Five Glass Slippers: A Collection of Cinderella Stories Page 5

  Drusilla considered her words before speaking. After all, one does not like to offend a prince. Then she said, “I do not believe you can, Your Highness.”

  He forced a smile. “I suppose it’s a bet, then.” He leaned back in his chair. “Your prediction versus mine. I suspect the odds lie with me.”

  Drusilla’s composure wavered. “It is nothing like a bet, Your Highness,” she said, her eyes flaring with sudden passion. “It is Arella’s happiness. I tell you that her heart is not easily won. I have been her sister for eight years—and I am still trying to gain her love and trust.”

  She rose, overcome by the sudden desire to weep. “You are free to pursue her as you wish, Your Highness, but I did not feel it was right to let you continue without cautioning you that your doing so will surely end only in unhappiness for you both.” She curtsied. “I thank Your Highness for granting me an audience, and I wish you good day.”

  With that, Drusilla turned and left the room, shutting the door in her wake.

  Frederick sat alone in his study, speechless, emotions boiling. What kind of woman waltzes into a castle and tells the crown prince he is unlovable? He stood up and paced the room.

  “I love Arella. I will not give up so easily!” he said to himself, his face set like stone. “This woman can think what she likes, but a love such as mine cannot be suppressed. I will woo her and I will win her!”

  Drusilla rode quickly away from the castle, no less emotional than the prince. She couldn’t go home yet. She couldn’t face any of her family, not in this mood.

  What was this mood? She scarcely knew. She couldn’t erase the image of Arella looking frightened and small and lonely. She couldn’t stop hearing the inflexible tones of the prince declaring his eternal love for her beautiful sister. She couldn’t get rid of the feeling that if only—

  But no. She spurred her horse through the city to the fields beyond. There she let him gallop, trying to outride the thoughts crowding her mind.

  A few hours later, somewhat calmed, Drusilla cantered back up to her home. She had missed supper, she was sure, and evening darkness was rolling into the city. Dismounting, she handed her horse to a groom. “Thank you, Alfie,” she said wearily. The stable hand nodded, ever respectful, and led the horse into the stables.

  Drusilla entered the house, attempting to think of an explanation for her long absence. She heard conversation in the parlor and made her way down the hall to it, stopping short as she came to the threshold. The family was gathered there, along with a visitor.

  Frederick sat close to the silent Arella, speaking to her in tender tones. He glanced up as Drusilla entered, and their gazes met for a meaningful instant.

  “There you are, child! I was nearly ready to send Alfie out to search for you,” the duchess scolded gently.

  “Forgive me, Mother. I felt in need of a long ride today.”

  “In this cold?” Anastasia asked. “I would have frozen.”

  “It isn’t cold so much as brisk,” Drusilla replied with a too-bright smile. “But you will excuse me now, Mother? I believe I will go beg leftovers from cook.”

  She left. Arella hopelessly watched her go even as Frederick redoubled his efforts to woo her.

  8

  Soapy water slopped from the large bucket as Arella plunged her rag in. She wrung it out violently and began scrubbing the staircase. Sometimes her feelings could only be relieved by physical labor.

  Prince Frederick did not seem to care that she disliked him. In fact, the quieter she was, the harder he would try to win a word, a smile, a glance. She had done her best to discourage him, to no avail.

  “He can call on me until he’s old and gray,” Arella muttered. “I won’t have him!” She rinsed out her rag again, twisting nearly every drop out of it.

  The problem was that she didn’t know how much longer she could withstand this. A month now he had been courting her, and he showed no signs of wearying. She, however, was weary to the bone.

  “I can’t marry him!” she said defiantly.

  But could she continue ignoring him? She hated displeasing the people she cared for, and they were obviously displeased. Her stepmother showed strong disappointment at Arella’s lack of courtesy. Anastasia was openly baffled as to why Arella would not accept such a charming prince.

  Only Drusilla had any sympathy at all, and she was a little distant on the subject recently.

  Even the old servants didn’t seem to understand. Society was talking, too; Arella knew the gossipmongers called her spoiled and proud (“Too hoity-toity for the prince himself, she is!”) and ungrateful and selfish (“After all her stepmother’s done for her!”).

  Arella winced. “But I don’t want to be the princess.”

  She scrubbed at the old steps harder, turning over scheme after scheme in her mind. What if I could go away for a while? But where could she go? If I just tell him I will never have him? She had tried that once already. If I suddenly show interest—perhaps he’ll tire of me? But that was too risky. He would probably think she was serious, and she would end up having to marry him.

  No, there was no way around it; there seemed to be no solution, no way to get rid of the prince’s attentions. If things went on like this, she would have to give in eventually.

  Arella finally made up her mind. She knew what she must do.

  The sun shone brightly through a crack in the draperies. Drusilla yawned and rolled to her back. Stretching her arms, she smiled. It had been a lovely dream—though, of course, it was no more than a dream. She slid off her bed and walked to the window, pushing the curtains back to welcome the warm sunshine. The morning held promise of a cheerful day to come.

  Passing through her dressing room half an hour later, she noticed out of the corner of her eye a letter on the side table. How silly of me, she thought, shaking her head. I thought I had replied to Sheila’s letter already.

  She strolled over and picked it up. Her brow puckered. This wasn’t Sheila’s letter; it was a clean, sealed note, blank save for the Drusilla written in Arella’s neat hand. Worry in her eyes, she quickly broke the seal and unfolded the paper.

  “What? No!” Hand pressed to her mouth in shock, Drusilla ran from the room. “Mother!”

  Duchess Germaine was sitting up in bed, taking her breakfast, when Drusilla burst into the room. She shoved a letter into her mother’s hands. “Arella!” she gasped.

  The duchess glanced at Drusilla, puzzled. She scanned the page, eyes widening in disbelief.

  “Arella? Eloped?” She stared at the page as though her gaze could burn away the words. “With the stable hand?”

  “I knew she was unhappy but . . . but I never thought she would do something like this. And with Alfie! I didn’t even know they spoke to each other!” A sob caught in Drusilla’s throat. “Mother, what do we do?”

  The duchess sat stunned. “Do? What can we do?” She turned to the letter again, perusing it more carefully this time. “It’s nine o’clock; if they left at midnight, they will have reached Fallhall by now. Legally there is nothing to prevent their marrying in any county seat.” She looked back at Drusilla, her eyes wide and hopeless.

  Drusilla blinked back tears. Arella! Her little sister! Married dishonorably to a stable hand! Why? Why had she done it? She took a deep, shuddering breath and sank to the edge of her mother’s bed. “She is lost to us, then,” she whispered.

  The duchess closed her eyes. Forgive me, Alain. I thought I did my best raising your daughter . . . but I have failed you.

  The two women sat silently for a moment, each lost in her own thoughts and regrets.

  If only I had tried harder to find out what was bothering her so much, Drusilla thought miserably.

  Perhaps if I hadn’t pressured her the way I did, the duchess brooded.

  She was trying to tell me something. I should have known this was more than just not wanting to marry the prince. Drusilla bit her lip in frustration.

  I should have seen that she could never
love the prince. I should have let her live quietly the way she wanted. The duchess’s heart ached.

  And now . . . she is gone.

  Germaine was first to rouse. “They couldn’t have planned this on their own, surely. One of the staff must know something about it. I will talk to the head groom first.” She paused. “Anastasia needs to know.” She rang the bell for her maid. “Send Anastasia to me.”

  Drusilla suddenly gaped in horror. “Mother!”

  “What is it?”

  Drusilla slowly turned her panic-filled eyes to her mother. “The prince. He was going to visit for dinner this evening.”

  The duchess groaned. “We can’t very well keep that engagement, can we?”

  “But we cannot send a message saying, ‘Arella ran away. Come some other time’!” Drusilla’s paced the room, and both she and her mother lapsed into the silence of furious thinking. This silence remained unbroken until Anastasia tripped merrily into the room.

  “You called, Mother?” Her voice, light as always, grated in the dark atmosphere of the chamber. She stopped, her brow wrinkling at sight of the distraught faces turned toward her.

  The duchess motioned for her to sit. “I have a note from Arella for you to read.”

  Anastasia stared. What was that strange tone in her mother’s voice? Why did Drusilla look as though she had been crying? Anastasia gulped, suddenly afraid. The duchess handed her the paper.

  Anastasia’s mouth dropped nearly to her knees as she took in the brief note.

  “She ran away with the stable boy? But that’s—Mother, that’s almost romantic! Arella was never romantic.”

  Duchess Germaine shot her youngest daughter a stern glance. “There is nothing romantic about running away and disgracing your family,” she replied. “Neither is there anything particularly romantic about living in poverty. And there is certainly nothing romantic about offending the crown prince.”

  Anastasia opened her mouth, ready to protest. But a hasty motion of Drusilla’s hand cut her off. She submitted with a meek “Yes, Mother.”

  “We still need to decide how to inform the prince,” Drusilla pointed out.

  “We will send him a note saying that unfortunate circumstances prevent our being able to receive him for dinner tonight as we had hoped,” the duchess replied resolutely. “That is all he needs to know for now. I’m sure the entire matter will be out in the open before long.” She got up. “Drusilla, ring for my maid. I will dress and interview the groom. We are too late to prevent their marriage, but we may still find them and do what we can for them.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Drusilla’s heart sank as she rang the bell. Despite her mother’s brave words, she knew there was very little to be done now.

  9

  The sun shone cheerfully as the wagon rattled down the quiet dusty lane, away from the oppressive capitol and town house, away from the prince with his annoying attentions, toward space and freedom and a life with Alfie. He held the reins in one hand and Arella’s hand in the other.

  Arella gave him a nervous smile. “Are we doing the right thing, Alfie?” Her worried eyes searched his for reassurance.

  “Yes,” he answered. He rubbed her fingers lightly. “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “More like twenty-second,” she replied, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Are you disappointed in me?”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Never.”

  “I don’t want to be a disgrace to my family,” she whispered.

  “A disgrace is a man who assumes he can have whatever he wants because he was born royalty. A disgrace is a man who sees you only for your beauty—which is remarkable, by the way.” He grinned as she wrinkled her nose at him, but quickly became serious again. “A disgrace is a family that expects you to forfeit happiness for money and position. You would disgrace your family if you were like that, Arella. We are not a disgrace.”

  Arella loved how secure she felt with his arm around her, nestling into his side, hearing his confident voice. “I love you, Alfie.” She turned to look up at him. “Very much.”

  Alfie was the happiest man in the world.

  The wagon kept rattling down the lane.

  Frederick re-read the elegant note from the duchess. He wondered what had happened in the Abendroth household. Was Arella safe and well? And how unfortunate this was! He was almost certain Arella had smiled at him last night. Well, perhaps not at him, technically. But she had smiled in his presence, and that was an improvement.

  Frederick’s mouth twisted in a wry grin. Was he actually excited because a girl had almost smiled at him? Perhaps Arella’s strange sister was correct . . . perhaps this was a hopeless cause.

  The young page broke his reverie. “Is there an answer, Your Highness?”

  “I suppose,” the prince replied, considering a moment before he began writing. He carefully penned a few lines expressing his regret at the change in plans and his fervent hope that he would have the honor of seeing the family soon.

  And by “family,” he meant Arella.

  Because even if she would only almost-smile at him, she was a woman unlike any other, and she was worth working for.

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing.” The duchess rested her forehead on her hand wearily. “No one knows anything—where they went, when they left. Apparently they didn’t consult with anyone. They didn’t even take one of our carriages, just Arella’s horse.”

  “They couldn’t ride out of the city double horseback,” Drusilla objected.

  The duchess raised her eyebrows. “They certainly aren’t here.”

  Drusilla closed her eyes, willing herself to think of something that would help them find her sister. Why did they not take a carriage? Where would they have gone—and how were they getting there? “Did they fear recognition?” she mused. “Is that why they didn’t take a carriage?”

  “They could have taken the little carriage without the crest,” the duchess replied.

  No, that wasn’t it. Something tugged at the back of Drusilla’s mind, an idea she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She frowned, concentrating.

  “Arella left a note so we would know she was safe. They didn’t take a carriage.” A thought hit her. She looked at the duchess. “Mother, Arella didn’t take a carriage because she didn’t want to be accused of stealing anything—or she didn’t want Alfie to be accused of anything. She ran away, but she’s trying to be . . . I don’t know. Respectable, I suppose.”

  The duchess pursed her lips and slowly nodded. “Yes. I suppose that makes sense. The note she left was quite respectful.”

  Drusilla half smiled. “That’s so like Arella—rebelling without actually breaking the rules.” Then she sighed. “But that still doesn’t help us discover where they went.”

  “Sullivan informed me that this stable boy’s full name is Alfred Stone. His family is from Finch-under-Clay, and he’s been working for our household for five years. He came with excellent recommendations from the vicar in his hometown, so Sullivan gave him a job in the stables. Apparently he’s been a good worker; no one has had any complaints against him until now.”

  “I’m sure Sullivan feels terrible.”

  The duchess nodded. “He blames himself. Though he could have had no idea that this would happen.”

  “Do you think they’re heading to—what was it?—Finch-under-Clay?” Drusilla asked.

  “I’ve already sent a man that way, hoping to overtake them. I also sent someone to Vilihania—though that would be a little too obvious. And Pressley, of course, as the closest place they could be married. But they could have gone anywhere.”

  “If they are overtaken, what then?”

  The duchess rubbed her brow again. “If one of the men finds them, he is to bring them back. Then we can . . . have a discussion.”

  Drusilla chose her words carefully. “What can we discuss?”

  The duchess shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  The dusty lane rolled on and on
, and the wagon—passengers sitting close together—rattled on with it. Finally the wagon rattled into a respectable town full of whitewashed houses and cobbled streets. Alfie pulled up the horse outside an imposing courthouse and grinned at the lovely girl sitting by his side.

  “Here we are,” he said, swinging himself to the ground and extending his hand to help Arella. He grinned up at her, eyes shining. “I love you, Arella,” he said softly as she stepped out of the wagon. He pulled her close. “Marry me?”

  “No word yet?”

  “Still nothing.”

  The hours had been agonizingly slow. Each one that passed carried Arella farther away, farther to—where? Drusilla’s mind was tired from the endless swirling of worries that had filled her thoughts since morning. Would they be found? Were they already married? How would they live?

  And what would Prince Frederick do when he found out?

  For he would find out. And soon. Rumors were already beginning to accumulate like mists rising from the marshes in the evening. Some servant girl had told her beau; some old cook had gossiped with her neighbors; some younger stable boy had told his parents—it didn’t matter who began the rumors. But they had begun, and they would not be stopped.

  How would the prince respond?

  Frederick dismounted from his horse and patted its black flank. “Good ride, Midnight,” he said as he handed the gelding’s reins to a groom. It had been a good ride, he considered, walking briskly to the castle. Missing dinner with Arella last night had preoccupied his thoughts. He’d needed this ride to clear his mind. He glanced at the sky. It must be nearing the dinner hour. He would call on the Abendroth household afterward.

  Frederick strode into the castle and made his way to his mother’s sitting room. He stopped short and grimaced outside the door because he knew the voice now ringing through the hallway. Lady Lloyd, a distant cousin of his father’s, could be conversing in the deepest inner chamber of the entire building, and her voice would still resound through the halls. Anything he needed to say could wait until the old gossipmonger left. He turned to leave.