Once the supper had been prepared and eaten, Ella went about her chores: cleaning and getting the house ready for bed. Bathilda had gone upstairs to look through a book on fashions her mother had apparently purchased in town. It listed some of the more prominent styles, along with pictures. Books were expensive, as was paper, so it must’ve cost quite a lot, yet Lady Kenna had said she would put nothing toward Ella’s dowry. She wanted to scream, only there was no point. Screaming would do no good. Lady Kenna had all the power at the moment, and Ella had to deal with that. Still, if Ella could just escape after finishing Ash’s painting, she would be free of these people. She just needed to get 50 miles south to the port city. Then she could sail away from here, and her stepmother wouldn’t find her.
Ella went into the sitting room, where she found Marigold alone reading a book. Marigold had been a fairly poor reader when their parents married. When her stepsisters first moved in, Ella tutored Marigold, encouraged by her father. But when Edward died, Lady Kenna eschewed any friendly relations between the girls. Still, Ella always thought Marigold had appreciated her help. For now, whenever Marigold finished a book, which wasn’t often as Lady Kenna was not super encouraging of idle reading, she would give the book to Ella to enjoy. Lady Kenna had sold most of Edward’s books after he died, so Ella enjoyed the opportunity to have a new book. Marigold’s tastes were different from Ella’s, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“Marigold,” Ella said in a whisper, and Marigold looked up. The girl’s hair was a dull brown that naturally wound tightly into curls. She had an angular face with a particularly pointed nose and flat cheeks that did nothing to show warmth. In girth, she was the opposite of her sister: rail thin. Like most people, she looked better when she smiled. It seemed to perk up her cheeks enough that she looked rounder and kind, rather than a tangle of harsh angles. Marigold looked around the room for signs of her mother or sister. Marigold might’ve been kinder at heart than either her mother or sister, but she wanted their wrath no more than Ella did. Marigold always treated Ella according to their desires rather than her own when they were around. Satisfied her mother and sister had retired, Marigold whispered back, “What is it, Ella?”
Ella walked over and sat next to Marigold on the sofa. “I need a huge favor,” she said.
Marigold was shaking her head. “Ella, mother is already mad at you. I can’t do anything for you right now or else she’ll turn that anger on me, too.”
Ella knew exactly what Marigold meant. With Lady Kenna, you were either with her or against her. There were no shades of grey. “It won’t get you in trouble. It will help,” she said. “I want you to suggest that I draw a picture of you and Bathilda to give to Lord Angleton’s son, sort of a gift for his kindness of coming over. If I draw it and it includes you and Bathilda, it’s like a gift from the three of us, but it puts you and Bathilda in Lord Angleton’s sights for the lovelies you are. And perhaps it will keep Charles thinking of you, as his father decides if he wants to pursue a marriage.”
Marigold sat in silence for a minute, her lips pressed tight together as she considered what Ella was saying. She turned back to her stepsister. “Why both of us? You know mother wants Charles to marry Bathilda.”
Ella took a deep breath and said her idea quickly, for she’d thought of this answer earlier and knew it was the only explanation that worked. “Because it would be unseemly to give Lord Angleton solely a picture of one girl you hope him to choose for a bride for his son. It would be almost as if you were bartering her like bread, or other merchandise in a catalog. However, a portrait of two sisters, drawn by a friend, is the picture of decorum and yet accomplishes the same goal of getting him to see Bathilda as part of the family.”
Marigold breathed out, then gave a curt nod. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it, but can I ask why you want this.”
Ella told the truth, partly. “I miss it,” she said, her voice a whimsy. “I miss the feeling of the charcoal in my hand, the etching of soft shapes onto the paper, Mari.” She looked up at her stepsister, trying to convey to her just how much drawing meant to her. “My father and I used to go and draw birds and trees, and even little foxes and toads, and it gave me such joy. When he died, I still got joy from it, but your mother, she stopped buying me materials. She stopped letting me have the freedom to let my imagination soar that way. I just want a chance to do it again for a bit, and I thought this way, we’d all get something from it.”
Marigold patted Ella’s hand, and said, “Alright then. Just don’t say anything about it yourself. I’ll mention it to her, and you’ll know soon enough if she likes the idea or not.”
Chapter 18
Ashton was enjoying his freedom today. He’d left the palace and tried to return to the little pond where he’d met Cinders yesterday, only it was the strangest thing. He couldn’t find it, which was bizarre because he’d just been there. As soon as he got to a place he thought was close, he’d look, but it wasn’t there. It was almost as if it was hiding itself from him. But that seemed so ridiculous.
He was home now and wanted to talk to Gertrude. She used to take him there often, and he wanted to know how to get back. In the event that Cinders couldn’t make it, that her mistress stopped her from coming, he wanted to know how to find this place she liked to go to.
He hadn’t been long roaming the castle grounds when he found her in the garden. His old nursemaid was picking some herbs. “Gertrude,” he said.
She was on her hands and knees pulling at the root of a plant. She stopped, stood and bowed properly. “Master Ashton,” she said. “It is good to see you again.”
He smiled. “Yes, you too,” he said, looking around to see who was about. It was just the two of them at the moment. “May I have a word with you?”
She nodded, moving aside the basket of herbs she’d been picking, and then wiped her dirty hands on the apron over her skirt. “Of course, your Highness.” She led the way, settling a few feet from the stone wall that separated the castle from the commoners.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she pre-empted him. “Is this about your, uh, friend?”
Gertrude was delicate in these matters to say the least. And frankly, she was right. It was about his friend, but not in the way she thought. “No, not really,” he said.
“If you don’t mind my asking, is she alright? She took quite a beating.”
He cringed, thinking back to the sight of her. She really had been mistreated. “She’s fine,” he said. “The salve you used is amazing. She’s completely healed, not even faint red streaks on her back.”
Gertrude eyed him pensively for a moment, as if wondering how he knew. Ashton gritted himself to respond that it wasn’t her business, but when Gertrude spoke, she didn’t ask more about Cinders’ health. “Did Chandler do that to the girl? Or Leith?”
Gertrude felt she could take liberties and speak to the royal family with such candor. He’d always enjoyed that as a child, especially the plain language she would use with his mother when the other servants weren’t nearby. But, here and now, it was starting to bother him. He wanted to know about the pond, not discuss his cousins. “I know you’re not fond of my cousins,” he said. “But neither of them would do something like that. I’m sure they wouldn’t take things that far. I’ve never seen either of them do anything like that to a maiden, and I don’t think either would. Besides, I told you before, her mistress beat her.”
“She should leave her mistress, if you ask me.”
He chuckled. “You’ll notice that I didn’t ask you. But I’ve told her the same.”
“Oh,” she said. “I think we’ve work in the kitchen she could do. Have you come to get me to have cook hire her?”
He stared. Gertrude had had the same thought as him. “I offered her a job in the kitchen and she refused.”
“Really?” Gertrude said, astonishment lacing her voice.
He shook his head. “I’ve not come to talk to you about kitchen work. I’ve come to ask you
about getting to the Crystal Pond, the one you used to take me to when I was a child.”
She laughed, her entire body shaking as she did. “You still remember that place?” she said. “Well, you are quite the special young man, but you’ll not find it.”
He stared at her a moment. “Why wouldn’t I find it?”
“It’s just hard to find,” she said and then grinned. “It’s enchanted.”
“Oh please,” he said, the incredulity pouring out. “You sound like mother now. And besides you found it regularly and took me there many times. Plus I found it yesterday.”
Her wide grin of a moment ago faded and she stared hard at him. “You found it yesterday?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Were you alone?”
Instinctually, he’d opened his mouth to reply, but then thought better of it and snapped it shut.
“You weren’t alone,” she said, a delicious grin of secret knowledge creeping across her face.
“I ran into someone there,” he admitted.
“Well, that’s why you found it. The pond is for fairies and lovers. And clearly you met one or the other there. Maybe both.”
“Fairies and lovers,” he said with consternation. “Gertrude, please. Do you really believe that?”
She nodded. “Of course I do.”
“Well, given that we were not lovers and you are not a fairy, how did we find it so many times?” he asked.
She winked at him. “Who says I’m not a fairy, Highness?” and then she walked off. He wanted to call her back, yet he knew it would do no good. She believed what she told him. He was on his own, when it came to finding the Crystal Pond.
Chapter 19
When Ella arrived at the castle, she had worn one of her own dresses, a simple thing that was clean, but not the least bit fancy. She had a bag over her shoulder with a rolled up paper, pencils, and coal inside. She felt a flutter of nerves in her tummy. She wanted to see him again, but she also had to draw him. She was nervous about that. Her session with Bathilda and Marigold had gone well. She wasn’t done entirely, but she’d managed to capture them, she thought, fairly well. They were easy because she’d known them much of her life. Ash was different. She’d just met him, and she wasn’t sure that she’d be able to render him so easily. Not like Bathilda and Marigold, whom she saw every single day.
Heinrich greeted her kindly at the gate and she asked him about his evening. He wasn’t particularly chatty. He seemed to be a man of few words, rather than someone who was quiet out of anger or hostility. Heinrich led her to the room she’d been to before and opened the door for her.
Ash was sitting where he had before, but this time had a little table set next to him with two goblets and a carafe in between them. There was an easel with drawing paper already set up, opposite Ash.
“You came this time,” he said, a large grin on his face.
She nodded. “I promised you I would. And I meant it,” she said. “For this is a much better thing to be paid for, and something I actually have experience with.”
He raised an eyebrow, and walked over to her as she set down her shoulder satchel on the floor and stood before the easel. He was standing right next to her. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and slowly traced the length of her arm, until his hand came to rest on top of hers. “Are you ready?” he asked.
She moved his hand from her own, her heart beating faster with him so near. She could feel the warmth of his body and took one step away. Though, it seemed as if her body had a mind of its own, that it was actually tugging her back to him. “Why don’t you sit in the pose you’d like,” she said, pointing back to his chair. “You’ll be comfortable there?”
He nodded but failed to move. “As the artist, I thought I’d let you arrange me.” He raised an eyebrow seductively. “Do with me whatever you please. You’re in charge, tonight.”
Ella smiled back at him, a knowing desire forming in her. “I am in charge,” she repeated. “Therefore, I am going to draw you, and you are going to sit still and not look at me like that.” She took his hand and led him over to his chair. It was somewhat near the room’s fireplace and she thought he would look nice with a roaring fire behind him. Though, it was still a bit warm outside to build a fire, even with the chill of each evening. Plus, she’d heard of people burning to death when a stray coal popped from the fire and ignited their clothes. She released his hand and placed her hand under her chin.
“Not the right place?” he asked.
“Well, I’d like you and the fire in the picture, but it’s too hot for a fire,” she said as she lifted the chair. “Why don’t we move it here in front of the fireplace and I’ll just draw in fire later, as if there had been one.”
“That’s clever,” Ash said as he sat down and leaned back in the chair. Ella returned to the easel. She looked at the paper, then at Ash. He looked handsome there, his hair dangling in front of his forehead.
“So, have you done this often?” Ash asked.
She smiled and shook her head. “Have you?” she asked, but didn’t wait for him to reply. “I think you’re supposed to be still and quiet.”
He laughed, his hair jiggling just a little bit. “I have done this before, and while I know it’s best to be still, I also know that it’s most important when you’re working on my face. Are you working on my face?”
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I haven’t really started,” she said as she bit her lower lip and watched him. She wasn’t sure where to start.
“Am I so hideous you can’t draw me?”
She giggled. “If anything, the opposite. So handsome I don’t know where to begin,” she admitted. “Or perhaps it’s just that I don’t know you. Everyone else I’ve drawn, I’ve known well, and it just came easy.”
Ash stood and walked over to her. He held out his hand. “Then, come, sit with me,” he said. “Let’s get to know each other more.”
Ella looked at his outstretched hand, and then over to the bed, where he seemed to want to take her. She looked back at the blank paper, then at Ash again. She knew what he wanted, and the truth was, she had enjoyed herself last time. Doing this wouldn’t hurt, so long as she sketched him after. She nodded, took his hand and followed him to the large bed she’d been to before. She lay on the bed next to him and looked up at the ceiling. It was dark and plain, reminding her of a cloudy night sky.
“When I was little,” Ella said. “I had a bed with a canopy and my mother had painted stars on it, so that it felt like I was outside. It was so pretty. I always loved lying in my bed, looking up, feeling like I was falling asleep in nature’s loving arms.”
“That sounds lovely,” Ash said, taking her hand in his. “Your mother sounds very kind. Did she teach you to draw?”
Ella shook her head. “No,” she said with a sigh. “The stars were an isolated thing, something she did to make me happy. She was wonderful that way, always looking for things to make others happy.” She thought of her mother, always working with a smile, always picking flowers or growing things in the garden, and always finding the best in every day. And then she was gone. Sick and gone just like that. Then, for a short while it had been just Ella and her father, and he carried on her mother’s spirit, always looking to make the best of things. They could’ve been happy, just the two of them, but her father had been convinced he should remarry so she would have a proper mother again. “It was my father who taught me to draw. It was his hobby. He was a merchant, and traveled a lot. But they were both kind and loving parents. My only wish is that they could’ve lived longer, that I could’ve spent more time with them.”
Ash slid his arms around Ella, pulling her close to him. “It must have been difficult to lose both your parents. Have you been on your own since then?”
Ella snuggled in closer to him. She enjoyed being in his arms. It had been so long since she’d known the comfort of caring arms. Lady Kenna, Bathilda and Marigold had almost never offered her a comforting word in the nine y
ears since her father’s death. “You could say that. My father had hoped to leave me in the care of someone kind, but he made a mistake, and it didn’t work out. So, I’ve had no one really to call my own, but it’s OK. I have a roof over my head, food to eat and a good friend. And I’ve met you, Ash. You’ve hired me to draw your picture, and with the help of this job, I’ll have enough to improve my current situation.”
He smiled at her. “You truly believe that, don’t you?”
She stared back confused. “Why wouldn’t I believe it? I couldn’t wake up every day and endure what I did if I didn’t believe it would get better for me.”
He leaned forward and kissed her, his lips vigorous and fervent pressed against hers. She kissed him back, this time her own desire overwhelming her. She grabbed at his shirt, pulling it over his head, and then tugged at his trousers, sliding them down his legs to reveal his bare bottom and toned legs. She was lying beneath him, staring at his beautiful body when she realized this would never do. She needed a better vantage point, so she sat up, him adjusting his body in course with hers. “Lie down,” she told him. “I’m supposed to be getting a better look at you so I can figure out how to draw you.”
He quirked his mouth into a half smile and raised an eyebrow, but did exactly what she said: lay down spread eagle, so she could see every delicious inch of him. The muscles in his arms flexed as he placed his hands behind his head and grinned. His cock was at attention, firm and thick resting on his belly, and his legs seemed too powerful and agile to rest there so still. She’d have to find some way to make use of their agility.
“Getting a good look?” he asked.
Ella smiled back at him, quickly slipping out of her simple dress. She climbed on top on him and leaned over him, licking her lower lip as she yearned to taste his delicious body. Tonight the room smelled of fresh paper, with a hint of burn, probably the residue of drawing charcoals she’d set out.
Cinders & Ash: A Cinderella Story (Passion-Filled Fairy Tales Book 3) Page 10
