fancy footwork maneuvering through servants everywhere. Rolled up rugs were taken out and beaten, saturating the air with dust moats. He failed to walk anywhere without running into the frenzy of readying. He’d never seen the like.
Mayhap he should consult a physician for the ailments plaguing him. This near fainting was not natural for a man of his healthy aptitude. It was ludicrous, he smirked. He should be bled.
On the one hand, if he perished ’twould save him an appearance at a life sentence of his own making. The shoe. ’Twas a terrible idea he’d had, trying it on any maiden in the kingdom. Bah, it was getting late for such regrets, however. There must be other alternatives—he just had yet to find them. ’Twas past time to speak with Mamán, he decided, and the urgency of it choked him.
He lifted his eyes in just that moment, and who should appear but the object of his thoughts. The fates were with him. It was a charmed life he led, indeed. The swoosh of her skirts indicated she’d disappeared round the bend. And, in an awful hurry.
Prince hurried to the corner, and once he had Mamán in sight, picked up his pace. He fell back when she angled toward a less inhabited passage of the castle.
Why on earth would she come to this deserted area? It was quite curious.
The longer he followed the more confused he became. This portion of the castle had been uninhabited for years. Eyes adjusting to the dimness, he could see where the dust had been disturbed by the brush of her skirts. Though not the cobwebs, he grimaced. And from the looks of it, this wasn’t her first venture into this forgotten territory. Why, she was a danger to herself.
His mother’s step seemed almost fervent. This ought to be good. He slowed further lest she heard the echo of his footsteps. He swore he could hear the shuffling of tiny vermin scattering.
It did not take long before he heard the scrape of a door creaking. He made haste, quietly, of course. Once he rounded the corner, he jumped back for the door stood ajar and the shadow of a candle flickered wildly.
Mamán’s voice rang clear. “—ended where?” she asked. He had no idea whom she met, but should prove interesting, nonetheless.
“The cottage. Poor thing is quite beside himself,” the other voice interjected.
“I must declare, Faustine, you are a genius. This little plan of yours seems to be working, gloriously.”
Plan? What the devil was going on?
“Oui, it was quite clever, non? I had no desire to ruin the picnic. All that effort and work…” He heard the cluck of her tongue followed by a husky chuckle. “He stepped in quite nicely too.”
Who stepped in? Ruining the picnic? What was his noble mamán up to? And… Faustine—Aunt Faustine, Mamán’s dead sister? The temptation to step forward and demand answers near killed him but patience was a virtue, he reminded himself.
“What have you next for the social agenda, dear?” The genius Faustine asked.
“Well, there is still the matter of the remaining ponds and statues, of course,” Mamán said. “Tedious, but it affords time and opportunities. Alas, we’ve only ten days outstanding, you know.”
Ten days? For his farce of a wedding? That must be their ultimate goal. Oh, how he’d love nothing more than to expose the two connivers little scheme whatever it proved to be. He should call the whole thing off.
That is what he would do, and put his dear mamán right in her place, right where she deserved. Let her explain why her stratagem did not happen to work as planned. Let her explain to that harridan of his betrothed’s maniacal mamá…
The instant the thought started to form, he knew he could not place Egeria in a situation as such. Non. There had to be another way. And what of Cinderella’s good graces, to see him turn into such a rakehell rotter? There was just something about her that drew him. For he knew, she was surely the one who paid for such folly. Shocking him further was the thought that even Lady Pricilla’s opinion mattered to a degree.
Non, he needed a scheme of his own.
“—oui, well the weather should not concern our—”
Once their talk turned to the weather, Prince did not wait to hear more. He had his own designs to administer, and time appeared more critical than he’d anticipated.
*****
“Is there not something I can do to slow this stampede of wild horses threatening to trounce my very living breath?” Essie’s bemoan was worthy of the most theatrical dramatics. Cinderella would have been tempted to grin at such overacted display but for the fact her future happiness was too entwined in the outcome.
All three girls had managed to avoid Stepmamá’s overbearing presence by hiding in Cinderella’s more out of the way chamber. ’Twas not completely secure, but Mamá had no reason to suspect Essie and Pricilla’s forged friendship. Cinderella sat cross-legged on the bed while Essie lay stretched on her stomach, chin resting on her fists.
Pricilla, primly in the overstuffed chair, tapped a thoughtful finger against her cheek, eyes narrowed in thought. They had strategically maneuvered the chair before the door in the unlikely event someone, and by someone, meaning Stepmamá, might enter unannounced, providing them sufficient time to react. A precautionary plan Cinderella was more than happy to accommodate.
“It appears to me we need a preparation of drastic measure,” Pricilla contended.
“’Twill to be too late. Wait and see.”
That dire prediction had Cinderella’s head spinning—and their constant bantering. Another hazard of the sister-ship, she decided. A sudden smile swelled in her chest soaring through her.
Pricilla’s exasperation was palpable. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Essie. Your constant whining does not facilitate the progress of pre-planning stages.”
Cinderella wholeheartedly agreed though she chose not to vocalize the sentiment. The relationship with her sisters was just too fragile to risk at this juncture.
“They are already in full preparation as we speak,” Cinderella imparted. The dejection seeped all the way to the bone. “Just yesterday I saw footmen dispatching satchels burdened with invitations.”
“Burdened is an interesting choice of words, Cinde,” Pricilla said. Her head shot up quickly to find Pricilla’s eyes boring into her. “What have you against Essie marrying Prince?”
Cinderella cast a quick glance toward Essie who had flipped to her back, gaze studying the ornate ceiling.
“Oh, why should she care?” Essie wailed. “
I just know I am not ready for marriage. I know we are considered of an appropriate marriageable age, but I do not want anyone. I do not wish to be queen. I do not which to live in a gilded cage.” She gave a delicate shudder. “I prefer the study of meteorology.”
“Of course, you do. And it is surely an appropriate subject matter for your natural curiosity and affliction,” Pricilla smirked.
Essie shot her a lethal glance.
Then under her breath, Pricilla added, “And, I can certainly understand your sentiment on marriage.”
“What medieval marauder decided women should be attached before their twentieth year, pray tell?” Essie demanded.
“Hah, sister dear, we should count ourselves blessed lest we’d have been sold off at three and ten.”
Cinderella considered that little tidbit. She let out a sigh. She should confide in the two of them, and now seemed as good a time as any. Summoning up her courage, she said, “There is some—”
The door bounded against the back of the chair, jarring the three of them.
“Quick, Cinderella! Under the bed,” Pricilla hissed.
“Non. I cannot go under the bed,” Cinderella gasped, horrified. “The window?”
“No time, Cinde, just do it,” Essie snapped. “Pressé.”
Cinderella dropped to her knees and scooted, praying she would not encounter any creepy-crawlers. Wait, ’twas the Royal Palace, dirt was not allowed. She clung to the thought. Funny how they’d been at the palace for such a short time and already she’d grown accustomed to such luxury. Already distanced from her old life just weeks past. She tuned her ear to the sounds about the chamber. The door thrashed against the chair impatiently.
“Children?” Stepmamá’s shrill hysterics.
Cinderella heard the door to the armoire creak open. That was Essie’s part—and held her breath, waiting.
The shadow of the chair edged closer to the bed. Pricilla’s rustling skirts gave way her location near the door. Cinderella knew the door to the chamber opened by Pricilla’s well-timed gasp. Mayhap the three of them should consider an affixation to an acting troupe once they were banished from the castle grounds.
The Wronged Princess - Book I Page 12
