Beauty and the Beast (Faerie Tale Collection)

by Jenni James

  Her heart sank and her hand twitched slightly under the pressure of the rose thorns pressed into her palm. “The opposite?”

  “Well, we did have a good laugh at your misfortunes, at your expense, of course.”

  “My misfortunes.”

  “Yes, well, do not take it to heart, my cousin and I simply cannot help teasing and mocking those we come in contact with. It is our favorite pastime, and something we’ve always done.” He shrugged. “But we do it to everyone, and so therefore it is only fair we mention you from time to time.”

  “I see.” She swallowed and asked, “And what was it he told you of?” She took a step forward, her fingers unconsciously tearing at the petals. “Did he mention he was at my home yesterday and why?” Her voice rose. “Did he also tell you of Lord Willington and of the villagers as well?”

  Frederick had no idea to what she was referring, but did not let his smirk waver one iota as he answered, “What else would we have mocked so willingly?”

  Cecelia tore the crushed rose from its stem and threw them both upon the ground, allowing the petals to float haphazardly around her feet. “You two may believe you have the right to mock those beneath you, and laugh and smirk at who you will, but you do not.” She took another pace forward and then another, forcing Lord Bellemount to retreat a half step. “If you think either of you will get away with such callous treatment of those of your kingdom, then mark my words, you won’t.”

  “But—” He’d meant to be the victor in this conversation; he had expected her to be grateful for the knowledge the prince had betrayed her. He’d hoped to guarantee she would hate his cousin so much, he then could reveal the final blow that Alexander was her precious beast and watch her crumble. Watch her go mad from the duplicity of both.

  “No! There is no reason for such juvenile behavior from either of you.” She continued to walk forward, forcing him back, until he slipped on the small grassy slope of the brook and sunk one boot into the water.

  “You misunderstand!” He grappled to try and make sense at the tyrant girl before him, his other boot slipping into the stream as well. Where had this anger come from? “You must see that I came here to warn you, and distinguish for myself if you were as dreadful as he painted you. And you’re not! Not at all!” Frederick grimaced as he felt the cold water trickle through his boots and slosh against his feet. You’re much, much worse.

  Cecelia stepped forward until they were face to face. “Lord Bellemount, you may tell Prince Alexander that I find him the most despicable human being I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting, and if I ever see you or him again, it will be too soon!”

  She had not meant to, but her own reactions and anger took over to the point where before she knew what she was about, Cecelia had quite successfully shoved the prince’s heir by the shoulders to land in a heap upon his bottom in the wet grass, his feet still drenched in the chilly water. “Good day!” she exclaimed in agitation, before turning upon her heel and marching back home.

  She let out several frustrated howls and very unladylike grunts and groans, kicking a number of very harmless stones and daises out of her way as she stormed back to the house and into her bedroom. Once there, she flung her bonnet off and just before she threw it against the wall, she checked herself, remembering she liked this particular hat and would hate to see it smashed because the prince was an inconceivable pig. Instead, she allowed it to bounce on the bench in front of her bed.

  Ooh! The audacity of the man! She knew it. She knew he had not changed! And yet, almost, almost she had believed him. It was a close call on her part, but may she forever keep this day as a reminder that some people will never alter who they truly are.

  With a sigh, Cecelia sat down upon her bed. What sort of ill-fated folly drove all of this to her door anyway? Could she perhaps have just one day of peace and happiness? Just one, where she knew the world was good and the hope she’d always carried would be worth the anguish it brought when it began to fade…

  She closed her eyes and laid down, curling against her pillow and pulling her knees up upon the duvet. Her heart was wounded more than she cared to admit. The shame of imagining the glee the two men—no, boys—found at her expense was agonizing. What was the point in hope anyway, when all she ever faced was mockery and chastisement?

  One fragile tear made its way down her nose, splattering upon her other cheek, and continued to forge a trail until it collided with her pillow and sank into its downy relief. Soon a stream of tears followed and Cecelia Hammerstein-Smythe cried herself to sleep in the only sanctuary she had left—her room.

  ***

  Alexander stretched and yawned out the weariness of his body. This forever changing night and day was beginning to take its toll upon his muscles. It seemed each morning found a new array of aches and pains he didn’t perceive possible to find upon his person.

  Glancing out the window he cursed his even later night than usual. It was clearly the afternoon. What time was it anyway? His pocket fob was on the dresser across the room, but if he had to take a guess he’d assume it was nearly two, which meant already half of his day as a man was gone.

  With a groan he flung off the covers and climbed out of bed. Padding across the large room, he rang for his valet and began to pour the water for himself into his washbasin. Soon with the help of his valet, he was shaved, dressed, and looking every inch a dignified prince again.

  He’d decided early this morning, just before the sun had risen, that he would risk the villager’s gossip, his cousin, and the wrath of Miss Hammerstein-Smythe, and continue to see Cecelia. He had to. His own pride would not allow her to merely become friends with a beast. For some reason, he felt he needed to prove to himself he could attain the impossible and get the gel to fall for her enemy as well. To see that he truly had transformed before her eyes, and to hopefully make up for the lack of his charms he’d subjected her to all those times earlier.

  He had never met a more perfect girl in all his days, and he could not stay away. No matter how foolish or dangerous it proved to them both, he allowed the impractical to rule his mind and for once in his life relish in as much opportunity as he could in the delightful company of Miss Hammerstein-Smythe.

  Besides, he thought with an erratic beating of justification in his heart, how better to keep tabs on Frederick than to spend as much time as possible with her?

  It was with great eagerness and a bouquet of freshly cut multi-colored tulips, that Alexander ordered Sterling to be brought round from the stables and rode off to meet the girl who’d captured his soul.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CECELIA OPENED HER EYES to a loud pounding upon her door. Another second brought her mother barging into the room in an ornate dress of violet satin and silver trimmings. “Why in the world do you sleep in the middle of the afternoon?” She rushed to the bed. “Get up! Get up! Prince Alexander is here to see you.”

  When Cecelia stirred and sat up, her mother gasped.

  “Are you not feeling well?” She placed a warm palm against her daughter’s flushed cheek. “Well, you are not on fire at least. But good heavens, child, I’ve never seen you look so ill before. What has happened?”

  “Nothing has happened worth speaking of.” She groaned and got down from the bed, making her way to the looking glass all the while her mother droned on about how horrid she looked. But it wasn’t until she saw the pathetic girl looking back at her with swollen eyes, red nose, and pale features, that Cecelia realized how truly awful she appeared. In fact, she had never looked worse. Yanking a hand through the frazzled curls escaping her bun, she turned to her mother and said simply, “Good.” It was the perfect complexion for slaying a prince.

  “Good? What do you mean by saying such a thing to me?” When her daughter did not answer she continued, “What is good? There can be nothing good about you at the moment, especially when taking your appearance into consideration.”

  Ignoring her mother, Cecelia splashed some water on her face fro
m the washbasin on her dresser and pulled the rest of the pins from her hair, letting them cascade down her back in a plethora of riotous curls before plainly stating, “Personally, I do not give a fig for what the prince thinks of my looks at the moment.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Her mother’s hand flew to her chest.

  Cecelia sighed and crossed the room. While opening the door she asked, “Where is he? In the parlor?”

  “Cecelia Josephine Hammerstein-Smythe, if you step one foot out that door, in such disarray, I shall flog you!”

  “I’ll get the crop,” was her only answer as she stepped into the hallway.

  She was halfway down the stairs before her mother made it to the top of the steps and hissed, “Cecelia, do not do it! Do not let him see you this way! Think of the scandal!”

  “Oh, I promise you, I can think of nothing else,” she mumbled under her breath as she took the remainder of the stairs at a faster pace. When she burst into the parlor, the prince wasn’t the only one to jump. Sanford took one look at her countenance and quickly mumbled something about fetching a footman and was gone, the door swinging closed behind him.

  They were all alone.

  “Miss Hammerstein-Smythe, is there anything wrong?” Alexander asked tentatively, his eyes taking in her long tresses, “You seem out of sorts.”

  She walked up to him, choosing not to satisfy him with an answer to that question, she said, “You have one minute to collect your hat and coat and then you will leave.”

  “Leave?”

  “Now.” She refused to look at him, focusing on a point just over her his left shoulder instead.

  Alexander’s gaze traced her wan features, carefully searching them for answers. He had never seen her so distressed, so determined, so…so callused. And yet, though she looked wretched—as if betrayed and beaten down by an unthinkable foe—she still was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. “How have I harmed you, my dear? Will you please tell me? It is I who has harmed you, is it not? What can I do to make it better?” he asked quietly.

  Startled, her eyes flew to his and she was surprised to see compassion and contrition within their depths. It made her feel a loss of balance within herself, and she wasn’t quite sure what to say. He’d done the most despicable, horrid type of mockery, and yet here he was standing before her looking as though he would die before uttering a false word in her name.

  Who was this man standing her? Was he the snobbish prince, or the kindhearted gentleman? He plainly could not be both.

  While her guard was slipping, he stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, his knuckles brushing against her hair. “My dear, whatever it is I have done or said, or have not done or said, or whatever I have harmed you with…” he leaned forward, trying to comfort in any way possible. His eyes closed as his mouth moved along her brow and he continued whispering, “…whatever it is that has put such hallowed hopeless looks upon your face, I am sorry. Terribly, dreadfully sorry.”

  Her lashes fluttered, her senses were in complete disarray taking in the smell of his shaving soap and the bridge of her nose caressing his smooth jaw. She had never stood so close to a man before for any extended amount of time.

  When his lips stilled and pressed against her forehead, leaving a kiss there, a small breath escaped at the fissured sparks that zinged down her neck and to the shoulder he was holding. Her hand reached up and clung to his suit coat as her lips unconsciously searched and reached for his.

  Alexander was more than willing to oblige, and pressed his mouth to hers savoring the perfect softness beneath his. When she let out a little groan, he swept her up completely in his arms and continued the kiss, marveling at her willingness to accept him.

  Cecelia had no thought recollection in that moment, nothing to recall herself to her true outlook of him; only the moment of abandoned feelings existed. She’d never before behaved so recklessly, but could not help herself; nothing had ever felt more right in her life. She needed the prince to want her, to care for her, to understand her, to love her.

  To love her.

  She gasped and broke free, moving several steps away from him—her breath coming in great humiliating gulps. It took a moment to apprehend he was having just as much difficultly in learning to breathe again as she.

  Cecelia frowned slightly and then chuckled in spite of herself. “I fear we may have a problem.”

  “Do you believe so?” he asked, still not fully himself.

  “Well, if this kissing is a bit to go by, then yes, I believe we clearly have a problem.”

  “And what is that?” he asked taking a step closer.

  She tugged on a long lock of black hair and began wrapping it around her finger. “Can you not tell for yourself?”

  “No.” He took another step closer. “Enlighten me.”

  She glanced away quickly and then met his eyes again. “I feel as though I could strangle you, and yet, for some reason I must be near you when you are around.” She was about to go on and explain why she wanted to strangle him and why she felt so wretched and all sorts of other inklings and rememberings of grievances passed through her mind to tell him, but just as she was ready to continue on, Prince Alexander took another couple of steps and knelt down before her.

  He placed her hands in his and while looking up with great earnestness said, “My dear Miss Hammerstein-Smythe, it would do me the greatest honor if you would consent to be my wife.”

  His game—this mockery—had gone too far, her heart hardened and cooled instantly.

  Cecelia pulled her hands away. She could forgive him for scorning her as he always had, and his jesting. She could forgive him for his great pretending of kindness and sweet disposition when he was in front of her. She could even forgive him for what he was doing to try and save her from her own folly and the gossips surrounding her mistakes, no matter how much pleasure he derived of it later. However, she simply, positively could not tolerate him professing his undying love and need to make her his.

  If there were ever a time when Prince Alexander had the upper hand, it was now. But she plainly could not allow such nonsense to even enter her mind. Not when she could imagine the great laugh he and Lord Bellemount would have at her expense in just a few hours from then.

  No, if there was one thing she had always despised it was someone who was so arrogant they did not give a thought to another’s wellbeing over their own. Prince Alexander, though he may look sweet and acted friendly, was nothing different than he always had been. She had known him long enough to realize he was never going to change either.

  Her jaw tightened and she raised her chin. “Please leave as soon as possible.”

  His mouth opened and an expression of hurt flashed across his features. “Why? What have I done?”

  She would not be taken in by his false sincerity. “Nothing more than I have come to expect.”

  He stood, his eyes scanning her face and reached for her hands again, but she turned her back on him. “Why won’t you tell me?”

  Crossing her arms, she could not face him. “Because it does not matter.”

  He looked around the empty room, hopeless on how to reach her. It was there his eyes rested on the bouquet of tulips he’d brought from the hothouse garden; its pretty pink ribbon dangling off the ornamental table placed next to the high-backed chair he’d been sitting upon.

  Collecting the joyful flowers, he stepped forward and gingerly placed a hand on her left shoulder while his arm reached around the right and presented them to her. “It may not matter to you, but it most certainly matters to me. Nothing has ever mattered more to me. If you could but see what I truly feel for you, I promise I would love you forever.”

  The deep voice near her ear, the hand gently squeezing her shoulder, the smell of the sweet flowers, and the sensation of him so near her nearly had her forgetting for a moment how horrid the situation was. For a few seconds she closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like to truly be cared for by such a man. He ga
ve such a distinct impression of security and strength and kindness as to undo all of her senses completely. She had forgotten how to breathe, how to think, how to care about the consequences of acceptance of such actions.

  In fact, Miss Cecelia Hammerstein-Smythe, for just a few moments, allowed all the imaginings of such glorious and happy thoughts to enter her mind, she’d forgotten completely that she was fraternizing with the enemy.

  But, oh, what splendid thoughts they were! If he were truly to be trusted! If a man, as he professed to be, actually existed there would be no doubt as to where her affection would lie. None at all.

  No, it would be him who would have to run from her, because she would never ever let a man like what Prince Alexander pretended to be escape.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  TEARS FORMED IN CECELIA’S eyes as she turned fully in his strong arms—arms that immediately wrapped all the way around her. There was gentleness in her tone as she glanced up and whispered, “Please, leave, please.”

  She was obviously distraught; he took note of the wetness of her gaze as well as the wobble in her voice. Silently sighing, he gave in. He could not deny her anything when she was in such a state. “If you wish it, I will leave you.”

  Alexander watched as she closed her eyes briefly and allowed her head to fold into his shoulder, her glorious hair tickling his nose as she did so. He held her for a few moments before she mumbled into his coat, “I believe it would be best.”

  “Perhaps.” His chin rubbed along the black silky curls beneath it. He would have to press her as the wolf and find out what it was she wouldn’t tell him.

  She snuggled in closer, her other hand playing with the smooth fabric of his tied cravat. “You are simply the most horrid man in the world. I cannot stand the sight of you.”