Ever After (Unfinished Fairy Tales Book 3)

by Aya Ling

  22

  Kat

  “Excuse me,” Liam says politely. Several men are hovering near the partition. “We have this place booked for the next hour.”

  “But we have this place booked until five.” Elle frowns. “There has to be a mistake.”

  “The owner told us…” his voice trails away when his gaze falls on me. Recognition dawns in his eyes. I hold my head high, however. I haven’t done anything wrong.

  Liam asks one of his companions to sort out the booking issue with Elle, then he crosses over to me. “Your Highness. Fancy seeing you in a place like this.”

  As the gray-haired lady next to me casts a curious glance when he says ‘Your Highness,’ I sense I should let him know my new identity.

  “I’m not the princess,” I say in a low voice. “I’m Katherine Wilson; my grandfather is Mr. Wellesley.” I explain the best I can—I’m a friend of Elle’s, I’m interested in the welfare of children, and I want to help her achieve compulsory education for children.

  Liam listens in silence, but the suspicious look remains in his eyes. Unlike the members of the Children’s Education League, he had met me several times—enough to know me better than a random stranger who had a fleeting glance at the princess.

  “Katherine Wilson? How extraordinary. Because if you didn’t tell me that, I would never have suspected otherwise. The way you speak, plus your interest in education, are too similar to Princess Katriona. Actually... aren’t you the girl that Lady Pembroke brought to court and claimed to be her real sister?”

  “No,” I quickly say. “I have nothing to do with Bian—Lady Pembroke. It is pure coincidence I resemble Katriona Bradshaw.”

  “Hmm.” He regards me with narrowed eyes. I wish I could disappear from his scrutinizing gaze. “So you are not a lady?”

  I shake my head. At that moment, Elle returns with a bearded man and announces that the owner of the Hungry Boar had mixed up the meeting times of the Children’s Education League and the Commoners’ Union for the Abolition of the Privilege of Peers.

  The Commoners’ Union for the Abolition of the Privilege of Peers? What a mouthful. I look up at the bearded man, who has approached us. He could be anywhere from twenty to forty, but his well-worn, checkered shirt indicates he’s middle or working-class. Edward had told me that only nobles can afford to wear white shirts, since they don’t have jobs and are less likely to soil their clothes.

  “Hey, old chap.” The bearded man lands a sunburned hand on Liam’s shoulder. “Looks like we got to wait another hour. Want to hit the bar for a beer?”

  “All right, everyone,” Elle calls. “Let us resume the meeting.”

  As Liam retreats with his companions, I wonder what he is doing in this Union. When he handed in his resignation, he told me he had found a better-paying job. Was he referring to this Union? But as most members in the Union look like they belong to the working-class, I can’t see how it could be a better-paid job.

  I wonder if his perception of me remains a simple, naive princess, or if he has changed his mind. As long as he doesn’t suspect there’s anything queer about me resembling Katriona, I won’t get stressed about him. I have enough problems to worry about.

  * * *

  About a week later, I decide to visit my adopted grandfather. Mr. Wellesley had taught me some of his family history, but there are gaps I need to fill in. Running into Liam has made me aware that I mustn’t let others suspect my identity. If anyone takes me for ‘the girl Bianca Bradshaw had brought to court,’ I’d have a difficult time. Elle had told me that since the court trial, the people have scorned the ‘stranger’ who tried to pass herself as the future queen.

  Snow is descending when I get off the omnibus. I draw my cloak around my gown and put on my mittens. It’s May already, yet the abnormally cold winter hasn’t shown any sign of going away soon.

  Mr. Wellesley is clearing away a pile of snow in front of The Bookworm.

  “Good morning, Mr…Grandpa.” I greet him with a bright smile. “Need some help with the shovel?”

  He responds with a grin but refuses to let me help him. “I’m not that old, lass. I need to stretch these limbs.”

  We chat for a while—mostly harmless stuff like complaining about the weather. My wedding last year was in June. If the weather was like this, Edward couldn’t have scheduled the carriage ride around the city, or we’d be soaked from snow melting on our wedding clothes.

  Then, when I decide it’s time to bring up the topic of learning more about Mr. Wellesley’s family, a lanky, green-eyed young man approaches the store, carrying a leather satchel.

  It’s too late to duck out of sight. Liam has seen me.

  “You?” He says in disbelief. “The girl who looks like the princess…oh. You’re related to the owner of the bookstore.”

  I nod. I’m about to say something like, “Morning, Liam,” but I catch myself at the last second. He never told me his name at the Hungry Boar.

  Liam extracts a large piece of paper from his satchel. It looks about the same size as the flyers Elle was putting up. “May I have your permission to attach this in your store, sir?”

  Unable to contain my curiosity, I peep over Mr. Wellesley’s shoulder. The paper is also a flyer—printed on the top in bold, block letters are The Shocking Truth About Athelia’s Peers. A paragraph in smaller print depicts a meeting time at the Hungry Boar, along with the organizer’s name: Charlie Quinn, Leader of the Commoners’ Union for the Abolition of the Privilege of Peers, and the speaker: Liam Charingford.

  “That’s me,” Liam says, pointing to his name.

  Mr. Wellesley raises his eyebrows. “Looks like you have a pretty intriguing title for your speech, lad. I’m supposing the content isn’t favorable to the peers?”

  Liam gives an enigmatic smile. “Come to the meeting, sir, and you’ll learn what I have to say.”

  I also make a note of the date and time. “Is this meeting open to everyone?”

  “Absolutely.” Liam stares at me. “Katherine…Wilson, is it? Do you truly have no relation to the princess?”

  “None whatsoever.” Mr. Wellesley winks. “But if I had my say, she’s fit to be one.”

  I send him a warning look—he shouldn’t hint at anything of me becoming the future princess. Unless Liam has already met Katriona Bradshaw (I highly doubt the possibility), he is under the delusion that the current princess on the throne is the same girl he met at Princess College.

  Just at that moment, a small figure rushes into the store. The thin material of her clothes is too flimsy for the weather.

  “Molly?” Mr. Wellesley and I say at the same time.

  I set my hands on her shoulders, making her calm down. She’s trembling, the poor thing.

  “What’s the matter, dear?”

  She clutches my arm. “Nell…she…she lied to us! She ain’t home at all! Make her leave or the police’ll come!”

  “Nell?” Mr. Wellesley looks concerned. “What’s she trying to do?”

  Molly looks on the verge of breaking down. “She’s at a lord’s house—she’s taken Wilkie—she says she ain’t leaving till he pays up.”

  I do my best to piece her fragments of speech together. “Molly, are you saying that Nell is demanding payment from a lord? Why does she believe she can make him pay?”

  “‘Cause…’cause he’s the father, that’s why,” her voice chokes up. “But he’s sent a servant to tell her she’d best scat, or the police’ll take care of her. I tried to get her listen, but she won’ budge.”

  Dang. “Why did she wait to ask him now?”

  “We ran out o’ dough, and Wilkie won’ stop coughing, so she got the stupid notion in her head.” Molly wipes her face. “He won’ pay, I’m sure of it, but she ain’ givin’ up. If Nell gets herself in jail, we can’ afford to get her out.”

  “All right then.” I don’t know what’s the right thing to do, but I can’t leave Molly alone. “Let’s go and get her. What’s the name of th
is lord?”

  * * *

  I can’t remember when was the last time I’ve been to the Fremonts’ house. Claire had sent me a few invitations after my marriage, but I declined most of the time, as I was busy helping Edward and didn’t relish attending parties and soirees. Seeing the mansion brings back memories of the first time I came here with Bianca. I had played croquet (terribly), ran into Edward, and tried to make him save Elle from the river.

  “So Lord Fremont is the scumbag that knocked her up,” I say, trying to remember what he looked like. I don’t know Lord Fremont well—he is several years older than me, and already married when I met Claire. I’ve seen him a few times at parties and balls, but barely talked to him. I wonder if Claire knew her brother had impregnated a young girl who is little more than a child.

  “I know him,” Liam says. Somehow he insisted on coming with us, and I couldn’t be bothered arguing with him when the priority is protecting Nell. “A wolf who wears the guise of a gentleman.”

  That sounds like a man who could seduce a young girl.

  “How did he avoid exposure?” I ask.

  Liam snorts. “Because he’s a lord, that’s why. A few words with the owner of the paper, and he can get away with anything. That’s the way this country has been, treating those good-for-nothing peers as though they were a God-chosen race.”

  “He gave Nell some dough ter hold her tongue,” Molly says. “If anyone were to ask, she’s to say it's someone from Moryn. He was gettin’ married and didn’ want his bride upset.”

  Liam makes a noise of contempt. Usually I dislike his snark, but this time I agree with him. Lord Fremont is truly despicable.

  There’s a row of snow-clad trees planted across the Fremont mansion. Nell stands under a tree, holding a wailing baby, and arguing with a pudgy guy who’s waving his hands, trying to shoo her off as if she were a hungry dog.

  “Nell!” Molly shouts. “It ain’t no use, he won’ see you.”

  The pudgy guy looks back—he looks like a butler or valet to the master of the house, judging from the thick, well-made material of his coat. He sees me holding Molly’s hand, and his expression, originally an annoyed scowl, swiftly changes into shock.

  “Princess…Katriona?”

  I should have denied it. But the butler’s instant deference makes me pause. I could use this to my advantage.

  “Yes?”

  He bows low. “May I inquire why you came with…do you know these girls?”

  “I do.” I turn around and put a finger to my lips, a warning look in my eyes. Liam and Mr. Wellesley get the message. “Actually, they have told me a very interesting story about your master.”

  “Nothing but a pack of lies, Your Highness,” the butler says quickly. His denial only confirms my suspicion.

  “Then allow me to ascertain the truth.” I am really hitting my stride of my old role. My heavy, dark green fur-lined cloak (the only item I didn’t skimp on, due to the freezing weather) does a good job of making me look like a woman of wealth and position. My intonation, my lift of chin, my haughty gaze—no one can tell that I’m not the princess. “I would like to see your master. Is he currently in?”

  The butler licks his lips. “I…er…”

  “If not, I shall be happy to wait here until he returns.”

  That alarms him. He can’t keep the princess standing in the cold.

  “Er…this way, Your Highness.”

  We all enter the brightly-lit parlor. The Fremont family is one of the oldest noble families, right up there with the Mansfields. Their mansion is one of the few residences in the capital that boasts a croquet lawn, a river, and a greenhouse—such a massive residence is usually seen only in rural areas.

  The butler disappears upstairs. Two maids in black caps and white aprons, who appear confused at this weird mix of visitors, escort us into a magnificent sitting room. I am offered a seat in a fancy upholstered chair with an embroidered cushion and a mahogany footstool, while the girls get a plain wooden stool. At first I think about arguing, but considering the dirt on their clothes, I decide against it. After all, it isn’t necessary to soil a good chair and create more work. There’s a roaring fire in the huge marble fireplace, and Molly moves her stool surreptitiously closer to the fire.

  It only seems a few seconds before footsteps pound on the stairs, through the foyer, and into the parlor. Lord Fremont appears. He has a rugged handsome face, broad shoulders and muscular arms that suggest he practices at least one sport, and despite his velvet waistcoat and trousers, he reminds me of a school jock--something like the equivalent of a jock among the aristocrats. Claire had once boasted her brother had won several boxing competitions. The thought of this brawny man impregnating a girl in her early teens, no matter whether she was willing, makes me sick. And to think that he was once regarded the most eligible bachelor—after Edward of course—in Athelia.

  “Princess,” Lord Fremont says, his tone surprised. “This is an unexpected honor…” His voice dies away when he sees Molly and Nell.

  Didn’t his butler tell him that the girls came in with me? Maybe there wasn’t enough time, or the butler lacked the courage.

  Lord Fremont’s gaze falls briefly on Mr. Wellesley and Liam, before he resumes addressing me. “May I inquire the purpose of this visit, Your Highness?”

  I perform a regal wave of my arm, acting as though he were a commoner. “Do you recognize this girl and her baby?”

  He glances at Nell and his lip curls into a sneer. “Why, Your Highness, what an extraordinary question. Considering my station, what are the chances I would have made the acquaintance of a street rat?”

  A flash of emotion in Nell’s eyes, but she trembles and hangs her head. Whatever stubbornness she had has vanished at sight of her molester. I bite my lip to restrain myself. “I did not ask you of your acquaintances, Fremont. I was asking you if this girl appears familiar to you.”

  “If you mean I remember this street rat had tried to demand money from me, even after I gave her a pound, then yes, Your Highness, I do remember this ungrateful girl.”

  “A pound?” I make sure to inject enough sarcasm in my tone. “My, that certainly is plenty enough for two girls and a baby to survive on.”

  Color rises in Lord Fremont’s cheeks. “I suppose she fed you that ridiculous story about her baby?”

  “The story was printed in the paper a year ago,” I say calmly. “I saw the picture myself.”

  Lord Fremont bristles. “Preposterous! Do you suppose a man of my station would need to stoop to such low a level?”

  That’s a question I would also like to ask those pro athletes who allegedly assaulted other women, even though they don’t lack eager female fans.

  “I suppose, Your Highness, that a woman’s heart like yours is easily influenced by this wily child. No doubt she has come crying to you with that pathetic story, when in reality, all she wants is to wring an endless supply of money from a wealthy lord. Frankly speaking, this is not uncommon at all. Ask any other married woman in our circle, and she will tell you that many a poor woman have come forward, accusing perfectly innocent men of fathering her child.”

  I’ve no doubt there are poor women out there who have tried to swindle lords like him, but there’s something fishy about him when he saw Nell and Molly. Nor do I think Nell has the nerve to target the wealthy heir of the oldest noble families. But Fremont has a point; we need evidence. “That article didn’t mention the name of the gentleman who had fathered Wilkie. What makes you so sure that it’s him?”

  “Nell isn’t blind,” Molly speaks up. “She’ll recognize his face anywhere.”

  “Any girl could claim the same thing.” Lord Fremont crosses his arms. “Pardon me, Your Highness, if you weren’t the princess, I would have showed you the door. It is because of your husband that I tolerated your presence. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.”

  “He has a birthmark,” Nell suddenly says, her eyes on the ground. “On
the back of his right thigh.”

  All of us look towards Fremont’s leg. He turns a deep shade of mottled purple.

  “Why you little…” Lord Fremont jumps out of his chair and heads for Nell, his fist raised, and without thinking, I spring out of my chair, Liam and Mr. Wellesley right behind me. My fist connects with his nose in a signature karate move. Blood gushes from his nose.

  Molly gasps. So does Mr. Wellesley. Liam stares at me as though I grew a second head. Lord Fremont wipes his nose, and his eyes bulge at the sight of blood on the back of his hand.

  “My lord!” The butler hurries toward us. “You are injured. Shall I get you a compress?”

  Fremont waved him off, an irritated look on his face. “Stop mollycoddling me. It’s merely a punch; I have suffered through much worse.”

  The butler glances at me, with an almost frightened look in his eyes. I guess I’m one of the few people in this kingdom who dares to strike the eminent young heir of the Fremonts.

  “My apologies, Lord Fremont,” I say, offering him a handkerchief. “I thought you were going to hit her.”

  He looks sullen. “The prince must be out of his mind,” he mutters. With a smudge of blood on his lip, he has lost some of the intimidating aura that surrounded him in the beginning.

  I shrug. “You are not the first person to say that.”

  Wilkie starts wailing; Nell and Molly attempt to calm him down.

  “Alimony,” Lord Fremont says, with a surly glance at Wilkie. “Is that what you want?”

  Ideally I’d publicly denounce him, but I need to do what’s best for Nell and Wilkie. Mr. Wellesley pats my shoulder and whispers a suggestion in my ear.

  “You will sign an agreement,” I say slowly. “You will support the baby until he becomes of age. Because of you, an unfortunate young girl, barely more than a child, is forced to become a mother. In return, I will not reveal your name to public.”