by Jenni James
Alexander’s chest was cold. He felt for the girl, but did wonder at her stupidity in choosing such a fop as Lord Willington. The man was more ego than brains—
The wolf’s thoughts ended abruptly when he realized he used to be just like the man who shattered Miss Hammerstein-Smythe. And five months ago, had he been so inclined, Alexander would have had no qualms in doing something in a similar fashion to her as well. In fact, hadn’t he been more cruel than most? He winced at the memory of their last meeting. She in the town hall aiding the pianist, who was to perform later that evening, with some salve for her arthritic hands, and he on an errand to deliver papers to the mayor and hoping to catch a quick word with him. Alexander had stumbled upon her quite easily enough; he was told the man had last been seen in the concert room. So when he interrupted Miss Hammerstein-Smythe rubbing the old woman’s hands gently he began to snigger—loudly.
Cecelia’s head had snapped up and she glared at him over the pianoforte. She was the only person who was not afraid to put him in his place. “Will you kindly reserve your usual lack of decorum for those who appreciate it?”
He had laughed and shook his head, tapping the papers in his hand against his side. “Do you honestly believe you will ever find a life worth living if all you do is go about meddling with everyone else’s?” He walked forward and rested his elbow upon the pianoforte while sneering down at her. “You disgust me, and I rue the day any man would be foolish enough to align himself with you.”
Her jaw tightened, which proved his words had fully hit their mark. He went in for the kill before she could react properly and lambast him, “Pardon me! What am I thinking? Why would anyone care for such a female as you? They would have to be imbeciles themselves to consider the notion. Think of the pain you would put them through! The agonies! The heartache! Oh, to look at such a face as yours across the breakfast table every morning would be horrendous indeed.”
“To look at my face?” Her voice lowered. “You are the monster here. Mayhap you are handsome, but with your personality no woman in her proper mind would consider herself stupid enough to be in the same room with you, let alone the same house!”
As she quickly scurried and gathered up her things, he knew he had finally gotten under her skin. When she gave the woman a hug, whispering a quick farewell and then turning toward the prince, bowing low, he enjoyed her hasty retreat out the door and he grinned, knowing then he had just secured another good month at least before she would fall for him.
Except, she was smarter—much smarter—she never did fall for Prince Alexander’s prideful notions and preening. Instead she allowed herself to be swallowed up by a different prey altogether.
“Miss—Cecelia?” the wolf whispered.
She sniffed and then answered against his side, “Yes?”
He opened his mouth to speak, his paw marking the page in the book, but no words would come out. There was so much he longed to say, yet none of it seemed suitable. Instead he asked, “What happened then? What did the village people do? Were they kind?”
She turned and curled into a tight ball, facing him, still resting upon his side. He knew she was lying simply by her actions.
“They—they were supportive and good and everything gracious.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, I have never known such an outpouring of compassion.”
“Cecelia?”
“Hmm?”
“Tell me the truth. What actually happened?”
She buried her face into his soft coat and mumbled, “Go away.”
“No. Tell me. Get it out, my dear.”
She chuckled into his side. “Has anyone ever complained of how aggravating you can be?”
“Many times.”
She grumbled and groaned and then finally said, “It was dreadful.” Pulling her cloak around her she continued, “They have only come to glean information and secretly mock me when my back is turned. I have become the village idiot, their laughingstock. All those I considered my friends are more eager to watch and croon over my failure than to sympathize with me.” Her voice quieted. “They saw what I did not, and they were right. I am as worthless to them as I am to Lord Willington. Without his approval I shall never have theirs.”
Alexander could not pinpoint what changed his opinion of this brave girl so fully, other than her trust in him, but he found himself vowing to right every wrong in her life. He found his heart beating in response to her pain, his need to maintain and strengthen her. And he felt much of this guilt was resting upon his shoulders—his constant treatment of her publicly weighed heavily in this too. How else would a village react to a girl when their own prince does not care for her?
A month ago she was as happy and confident and carefree as anyone he knew—nosy and prodding and continually on her quest to help everyone around her. Now when she needed them most, her friends—in their pride and jealousy—had turned their backs on her and left Miss Hammerstein-Smythe to see the cruel world for what it was.
He had so much to make up for; he deserved this face, this body, this curse—when he thought back on what he had carelessly done to her. He had to reverse this wrong. This was not the way things were done.
And Prince Alexander Henry Richard the Fourth would see that every available comfort was given her. He would have her stand again within the walls of her village. No one should be mocking someone so kindhearted and naturally good-natured. He understood now her easy smile and quick laughter proved her disposition to be one of great worth. Many people would grow stronger and happier within themselves had they half her optimism and gumption. How would his own outcome have been had he heeded her perfect example?
The world was not right if Cecelia Hammerstein-Smythe was hurt. Nothing seemed to make sense. Her generous nosy habits needed to be applauded and adored, not hidden away.
But what could he do? What could a mere wolf do to improve the situation?
He cleared his throat, hoping she had not been concerned over his silence. She did not seem to be so, appearing deep in thought herself. “Well, to thank you for your admission, would you like to read what I have found?”
Cecelia brightened immediately and quickly sat up. “Yes, please.”
“Very well.” He passed the book over, careful to not lose the spot. “You see the paragraph starting just there?” he asked as he pointed with his paw.
“Yes.”
“Good. Read the next little bit. You will know when to stop.”
“Do you mean for me to read aloud?”
“If you desire.”
She snuggled her feet under her gown. Finding a glimmer of moonlight, she held the book up and began to read out loud—
Oh, hark! Thy little wingless bird,
For beauty takes its flight—
If thou were but ten feet tall,
Thy strength would own the night.
But alas, thy fragile wings are small.
And so must thy courage ground
My modest passing bonny brow
If thou could but see thy crown!
The land would forge ever onward
Pressing gloriously within sight
For thee, my precious moonbeam
Will yet prevail the fight.
After a moment of contemplation, she spoke. “You are telling me to not give up hope, aren’t you?”
“I am telling you, you are worth more than you believe you are.”
She blushed and shook her head, grateful for the darkness. “Why is it when the wolf says it I almost believe him?”
He grinned a wolfish grin. “Girls in forests should always believe what magical beasts say.”
She rubbed her lips together, worry lines appeared between her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I care.” Alexander sat up on his back haunches. “Because when you do not believe it exists, I see the crown upon your brow.”
“I don’t understand; how could I be worth more than what people see me as?” She drew her legs up and r
ested her head upon them. “Isn’t something only worth what someone is willing to spend for it?”
“I would spend the prince’s fortune for you, if I had to.”
Cecelia laughed. “And what would the lofty Prince Alexander say to such a ploy?” She smoothed her skirts and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Perhaps you didn’t know, but he does not think my worth is that great either. You see? I am hopeless cause.” A ragged sigh escaped. “In fact, there is not one person who feels as you do.” Her voice broke. “Then again, they know me and you do not.”
His heart lodged within his throat at the sight of her valiantly blinking away tears. “You are wrong, my dear, and I will prove it to you. I know you greater than I know myself.”
Her watery eyes met his deep steady gaze.
She drew strength from that gaze; he did not flinch or waver.
“Mark my words, little wingless bird, you will fly.”
She inhaled a shaky breath. “Thank you. I do not know what delicious sprite of fate brought you here, but thank you. I have never needed anything more.”
Alexander nodded his head. He knew. He knew exactly what she was going through—didn’t he just go through his own painful growing trial? And yet, his was deserved, hers was not.
“Cecelia, I promise, starting tomorrow everything will change for you.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
AT ELEVEN O’CLOCK THE next morning, Cecelia’s house was in deep uproar. The maids, the footmen, Sanford, Mrs. Parnel—the cook, Mrs. Hammerstein-Smythe and William were all in great agitation. For about two full minutes no one knew quite what to do. It wasn’t until the lady of the house took control and demanded that one of the maids go and wake her daughter immediately and see that she was dressed properly, that the house began to move again. She had barked several more orders out before all was completely to her satisfaction—
“Sanford, see that he is brought into the best parlor and make sure there is at least one footman to attend him, send in Harold, he will do the best and looks the sharpest in his uniform.”
“Cook, get the finest tea set down and get those extra footmen to help you clean them. Prepare something for a feast—but make it elegant! And make sure he has some sort of nourishment now, for who knows how long it will take Cecelia to get ready, let alone wake up. I cannot gather she has slept at all last evening.”
“Matilda and Penelope, I want you both upstairs with me and Cecelia. We must have our hair done splendidly.”
“William! You get dressed into something decent, not that old coat, and go and entertain him until we can join you. Now. Oh! And make sure Dawkins has shined your nice boots as well.”
By the time Mrs. Hammerstein-Smythe had made it up the stairs, the special guest’s horse had been stabled and he’d been ushered into the best parlor with the footman and a small tray of finger foods cook had miraculously thrown together and artfully arranged. Tea was brewing, and the feast was in its beginning preparations while Cecelia was just then stretching awake from her long night out with the beast.
“I’m sorry, who did you say was here?”
“The Prince, Miss.” Matilda bobbed a curtsy. “He came all the way from his castle this very morning to see you.”
Cecelia sat straight up in her bed, wide awake now. “Is this some jest of William’s?”
“No, Miss. He’s in the best parlor now with your brother attending him. But he came with the express desire to see you.”
“Me? Me?! Are you sure?”
“Positive, Miss. Mrs. Hammerstein-Smythe is completely out of sorts over it and has declared you must be dressed and downstairs as soon as possible.”
“Oh, great heavens!” Cecelia grumbled as she stepped out of her warm bed and began changing with the help of Matilda and Sally, her usual maid. “I wonder what in the world the man wants? He’s never once singled me out before.”
Her mother burst into the room in a sea of elegant red satin and gold fobs, as Cecelia was in front of the looking glass getting her hair done.
“Oh, good, I see that you’ve already started dressing. The blue one is an excellent choice as well, shows off your features and handsome figure perfectly.” Her mother crossed to her jewelry box and began digging inside. “Here is a pretty set of pearls, not too much for this early in the morning, I don’t think—at least when one is entertaining a prince.” She clasped them around Cecelia’s neck while Matilda moved to the side, still holding a lock of unruly hair she’d been taming down.
“Mother, I don’t think we need to go to this much trouble. I’m sure he’s not here for very long anyway.”
“Cecelia, you will do as you’re told and look your best. You must make the most of this fortunate opportunity. Oh, how I cannot wait to see the looks on the Smithfields’ faces when they learn who our important visitor was this morning.” She smiled down at her daughter through the reflection. “And to think you, of all the girls here, was the one to capture Prince Alexander’s fancy.”
“Mother! I did not capture his fancy. He does not even care for me. I have no idea why he’s come today, but I assure you, it is not at all what you think. And I would appreciate it greatly if you did not spread this about the neighborhood. I’ve already had to deal with one rejection and the aftermath of gossip, I certainly do not want to deal with the whole village babbling on about how the prince does not pay me any more attention after today.”
Cecelia’s words were short lived as she made her way into the best parlor and was met by an overly charming prince.
“Miss Hammerstein-Smythe, so good to see you!” Alexander stood and bowed as she came into the room and then he nodded toward her mother. He surprisingly walked right up to Cecelia and held her hand and directed her to the large opulent blue velvet chair opposite his.
Her mother nearly tripped she was so stunned by his exacting attention to her daughter, especially after the monologue Cecelia had blurted out earlier. Here was a man most decidedly interested in her child, no matter what she said about it.
Mrs. Hammerstein-Smythe opted to perch herself on the matching sofa and directed her son, who had stood when the women walked in the room, to do the same.
The prince had no eyes or cares, beyond common courtesy, for anyone but Cecelia and proved this by nearly singling her out completely with conversation only she could answer from the moment she sat down.
“Blue suits you very well; do you wear the gown often?”
She blinked and looked down at her dress. “Thank you. I don’t particularly wear this one much.”
“And did you sleep well last night, Miss Hammerstein-Smythe?”
“I, uh—yes, I did. Very well, thank you.”
“And do you find the weather recently to your liking?”
“The weather?” Cecelia was at a loss as to why he was speaking about such things. “Yes, the weather has been very fine.” What was going on here? She looked back up and met a distinct sparkle in his eye. Was he teasing me? Cecelia was keen to ask him some personal questions of her own. Like, why was he here? What did he want? And just what cruel jest would he make of her this time?
Glancing at her mother and brother, she noticed they were both staring straight at them. Of course they were! What else was there to look at? She was trapped. She very well could not ask him what she wanted to with her family looking on. Her mother would more than likely have an apoplectic fit if she knew even half of what Cecelia was thinking right now.
“Prince Alexander, since you’ve been speaking of the weather, it’s made me long for the outdoors. Would you perhaps mind escorting me while we stroll among my mother’s rose garden?”
Mrs. Hammerstein-Smythe gasped in shock. She was stunned her daughter could be so presumptuous and forward to invite the prince for a stroll.
Cecelia did feel a momentary stab of guilt for being so brazen, but she could not think of another way to get him alone at the moment.
However, Prince Alexander was more than pleased to oblige, so there wa
s no lasting damage done in her mother’s eyes. “I would be delighted to do just that very thing. In fact, I had been contemplating how to ask you, so I am grateful you thought to do so yourself.”
Cecelia did not believe a word he spoke, but was satisfied he was willing to play along so well. With a small smile to her mother and a nod to William, she stood after such a short time, and was escorted out on the arm of the prince to the entranceway of the great house. There she was met by her maid, with a matching blue bonnet and pelisse. She quickly slipped both on, and allowed herself to hang upon the prince’s arm a moment more until they were out in the garden at last, before pulling away from him.
“Do you feel better?” he asked before she’d begun her questioning.
“No, I do not feel better.” She ducked behind a high rosebush, away from the window’s view and planted her hands upon her hips and hissed, “What are you doing here?”
Alexander joined her, and smiled. “Irritating you, of course.”
“Well!” Cecelia’s jaw dropped briefly, before she gathered her wits about her. “You’re doing a very fine job of it.” When he laughed in response, she asked, “No, honestly, why are you here? It is no secret how we feel about each other, and you know what this will do to the village. Already tongues will begin wagging before you’ve been here an hour. They will all wonder why you have come to see me and what your intentions are.” She folded her arms and agitatingly tapped one small foot upon the cobblestone path.
The irksome man grinned a very dashing grin while raising an eyebrow and said, “What if I want them to wonder? What if I’m hoping they see me here and they talk about us?”
Her heart dropped, she felt almost ill. “Please, my prince, please.” She took a step forward and laid one hand upon his arm. “I entreat you, I beg of you, don’t. I could not bear to be the laughingstock of this town.” Not again. She glanced down, frantic not to meet his gaze. She had simply no pride left. “If you must have your sport, can it not be with another girl? I know you feel nothing for me. I know you detest me as much as I detest you. Please, I beg of you, do not do this.”
