The Unlikely Heroine

by Kae Elle Wheeler

It suddenly dawned on him what Lady Pricilla had just maneuvered. A short burst of mirth erupted as he watched their brisk departure. Lady Pricilla had just lied through her pretty little teeth to extricate him from an escalating situation. It had certainly saved him a great deal of embarrassment.

  He supposed he owed her the same, and changed direction, once again.

  Chapter 28

  Supper’s grandiose affair was usually entertainment in and of itself. An array of visitors included such notables as the Conte de Lecce and his two sons, Alessandro and Niccòlo, the Earl of Marsham from Britain and Grandes de España who lined one side of the lavish table, and the Marques and Marquesa Giron and their daughter, Maria, the other. Lively conversations thrummed the hall, along with the tines of forks on delicate plates and intermitted clinks of champagne glasses.

  Pricilla still could not believe her luck as she’d dragged Maman through an unwieldy maze of corridors taking as long as she dare as not to raise suspicion of her fabled concoction. It was no secret to anyone with eyes that Queen Thomasine avoided Maman like the fourteenth century’s black plague.

  Yet, when Pricilla could no longer stretch out the inevitable, she drew languid steps toward the queen’s private sitting chambers. Queen Thomasine’s personal attendant had opened the door at that precise moment. “Her Majesty awaits your presence. You were detained?” she’d asked.

  Pricilla had covered her surprise, proving at once, she might, indeed, bear theatrical talent after all.

  Maman had squared her robust body and dashed through the door before Pricilla could so much as sneeze. Certainly, Sir Arnald had mastered the feat, but she was unsure how. There was no other explanation. Another magical heroic deed she was forced to mark by his name.

  He’d best be careful of such deeds lest he found himself with a conquest not of his own Maman’s making.

  Pricilla scowled. Ha. As if she would allow such a thing. Suddenly, the succulent lamb she’d been set to swallow stuck in her throat. Her falling for him.

  “Signorina? Lady Pricilla, per favore, is something amiss?”

  ***

  Arnald lifted his glass and swirled the extravagant wine round his tongue. The lavishly set table had Prince at King Edric Osmond Thorn VII’s, right with Aunt Thomasine to his left. Aunt Thomasine must have laid down a heavy hand for Prince to grace the table with his presence. The only significant absence was that of Princess Cinderella.

  The thought that Prince looked strangely bereft without the princess by his side irked Arnald. The besotted fool. He vowed to ne’er land in such a trap. His only reason for securing Lady Pricilla’s hand was to protect her reputation from slander. Wasn’t it?

  Oui. That was his only purpose.

  Blessed relief came in having been placed further down the line as Lady Roche’s searing accusation rung in his ears. You have compromised her beyond redemption, sir.

  She was right, and it stung. He and Lady Pricilla were gone through almost an entire night. And while he may not be in favor of rushed nuptials, it grated on him that Lady Pricilla did not seem any more concerned. In fact, ’twas downright—aggravating.

  He had Royal blood, non? She should be vying for his attention. For all she knew she could—should—be ruined. The passion that simmered beneath the surface of her cool manner, well, made it a matter of time. Bah! It was not like he had no other conquests. Women fell at his feet, everywhere he turned. ’Twas not all of Maman’s doings. He had charm of his own.

  Positioned across, down the length of the table, he studied Lady Pricilla from the corner of his eye. Emotions flailed over her face, ranging from slight amusement to a fierce frown. When her face froze in shock at some unknown envisage, it was clear the Conte de Lecce’s elder son, Alessandro, was watching, as well.

  “Signorina? Lady Pricilla, per favore, is something amiss?” Alessandro de Lecce leaned in, considerably closer than was proper. Arnald’s fraying temper started to rise. Then the blackguard had the audacity to offer her wine.

  “Merci,” she murmured, cheeks stained pink. Arnald frowned.

  “I’m sure she is recoverable, my lord.” Lady Esmeralda’s sharp tone cut through the air, though her smile gave away nothing. Ah, so that was the way of it, non?

  Jealousy was a beautiful thing on occasion, Arnald thought, unable to bite back a sudden grin. He set his gaze on Lady Pricilla openly now, but she kept her eyes lowered. Then shifted his attention to de Lecce and smiled with a lifted brow.

  It only took a moment with Alessandro de Lecce’s quick glance in his direction.

  “Che diavolo?” Startled Italian erupted from Alessandro, shoving himself from the table. Blood red wine trickled over his impeccable white waistcoat. With a short, mortified bow, the Conte’s son made abrupt excuses and disappeared.

  Keeping his gaze averted from Lady Pricilla’s suspicious glare, Arnald picked up his wine and savored the flavor, feeling only the slightest twinge of guilt. The never-ending-supper offered a tolerable slew of entertainment.

  Arnald glanced at his cousin, who shot him a knowing smirk. Surely, Prince did not suspect... He peered back at the aggravation that kept him awake at night, trying to discern some way to speak to Lady Pricilla, with no one the wiser.

  Skimming the table of occupants, he caught the upturned lips of Lady Roche, her gray eyes watching him with a critical squint. She, of course, would be nothing but a tremendous source of assistance. He inclined his head in her direction with a small smile.

  She would do nicely.

  ***

  It happened so quickly Pricilla was not at all sure certain what she’d witnessed. But Arnald’s nonchalant demeanor proved far too suspicious. She’d only taken her eyes from him for a moment. Not that she’d ever allow him to catch her staring. Non, that would be too humiliating. She suppressed a shudder. But the scoundrel was up to something. She’d wager Maman’s newest silk gloves. And, yet, he’d just smiled—lightly, to be sure—at Maman. That, in and of itself, left her wary.

  Ladies excused to the parlor for small talk, they awaited the gentlemen’s entrée. But Pricilla had difficulty in maintaining her ladylike seated posture. She longed to exert a more physical effort. While most of the women visited in small groups, she was stuck. Maman had her hemmed in on a small settee in such a way that retreat was near impossible.

  “Esmeralda, ma chère, I fear I have forgotten my fan. Fetch it from my chamber, s’il vous plaît?”

  “Oui, Maman, right away.”

  Pricilla scowled at Essie’s retreating figure. Being Maman’s favorite had distinct disadvantages. Essie escaped through the door just as the men appeared.

  “If you will excuse me, Maman, I feel a bit under the weather...” Pricilla said, standing halfway.

  “Sit!” she hissed. “You will do as you are bid, or you shall answer to me.” The pleasant conversational pitch held dangerous undercurrents that startled Pricilla into lowering slowly.

  But a sudden fury stole over Pricilla. What could Maman do in the company of the Queen, besides? “Maman, I am not a child,” she said, benignly. Before Pricilla realized Maman’s intent, Maman had her fingers in a crushing, painful grip—one that held the future promise of dire consequences. “What is it you bid?” she whispered, blinking back tears.

  “Bonjour, Lady Pricilla, how do you fare this lovely fall eve?” Arnald grasped the hand Maman had just released. Though his touch was light, she could not contain a flinch. “I fear we were unable to visit at supper.”

  “Ah, my lord, pray take my seat,” Maman offered, rising. “I must speak to the Conte de Lecce.”

  “Merci, Madame. It shall be my greatest pleasure, taking care of your daughter.” It sounded a pledge to her ears. She snatched her hand from his.

  As Maman moved away, Arnald dropped next to her and said, “Did she hurt you?”

  “I am fine.” But Pricilla rubbed her fingers together in her lap. “If you are here to browbeat me into a betrothal, my lord, save your breath. My Maman s
hall not force us into marriage.”

  A sardonic curl twisted his lips. “I remain flattered by your unerring interest in my marital status. However, at this moment there are more pressing issues to discuss. But please do not fool yourself into believing that the discussion of my marital state is finished. Only temporarily shelved.”

  Edging away from him, she smoothed her skirts, leaving a breadth of space between them. She could not think clearly when he sat so near. She glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes, dismayed to find his wide, unabashed grin on her.

  “You will find I am not so easy to escape, my lady.”

  “What is it you wish to discuss then?” she said caustically. “’Tis quite clear my dear Maman is determined to see me latched to the Royal family. You see, I heard all this afternoon.”

  A sardonic curl tipped his lips, distracting her attention momentarily. “That may well be—” he started.

  With an inner shake and scowl, she forged on. “Essie found herself usurped by Cinde’s theft of Prince’s affection, and thereby marriage, you see.”

  “Your sarcasm is duly noted, my dear.” He let out a sigh which did not seem to bode well for her. “But I have another matter on which I need to address.”

  She lifted a brow. He sounded almost...regretful.

  He took a deep breath. “Prince held a meeting this afternoon. I wish to let you know he is marching ahead with the help of Haddock, Murdock, and Viceroy.”

  “The other tenants?” Pricilla let out a sigh of relief, smiling briefly. “Ah, he will want to determine the discrepancy in the numbers of the labor and the harvest over ten years past. He’ll need my assistance, of course. I am Land Agent.”

  He winced.

  She frowned. “What is the problem? Arnald, I don’t understand.” He glanced up quickly. Her face flamed, realizing her indiscriminate use of his name.

  He cleared his throat, noticeably uncomfortable. “I fear he feels the need to shelter and protect your...um...delicate sensibilities.”

  With every word he uttered the vision before her blurred into a deep crimson. “Delicate sensibilities.” She repeated.

  “I fear so.”

  “Let me make sure I completely understand you, sir.” She bit out the words. “Are you implying His Royal Highness says this because I happen to be of female persuasion? The weaker sex?”

  ***

  No one had to tell Arnald that Lady Pricilla would not take this lying down. And in his defense, the decision to inform her was his own, and out of the utmost respect. But Lady Pricilla’s voice could have marred steel posts. With deep routed gouges. Contempt wreathed from her in oceanic waves. But just as suddenly, her expression cleared.

  Surely, that was more worrisome.

  “Thank you for informing me, my lord,” she said. The overly polite inflection did not pose a good sign. “Now, if you will pardon me, I see my sister has returned with Maman’s fan.” Her glance took in the room. Her brows furrowed. “But...I do not see Maman...” Lady Pricilla’s voice trailed off, concern replacing the overly polite countenance. “Where is Conte de Lecce?” she asked, but the question seemed more directed inward than to him.

  “There,” he indicated with a toss of his head. “Alone, near the hearth.” Her unexpected sharp gasp startled him. “Lady Pricilla—” he started, but she was already walking away.

  Arnald kept a fixed gaze on her as she stalked across the room. She did not glide like some gentle miss. Her mission seemed clear, even if not so much to him. Rather a determined, internal agenda. He watched her lean in and whisper urgently in Lady Esmeralda’s ear. To his surprise, both young women made a haphazard, subtle escape. Subtle, only due to the firm grip Lady Esmeralda had on Lady Pricilla’s arm. Otherwise, he suspected the subtlety would have resembled something along the lines of very large shark in a very small fish bowl.

  An involuntary shiver of alarm pricked his skin. He rose from the settee as instinct screamed that it was not he from whence she ran.

  Chapter 29

  “Are you certain, Cill?” Essie asked, frantic with worry.

  “Of course I am not certain. I am certain, however, that she is not with Conte de Lecce. We dare not take the chance.”

  “Oui. You are right.” Essie agreed, quickly falling in beside her. “Try not to run, ’twill draw attention.”

  Essie had the right of it. They dare not draw unnecessary interest. They could not afford an untimely delay by some curious servant or guest.

  “How long has she been missing?”

  “I didn’t notice,” Pricilla grimaced. “She is demanding my betrothal to Sir Arnald.”

  Essie stopped. “What!”

  “Do not dawdle.”

  “Oh, right.” Essie darted up. “How? Why?”

  “Why?” Pricilla drew the word out, allowing time for Essie’s thoughts to catch up to her mouth.

  “Ah. The overnight adventure.” Essie had the audacity to laugh.

  “Is that what it is currently being referred to?” she huffed.

  “Oh, Cill. Je suis désolée. I am sorry. Surely, you realized there would be consequences?”

  “’Twas not my fault.”

  “Non. Non, of course not.” Pricilla shot Essie a black look at the humor her sister could or would not disguise. “However, I do seem to remember your commenting on how attractive he was.”

  “I find Prince attractive too, but I didn’t marry him!”

  “Non,” Essie said dryly. “Though, I do believe that effort was taken out of your hands. Or...feet...as it were.”

  “Ooh, how could you be so mean,” Pricilla gasped. “Just because my foot was a little larger than yours and Cinde’s—”

  “A little larger?” Essie’s laughter bounded off polished paneling.

  “This is not finished,” Pricilla hissed, as they reached Cinde’s sitting room chamber. Without the courtesy of knocking, she shoved past the door, Essie stepping on her heels. All was quiet.

  Too quiet.

  Rushing to the bedchamber door, Pricilla noted the shift in breeze from Essie’s nervously batting eyes. Essie’s quick gasp coincided with Pricilla’s gaze where a maid lay in an unconscious heap in the corner. Maman stood near the foot of the bed. “Maman!” Pricilla said sharply.

  She turned a surprised gaze on them; a drinking glass in her hand filled halfway with, what Pricilla prayed was, water. “Take the glass, Ess,” Pricilla commanded softly. Pricilla remained motionless, fearing the consequences of a sudden move.

  Essie rushed forward, her natural timidity with Maman temporarily superseded with a more courageous boldness.

  “Cinde?” Pricilla called out. The response was an echo through the chamber. “Maman, where is Cinde?”

  “Cinde...Cinde...” Maman shrieked. “You dare to speak of Cinderella? To moi?” Maman hated her and Essie’s name of affection for Cinde. The very nature emphasized an intimacy and a loss of Maman’s control over Cinde’s life, all their lives. And, Cinde’s role as princess, an especially sore point. It reminded Maman that Cinde was the future queen—not Essie, not Pricilla.

  “What is in the glass, Maman?” Pricilla edged forward.

  “This?” she spat, holding it outstretched, above her shoulder. “’Tis nothing.” Maniacal laughter filled the chamber. Without warning, she dashed the contents in Essie’s face and dove forward, flinging the glass from her hand. It shattered against a low point on the wall.

  Maman sauntered to the door as gracefully as her heavy frame allowed. Hand on the knob, she pivoted and hissed. “My children dare to cross me. That, I lay on Cinderella’s head.”

  As far as theatrics went, it was quite impressive, Pricilla thought. Relief had her sinking to her knees when Maman vanished beyond the door. Essie, and she, had come by their dramatics honestly it seemed.

  “Oh. Dieu!” Essie breathed. “Cinde...Cinde.”

  “I’m here.” Her muffled voice came from beneath the massive bed. Pricilla crawled forward. “Check on Manet
te. I fear Stepmama well and truly clocked her.”

  “Your Highness?” Manette squeaked.

  “Manette?”

  “A small knot. I will be fine,” Manette assured them, though she was slow to rise.

  “Oh Dieu! Cinde.” Pricilla tugged her from beneath the bed, then grasped her in a tight hug. She hardly dared believe she was no worse for wear. Essie tumbled to the ground on Cinde’s other side, engulfing them with her own fierce embrace.

  “What happened, Manette?” Pricilla demanded.

  “I am not quite certain, my lady.” Manette rose unsteadily to her feet.

  “Manette, you are dismissed for the evening. See that you get some much needed rest,” Cinde said. Her tone held only a slight tremble.

  “Are you hurt?” Pricilla asked her. She pulled away examining Cinde’s heart-shaped face carefully.

  “Non.”

  “I vow we shall need to do something about her soon, Cinde,” Essie said.

  “I am sure it is not so dire as that, Essie.” Cinde stood on shaky legs, brushing dust from her nightrail. “How can we turn out our own mother?”

  “Oui, ’tis a difficult dilemma,” Essie agreed softly.

  “Mayhap we should inform Queen Thomasine.” Pricilla frowned at trembling fingers Cinde was unable to disguise.

  “Non.” she said. “You must both vow your oath to silence.”

  “But...Cinde,” Essie protested.

  “What does she have over you?” Pricilla demanded.

  “N-nothing. I fear I need to lie down,” Cinde said.

  Pricilla was determined to get answers, but Cinde’s pale features stopped her from browbeating tactics. “Don’t think we’ve concluded this, Cinde,” she said, instead.

  “Well, something must be done,” Essie said, placing a hand over her chest. “I am much too young to suffer heart failure.”

  ***

  The door to Princess Cinderella’s chamber flew open. Arnald had to step aside as Lady Pricilla’s full-bodied mother barreled down the corridor looking neither left nor right, face red and mottled with rage.