The butler opened the door and announced formally: “His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince Frederick, my lady.”
Drusilla blinked in surprise at the royal figure standing in the doorway. Not exactly what I was expecting!
With a pleased smile, she moved across the room. “Your Highness,” she curtsied, “What a pleasure to have you here.”
Frederick bowed to her. He held a package in his right hand. “The pleasure is all mine,” he replied.
Ever gracious, Drusilla gestured with one hand. “You will have a seat?”
“Gladly, thank you.” The prince sat on the edge of a large armchair.
Drusilla settled herself across from him. “Might I enquire to what we owe the honor of this visit?”
Frederick made a motion with the package he clasped. “I was hoping for a few words with Miss Abendroth, if she has the time.”
“Of course.” Drusilla looked to the butler still standing at the door. “Harrison, I believe my sister is with my mother in her sitting room.”
“Yes, m’lady.” The butler bowed and left the room.
Drusilla turned back to the prince. “I pray you forgive my sister and me for the manner of our hasty departure last night,” she said smoothly. “I am afraid Arella was taken unwell.”
“I hope she is feeling better today?” Frederick asked, his brow wrinkled with sudden concern.
“I believe so, Your Highness. A good rest will do wonders.”
He looked relieved. “She is a lovely girl,” he remarked. Rather irrelevant to the conversation, but quite true nonetheless.
“Very,” Drusilla agreed. She saw that Arella’s abrupt departure last night had done nothing to quench the prince’s fervent admiration. There seemed nothing more to say. The prince fell into abstraction—meditating on Arella’s beauty, Drusilla guessed. Poor Arella. First a scolding from Mother and then a visit from a young admirer of whom she was deathly afraid.
“Your ball last night was exquisite,” Drusilla said. “I imagine it will be talked of for months.”
Frederick started a bit. He had been thinking of Arella’s eyes. So blue, so innocent, so sweet . . . What had Miss Bessette just said? “Oh. Thank you. Mother insisted on sparing no expense. I trust you had an enjoyable time?”
“It was quite enjoyable, yes.” Drusilla nodded. “The musicians were wonderful; I should have been happy to simply listen to them. I didn’t recognize the first waltz they played. It was beautiful.”
“A new composition by Westley Doone,” Frederick replied. “You are familiar with his other works?”
“Oh, yes. His ‘Dreaming of Thee’ has always been a favorite of mine.”
Their small talk continued amiably in this vein for some moments, but was interrupted by the solemn butler once again. “Miss Abendroth.”
Arella entered, pale-faced and frightened.
Frederick immediately stood and walked over to her, eyes glowing. He bowed over her hand. “Thank you for giving me the honor of a word.”
Arella nodded reluctantly. “I must beg forgiveness for the way I left last night, Your Highness.” Her voice was faint. “I’m afraid it was unpardonable.” I hope it was unpardonable.
“Not unpardonable at all!” He smiled at her, still holding her hand. “Your sister informed me that you were taken ill. I hope you are quite recovered?”
Arella paused before she replied, casting a dubious glance at Drusilla, who had risen and was standing demurely in the background. “I still feel a little faint—that is, um, I feel much better, I think. Your Highness.” She made the slightest motion to withdraw her hand. Frederick flushed and promptly dropped it. They stood awkwardly for a moment. Arella looked at Drusilla, her eyes pleading for help. Drusilla nodded to a chair.
“Would you care to sit, Your Highness?” Arella remembered. She sat herself, looking stiff and uncomfortable. Frederick perched on the edge of his chair, gazing eagerly at the lovely girl. Drusilla, loath to leave her sister, quietly took her own seat, just close enough to interject a comment if needed.
“I found something last night,” Frederick began.
“Oh?” Arella replied.
He unwrapped the package he had brought to reveal a glass slipper. Leaning forward, he continued. “It will only fit the lady who stole my heart.”
Arella gulped. She glanced again at Drusilla, who shrugged.
“Will you try it on?” the prince finished, gazing hopefully at Arella.
“Oh. I—” she began, but stopped. What could she say? “Of course, Your Highness,” she finished without enthusiasm.
He knelt to remove her shoe and try the glass slipper in its place. Arella bit her lip. Perhaps her foot had grown overnight?
No such luck.
Prince Frederick smiled up at her. “It fits you, my lady. Perfectly.”
“Um. Yes. I’m afraid I dropped it.” Arella grimaced even as she spoke. She certainly didn’t want to reciprocate his romantic drivel, but neither did she want to sound too rude. She had already disgraced her family once. She stole a glance at him to see if he was affronted.
He wasn’t. Unfortunately.
He rose, holding out his hand to her. “My dear Miss Arella,” he began, his voice full of tenderness.
Drusilla coughed then murmured, “Please, excuse me.” Frederick looked at her in surprise. When had she come in? Oh yes. She had been here all along, hadn’t she?
Arella sighed in relief. He turned back to her, hesitating a moment before speaking again. “My dear Miss Arella,” he reiterated, “may I have the honor of calling on you again tomorrow?”
Arella couldn’t very well tell him she didn’t want to see him again. So she muttered, “Yes, Your Highness.”
“And perhaps we could speak . . . alone,” he added.
“Um, if you wish to, Your Highness.” Her face was pale and bleak.
He bowed again. “I will take my leave then.” His dark eyes fixed on hers intensely. “And I shall look forward to it,” he whispered, pressing her fingers one more time.
Then he was gone.
The moment the door closed behind the departing prince, Arella gave a little groan. “Drusilla, what do I do?”
Drusilla rose calmly. “What do you mean?”
“He’s going to propose! I know it!”
“So?”
“I can’t marry him, Drusilla! I won’t!” She looked frantic, defiant.
“Then don’t,” Drusilla replied.
“How do I tell him that?”
“I believe the customary practice would be to say ‘No.’”
“I can’t just refuse the prince!” Arella cried.
“Why not?” Drusilla asked. “That would seem to be the reason for a proposal, after all: to give the girl the chance to accept or refuse.”
“It would be so much easier if he just wouldn’t ask at all,” Arella moaned.
“Or if you would accept.” Drusilla looked at her sister steadily. “It wouldn’t be a bad life, you know. You would have a husband who adored you, I think that’s clear. And you would have every material asset you could ever desire.”
Arella shook her head. “No.” Her voice was firm.
“Why not?”
“I can’t. I mean, I don’t—it wouldn’t—he’s not—I just can’t.”
Drusilla gazed curiously at Arella’s downcast face. “Is there someone else?”
Arella’s eyes flashed up to meet her sister’s, her cheeks flushing bright red. “No!”
“You can tell me, you know.”
“I—I have nothing to tell,” Arella murmured, then fled the room.
Nevertheless, Drusilla wondered. She sat most of the rest of the day in the quiet library, wondering.
7
The prince came back the next day and asked Arella to marry him. She awkwardly but firmly declined.
Frederick sat in his study, fingers tapping a morose rhythm on his desk. The memory of Arella’s quavering voice went round and round in his head.
“I thank you for the—the honor of your proposal, Your Highness. But I—I must—I must decline.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Frederick dropped his face into despairing hands. He remembered the advice his mother had given before the ball. Choose someone who is worthy of being queen. Who was worthy of being queen if not this vision? No other woman could compare to her.
But she had refused his proposal!
Frederick sighed. It was a sigh that communicated to the world, “I am done with everything; my true love has rejected me”—the kind of sigh Romeo surely uttered before he took his own life.
Why on earth had she rejected him? He was far from lacking in money, fame, or position. His manners were excellent, he knew, and he was reasonably attractive. Frederick wasn’t a conceited young man (no more so than the average prince), but he couldn’t think of a reason Arella would turn down his suit.
Unless, perhaps, there was someone else. But when, dazed by her blunt refusal, he had asked if this were the case, she had denied it.
Well, if there was no one else, there was hope for him yet. She was shy; maybe she just needed to get used to the idea? After all, she had met him only three days ago. What a spineless, sniveling worm he would be to give up so soon! He would try again to show her his love, and this time he would win her.
Two weeks! Two weeks it had been since she declined the prince’s offer, and still he came calling!
Arella suffered through these visits quietly, unsmiling, and answered him only in monosyllables. Frederick didn’t seem to mind; he found the duchess and Drusilla to be good conversationalists, and it was enough for now to admire the lovely Arella. Sooner or later, he reckoned, she would warm up to him. He was determined to win her, and her silence only enhanced his determination.
Arella pursed her lips in a thin, unhappy line. She would never marry him. Why was he too stupid to understand? She sighed, absentmindedly rubbing the head of the kitten sleeping in her lap.
Someone tapped on her door. “Come in,” Arella called, easing her face into its normal, more placid appearance.
Drusilla entered the sitting room. “Ah!” she said. “I was hoping you’d be here.”
“Can I help you with something?” Arella inquired politely.
“Do you have a few moments to chat?”
“Of course.” Arella motioned her stepsister to a chair.
Drusilla settled herself and smiled warmly at her sister. “I wanted to find out how you’ve been.”
“Me? I am fine,” Arella replied.
“You seem unhappy. Something to do with the prince, I think.”
Arella tightened her jaw. “I won’t marry him.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to.”
“May I ask again why not?”
Arella looked at her lap. How she wanted to explain herself, to unburden her heart to Drusilla!
“It’s because . . .” She bit her lip. How could she describe it? “I . . . just don’t want to,” she finished dully. How she hated herself, hated the way she couldn’t open up her heart! She wanted to cry.
Drusilla paused a moment. Then, choosing her way cautiously, afraid of disturbing her stepsister still more, she suggested in her gentlest voice, “Have you tried wanting to?”
Arella looked up, and her eyes were desperate. “Drusilla,” she began, “it’s more than just trying to want to marry him. I could never be happy if we wed. And he wouldn’t be happy with me, eventually. You know that I would make a terrible queen. Can’t you understand?” It was a long speech for her, and she stopped, hoping Drusilla would comprehend all she was trying to say but couldn’t.
Drusilla nodded. “I think I know how you feel, dearest.” She smiled again and reached out to take her stepsister’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “And I want you to know, I’m on your side. If you honestly don’t want to marry him, I support you in that decision whole-heartedly.”
“Thank you,” Arella whispered. Maybe she should tell her. She opened her mouth. “Drusilla . . .”
“Yes?” For a moment, Drusilla hoped against hope that some crack might appear in the wall around Arella’s heart. Hoped that her stepsister would trust her, just this once, with whatever it was that so burdened her heart.
Arella hesitated. “Nothing.” She couldn’t. Not now. Maybe not ever. She uttered another sigh. “I’m just tired, I suppose.”
“Maybe you should rest a while,” Drusilla suggested as she rose to go. She placed her hand on the younger girl’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”
Arella rose with her, dumping the kitten unceremoniously on the floor. He mewed a protest, but she ignored it. “I think perhaps I’ll visit the stables. A ride might do me good.”
“Would you like company?” Drusilla offered.
“I think not today,” Arella replied after a moment. “I’d . . . like to be by myself for a while.”
“As you wish,” Drusilla responded. She made her way back to the door. “Just remember that I’m here if you ever need to talk.”
Arella attempted a small smile while her stepsister left the room, but tears filled her eyes as soon as the door shut. She turned to don her riding habit. The stables will help, she thought. They always do.
Drusilla was nothing if not a lady. Anxious to make up for what she lacked in appearance, she had devoted herself to her studies in all fields of etiquette and accomplishments. She had never excelled at any particular art, but she had acquired an impressive amount of grace and tact.
Now, however, she had done something which was perhaps a little scandalous.
She frowned doubtfully as she rode along. She imagined her mother would not approve. She hadn’t actually told her mother where she was going. She had simply said it was a nice day—which it was for late December—and she thought she would go for a ride.
She hadn’t told her mother she was going to the palace.
Drusilla gulped as she approached the massive gates. She wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake. Too late now; the gatekeeper had let her in and she was trotting up the avenue. She concentrated on looking at ease, confident, respectful. If she was going to do this, she had better do it with skill.
As she approached the entrance of the castle, a groom appeared from somewhere, helped her dismount, and took her horse. She ascended the stairway and knocked on the door. A butler opened it, looking at her in faint surprise.
“I’m here for an audience with Prince Frederick,” she said calmly, showing him the letter of invitation from the prince. The butler didn’t need to know that Drusilla had written requesting the audience. That was the scandalous part.
“Of course, my lady,” the butler bowed, showing her into the hall. “Will you please wait here while I notify his highness?”
Drusilla nodded graciously as she sat down to wait. “Certainly.”
The butler was back in moments, telling her the prince would see her in his study. She followed him up the grand marble staircase, down an elegant hall, through an imposing door. Prince Frederick stood behind his desk. “Miss Bessette,” he bowed. “What a pleasure.” He motioned for the butler to be dismissed. “Will you have a seat?”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Drusilla sat, as composed as if she were sitting in her parlor at home, embroidering a cushion.
Frederick studied her curiously, interested to learn what could bring Arella’s stepsister here. “I trust your family is all well,” he remarked. After all, one must complete all the formal niceties of conversation before proceeding.
“Quite, Your Highness. And yours?”
“Yes, thank you. You had something you wished to speak to me about?”
“I do, Your Highness. I come on behalf of my sister Arella.”
Frederick flushed a little. “She sends a message?”
Drusilla shook her head. “I’m afraid not, Your Highness. She is very shy, you know.”
“Yes,” he replied ruefully. “I know.”
“And unhappy,”
Drusilla added.
The prince looked surprised. He waited for her to continue.
“Your Highness,” she said, maintaining a respectful tone throughout her prepared speech, “my sister has no wish to marry you. I truly believe that it would be better for both of you if you were to end your courtship of her and find another woman to be your wife.”
Frederick blinked. “You . . . you are telling me to forget Arella?” He stared at her, unable to believe his ears.
Drusilla inclined her head in agreement. “It would be best, Your Highness.”
He continued to stare for a long moment, baffled. She did not flinch. At last he managed, “May I ask why this would be best? Do I not offer Arella everything—money, title, security, love?”
“I fear that my sister places little value on money and title, Your Highness.”
“Surely she cannot place little value on true love!”
Drusilla chose her words carefully. “She may not want to accept your love if she cannot offer you hers in return.”
“So you are saying I can never win her heart.” Frederick sat back in his chair, his eyes flashing.
“Her heart recoils from society, Your Highness. She is a quiet soul. To marry you would be to thrust herself into politics and fashion, to be forever spoken of and scrutinized.”
“Is it not worth it for love? She does not know how tenderly I cherish her image in my heart!” Frederick did not notice the curious look that flashed for a moment in Drusilla’s eyes. He continued, “Her face is the one I see when I wake every morning. It haunts me all the day. To glimpse one smile from her would thrust me into paradise! She cannot scorn a love like this.”
“I do not say she would scorn it, Your Highness,” Drusilla replied humbly. “But I fear she cannot reciprocate it.”
Frederick clenched his jaw. He looked like a man ready to leap into battle. Then suddenly his face relaxed and his voice calmed. “I believe I can win her heart, Miss Bessette,” he said, his voice polite but firm.
Five Glass Slippers: A Collection of Cinderella Stories Page 4
