The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield

by Ninya Tippett

  “You will—at the ball,” Layla answered. “Read further down, will you?”

  I didn’t even notice it at the bottom of the page.

  He simply wrote the date, time and the venue of the ball with the line: I will wait for you.

  My heart pounding, I re-read the entire note, trying to make sense of it.

  “Bessy came to see Brandon earlier today to tell him what really happened before she left for Florida for good,” Layla said slowly, touching me on the arm. “She thought this was the least she could do after all that you’ve done for her.”

  My heart squeezed at Bessy’s kindness—the first and perhaps the last of it that I’ll ever see in this lifetime—but I didn’t miss the implications of her actions.

  “And because she did, Brandon decided to finally believe me?” I asked a little angrily. “My word wasn’t enough?”

  “Holy shit, Charlotte, calm down,” Anna chided. “I didn’t really want to spoil the surprise but before Layla and Simone called us to say that you made this melodramatic declaration of not going to the party and quitting the Championettes, Tessa, Felicity, Clyde, everyone—were already organizing things with Brandon who was going to meet up with you at the ball and sweep you off your feet like in some fairy tale.”

  “It isn’t going to be one now that you’ve told her,” Tessa pointed out with a baleful look at her sister.

  “Well, it wasn’t going to be one anyway unless Charlotte here gets its through her thick head once and for all that Brandon loves her and believes her,” Anna argued before zeroing in me again. “It’s the stupidest thing, I swear. You should’ve seen my brother when he assembled our closest family and friends two days ago and explained everything that happened and that it wasn’t a hopeless cause because you still love him and he still loves you and he was going to make it right. He had this brilliant idea of us bringing you your dress and getting you ready for the ball—like Cinderella’s mice friends, eew—but anyway, he was going to have a white limousine pick you up, because a carriage ride from here to Framingham is just going to be ridiculous—“

  “I had to point out the practicalities,” Felicity interjected with an apologetic smile at me. “But it was a really good plan, I promise.”

  “He has this whole romantic production drawn up in his head and everything but the point is,” Anna paused for effect, leaning down and taking my hand in hers, a sweet smile on her luminous face. “The point is, Charlotte, that my brother has already made plans days before Layla and Simone brought Bessy to see Brandon and explain everything. He already believed you and you should have faith in him too, for all that you expect of the same from him.”

  I was crying at this point.

  God in heaven, am I ever a cry baby these days.

  “I do,” I said, uselessly dabbing my face with the already-soaked tissue. “I’ll have to constantly pinch myself until it no longer surprises me that he really does love me.”

  “You’re the funniest girl,” Layla muttered with a smirk, handing me a fresh tissue. “Now that you’ve had that conversation, clean up and let Clyde do his wonders.”

  “I’ll go get some ice cubes for your eyes,” Simone said before running to the kitchen.

  “I’ll go get her stuff to put in her clutch,” Tessa said before heading for the bedrooms.

  “I’ll go get you some paper towels and more tissue,” Layla said before marching to the linen closet.

  “Anna and I will carefully take out this ball gown and lay it on the couch while you get your make-up done,” Felicity said as she reached slowly lifted the lid off.

  Whatever was in there must’ve been shimmering because I swear, the room just got a bit brighter.

  “And look!” Anna said, lifting a single silvery white shoe with delicate crystal appliqués curving around the side of it, giving the illusion of it being made of water or glass. “Cinderella’s shoe.”

  It was incredulous yet incredible—the way things were turning out.

  Prince Charming was waiting for me after all, as I get ready with the help of my sisters and enemies-turned-friends to see him.

  There were no evil stepmother and stepsisters in this fairy tale.

  Really, it was just one stubborn prince and an even more stubborn princess.

  My smile was wobbly but just as a fresh batch of tears lined my eyes, Clyde tilted up my head by the chin, gently chastising me, “Stop crying now, Cinderella. You’ve got a ball to go to where your prince and happily-ever-after await.”

  ***

  The dress was a beautiful silvery blue dream, layered with lace and shimmering tulle and studded with crystals like stars peeking through night clouds.

  It was nothing like the gown I’d absently chosen to wear and promptly discarded after I changed my mind about going to the ball.

  If I’ve always had trouble imagining myself as a princess, the gown certainly decimated every single doubt.

  The mask was featherlight—a dainty, silver hand-woven lace that followed the contours of my cheeks and nose. My hair was curled loosely and threaded with small crystals and pearls.

  One look at me and there would be no question that fairy tales existed.

  I looked liked I walked straight out of one.

  Gilles complimented me and even gave me a rare smile as he held the door open of the white stretch limousine that waited outside for me, a matching black one just behind it where the other women scrambled into despite my insistence for them to join me.

  Inside, perched on the seat, was another linen envelope, larger than the note card this time, with my name on it in Brandon’s handwriting.

  I smiled and clutched it close to my heart.

  I had a feeling that someone had written me back a love letter but I wasn’t going to read it right now.

  While Anna had pretty much spilled the beans on her brother’s grand plans, the mystery wasn’t ruined quite yet and I wanted to preserve it as much as I could. I also didn’t want to cry and show up a sobbing mess.

  The half hour drive to Framingham gave me time to soothe my frazzled nerves.

  I was as bubbly as champagne inside but I still felt like I was on the threshold of a wonderful dream I knew I could wake up from anytime soon at the snap of someone’s fingers.

  Breathe, Charlotte. Nothing can ruin this evening. It’s one for the story books.

  Oakley Stead was transformed that night.

  From where I stood after stepping out of the car, the place looked like it was where fairies and nymphs and enchanted creatures lived, surrounded by the magical woods that stood as fortress to the castle.

  Walking through the short bridge recently built over a freshly dug-up creek and past the maze of gazebos wrapped in vines, flowers and firefly lights, it definitely felt like a dream.

  The old house glowed with breathtaking splendour, brimming full of music and guests in glittering gowns, dramatic ensembles and mysterious masks. The party was already in full-swing, with wine and champagne flowing and the dance floor disappearing under a crush of elegantly-clad bodies.

  I floated through the crowd of pairs dancing, smiling and saying hi to people who greeted me even though I could hardly tell who they were with their masks on.

  As I stood and searched for the one face I wanted to see, the crowd parted slightly to reveal a tall man as elegant as a prince in regal, old-fashioned full dress—with a white bow tie and shirt, a silver gray waistcoat with a black double-breasted tailcoat over it and matching pleated pants.

  His face was clean-shaven, his dark hair combed back, his golden eyes gleaming with a smile as he stopped in front of me and dipped into a formal bow.

  “May I have this dance?” he asked, offering me his hand just as the opening notes of a slow dance began.

  I smiled.

  Damn me if it didn’t sound like a total cliche but Brandon was every inch a prince.

  Slipping one hand over his and pinching my skirt with the other, I sketched a small curtsy, my gaze never
breaking with his. “Of course. First and last dance is always with you.”

  His smile stretched into a grin and in the blink of an eye, he had me held flush against him with less polish than what I suspected he was going for but he didn’t seem to mind because he had a satisfied smirk on his face.

  He loved me, alright.

  He was also a little smug about it.

  “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten,” he murmured, his arm circling behind my waist as he expertly turned us to the music.

  I gazed up at him, nearly giddy with disbelief that yes, I was really in Brandon’s arms once again, dancing with him, and he was smiling at me with that tender look he always got in his eyes when he was with me.

  “I don’t think I can ever forget anything about you, Brand,” I admitted, my hand lightly tracing the line of his jaw.

  His face turned slightly toward my hand, his lips pressing lightly on my palm. “And you should never have any reason to forget me, Charlotte, because I will be there with you every single day for the rest of our lives. What I know of hell I learned in the days when I thought I’d lost you, and I refuse to go back. I’ll fight it with every breath that’s left in me.”

  I briefly closed my eyes to stop the tears that washed over me at the pain that laced his voice, pulling myself together to say the words I only wrote to him.

  “I’m so sorry, Brand, for hurting you as I did,” I said through a ragged breath, lifting my eyes to look at him through my damp lashes. “I wanted to be so happy. When it finally happened, I’ve never been more terrified. When you’ve been fighting for so long and you finally win, you can’t quite believe it and you don’t know what to do with it.”

  Brandon’s arms tightened around me as he lowered his head, his cheek resting on the crown of my head. “I shouldn’t have pushed. I'm sorry. Dropping your mother on you out of the blue probably felt like a brand new fight to you, with the past once again threatening your present and future. I’m sorry, Charlotte. You’re done fighting. I should’ve let it go.”

  “We’ll never be done fighting,” I said with a smile. “We just have to know who’s in the fight with us and what we’re really fighting for.”

  He nodded, a slight tremor rolling through his body as if his emotions were a physical force. “As for what I said about you and Jake—I’m sorry.”

  I couldn’t see his face but I knew he meant it.

  “My greatest fear is that I may never be the man who can make you completely happy. And that a better man will come along.”

  I smiled. “Now, that’s just silly.”

  I heard him smiling back when he said, “There’s nothing rational about our deepest fears. If there is, we might learn to stop fearing them.”

  Amen to that.

  I touched his face, lifting mine away slowly because if there was one thing I needed right now, beyond the words forgiving the past and the promising the future, it was to feel the warm, soft touch of his lips against mine after what seemed like an eternity of heartache.

  “I love you,” he whispered before capturing my mouth in a less than gentlemanly kiss, his lips relearning mine like they’d never been parted.

  The world faded around us, content as we were with our arms locked around each other, our kisses measured but desperate, spiralling into dizzying climax—until someone cleared their throat very loudly—on a microphone.

  What the hell.

  Brandon and I broke off our kiss and looked up only to be greeted by our amused audience who were no longer dancing. We were very much alone on the dance floor, the lights a lot brighter than they’d been during the dance.

  My face burned as I heard the teasing chuckles but when I looked up at Brandon, he was just wearing a crooked smile.

  Cheeky devil.

  Layla stood by the podium in her deep emerald gown, smiling at us knowingly as she held the mic up.

  Right. It was time for our presentation.

  Jesus. Were we kissing that long?

  “I don’t want to prolong this interruption to everyone’s good time but I thought we’d just say thank you to everyone who came tonight to have fun and contribute to our cause,” she said, gesturing to me. “I’d like to call the Championettes’ co-chairwoman and my friend up on the stage to join me. We have a short presentation to show you what the vision of Rainbow Roof is—what it means to us, to you, and to those who’d find more than shelter in your generosity.”“Meet me at the gazebo in the back garden after the presentation,” Brandon whispered as he released me from his embrace. “A carriage will wait for you outside to take you there.”

  He pressed a kiss on my temple before letting me go to walk up the stage and stand next to Layla just as the video played on the projected screen behind us.

  Half an hour later, after the video, our speech and the recognition of our biggest benefactors, Martin included, I clutched my heavy skirts and wove through the crowd, barely making conversation to those who tried to waylay me.

  I giggled, thinking that Layla was going to be horrified at how rude I was being to our patrons, depriving them of their time with one of the Society’s chairwomen, but I had a feeling that she was going to let tonight pass, as desperate as I was to find my husband and never lose him again.

  As Brandon promised, a carriage waited outside, pulled by a pair of white horses and manned by a coachman in full livery. It was different from all the open ones that Danny had rented because this one was enclosed. It was lavishly appointed, from the gilded outlines and frame, to the red velvet curtains that provided the occupants privacy. It couldn’t have impressed more if it had been transformed from a pumpkin.

  A waiting footman assisted me inside and the moment the door was closed, we were off.

  It was a slow, leisurely pace and I was just peeking through the curtains to look at the stretch of woods that surrounded the property, lit mostly by the moonlight and the illuminated house, when I felt the carriage shift slightly.

  I thought maybe we just hit a bit of a bumpy patch that the horses were pulling the carriage over but the door suddenly swung open and a large body slinked inside to the seat next to me.

  It was dark inside but I instinctively knew that whoever just got in wasn’t my husband and that the man was dangerous.

  “Hello, princess.” The rough drawl sent shivers down my spine as an arm snaked around my waist in an iron lock and a hand clamped down on my mouth. “When you’re not making a sound or trying to claw my eyes out, you actually smell and feel quite nice.”

  My stomach plunged into an icy bath.

  Don. Oh, God.

  I tried opening my mouth so I could either scream or bite him—whichever I could manage first—but his hand was like a vise around my face that my lips were fused shut together.

  I started struggling, trying to twist my body free but he threw one long, heavy leg over my lap to keep me in place while he freed one arm.

  At that opening, I immediately tried to scramble away from him but I froze at the cold press of a metal barrel just under my jaw.

  Fear—jolting, helpless—seized my heart, stopping my breath.

  The man could blow my head off to the sky with one finger tightening over the trigger. At the slightest provocation, he might just fire, and knowing how fond he was of me, he wasn’t going to even deliberate it for a second.

  I swallowed at the painful dryness in my throat, squeezing my eyes shut to make myself aware of every movement since I couldn’t see very well in the dark carriage. I forced myself to focus and ignore the graze of his lips across my cheek.

  “I came here looking for my wife but the moment I saw you, I decided that the person who deserved punishment the most was you,” he muttered in my ear, his tongue darting out to trace a wet line down my throat.

  I fought the nausea, keeping as still as I could manage. He reeked of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke but more than that, he had a gun branding my neck.

  “You were a very bad girl, poking your nose into where it
didn’t belong,” he went on, inhaling deeply against my skin it made it itch so badly. “Now, look at the mess you made. I now have to clean it up but I need money to do it and that sly bastard Layla calls father cleaned me out. I’ll need you to rectify that problem.”

  Money. He wanted money?

  What was he going to do? Drive the carriage to the nearest ATM machine and make me withdraw some cash? We were going to stop somewhere any minute now. What was he going to do? Shoot everyone waiting for us?

  The image of Brandon bleeding to death spurred me into action.

  Do something, Charlotte. You didn’t survive this long to just die in the hands of a maniac.

  “I’m thinking that I might take more than just your money,” he said, sucking on a bare spot on my neck, hard enough that I yelped with the pain, my fingers clenching and pummelling him on the shoulders, forgetting the gun that was still pressed up against me.

  A low, jeering laugh rumbled from him. Inflicting pain without consent was Don’s pleasure, after all.

  “Oh, don’t act all indignant now, Charlotte,” he said, the hand holding the gun snaking down to the front of my bodice, rubbing against the swell of my breast. “Women can be made whores with the right man. Your dearly devoted husband bought in on the idea of you being one with all those incriminating pictures I sent him. When the guy I had tailing Bessy caught you and Jake on those pictures, I became inspired. I thought it would be a nice little payback for your interference.”

  Fury clutched at me and it took all my will power not to give in to the nearly feral instinct calling to me to attack him, gun or no gun.

  “Now, all I have to do is make you a whore for real,” he added, pushing the barrel of the gun deep against the soft flesh of my breast until it hurt. “You’ll be screaming for more when I’m done with you. I’ll teach you to like it. You have a feisty side, after all.”

  I’ll see you in hell first.

  The moment his hand holding the gun lifted, I shoved my free hand up, catching him on the nose with the heel of my palm and sending him back on the seat.

  I turned and dove with my entire weight through the door which easily popped open, praying fiercely that the gun wasn’t going to go off and find me.