Cinders & Ash: A Cinderella Story (Passion-Filled Fairy Tales Book 3) (7 page)

Ella awoke sore and tired. She knew she needed to get up, but she squeezed her eyes tight and rolled over. She’d dreamed of Ash last night. He’d started off kind and gentle, lavishing unbridled passion on her, and then when they finished, he’d offered her to the blond man from last night. Ash had laughed and said, “Have a go at her. She’s quite good.” The dream turned nightmare had forced her awake in the middle of the night. She’d woken with a start, but had managed to go back to sleep. It was a fitful and unrewarding slumber, however, and that’s probably why she was so tired this morning. She felt lost and uncertain. She wanted to talk to Faye. Now that they’d experienced the same thing, she wanted to know if the feelings of shame and unhappiness would go away.

She sighed, knowing she couldn’t lie here pitying herself. So she tossed off her blanket and opened her eyes and found the sun streaming in. She shot up. It was very late and she hadn’t made breakfast. Lady Kenna was going to kill her. She got out of bed, put on a dress and ran down the stairs, through the main room of the house. In the kitchen, she found Marigold heating water for tea, and shockingly, Lady Kenna and Bathilda were eating yesterday’s bread, along with some marmalade Ella had made.

“Good morning,” Lady Kenna said cheerfully.

“I’m sorry I overslept, stepmother,” she said, trying to infuse remorse into her voice.

“It’s no trouble dear,” Lady Kenna said through a fake smile

Ella wondered if she were still dreaming. Or was this some type of trick? Lady Kenna was never this nice to her, and neither were the girls.

She walked past them to the stove, where the kettle hung over the fire. “I can get this, Marigold,” she said. Marigold shrugged and joined her mother and sister at the table.

“Ella,” Lady Kenna said. “Would you be a dear and make those wonderful muffins you make? This afternoon, we’ll be having a visitor. After you finish your morning chores, I would like to speak with you.”

* * *

Ella made the muffins but dared not ask any questions of Lady Kenna. She’d learnt to let whatever mood Lady Kenna was in to play out as it would, and not attempt to change it. When Ella was younger and Lady Kenna was in a temper, Ella would always treat her stepmother with extra kindness. For Ella’s mother, Penelope, had always said that treating a sour person with kindness usually improved their mood. Only her mother had never met Lady Kenna, or perhaps had never been truly hated by someone the way Lady Kenna seemed to hate Ella. Regardless, her mother’s advice didn’t work on lady Kenna.

Ella dawdled at her chores this morning, knowing that finishing them just meant that she had to see Lady Kenna. She had just milked the cow and was going to feed the chickens when Marigold came out to the barn. Unexpected, but not unheard of. While Lady Kenna and Bathilda felt themselves to be too far above anything they saw as the work of housemaids and laborers, Marigold had a gentler spirit, and was more willing to do what needed to be done. She was much less messy than Lady Kenna or Bathilda and put her things back where they belonged. And if her mother wasn’t around, she’d often do small kindnesses for Ella — something as simple as bringing her dirty dishes from the table, rather than leaving them there for Ella to get.

Ella smiled. “Hello, Marigold,” she said.

“Hi, Ella,” her stepsister said, offering a simple smile. “Mother wants you to come clean your hands and face, and come inside to dress for company.”

“Ah, the company?” Ella asked. “Are you sure she wants me to meet the company? I think I’d prefer to be in my room.”

“It’s Lord Angleton,” Marigold said. “Do hurry.”

Marigold returned to the house and Ella shook her head. So, that’s why Lady Kenna had been so nice recently. There had been no guilt over what she had done, just worry that Lord Angleton would see. Lord Angleton was one of her father’s dearest friends, who had moved a few townships away around the time her mother died. He had come to her father’s wedding to Lady Kenna, as well as attended her father’s funeral two months later. He had probably specifically mentioned wanting to see Ella. Lady Kenna was all about appearances and it was clear that she wanted them to appear as a happy family to Lord Angleton.

She went inside and found Lady Kenna standing there with one of Bathilda’s old dresses. Bathilda was next to her looking sour. “Wear this,” Lady Kenna said. “After a few minutes of chatting with him and his son, you are to admit you are not feeling well and excuse yourself to your room. Do you understand?”

Ella took the dress and nodded. It was the nicest dress Ella had ever been permitted to wear. She wondered what this visit with Lord Angleton was all about. She went to her room, changed and returned to the receiving room, where they all sat, not speaking a word to each other. Soon, there was a knock at the door. Lady Kenna went to answer it and welcomed Lord Angleton.

Bartholomew Angleton looked exactly as Ella remembered: a tall man with a thick build, a broad smile and cheerful blue eyes. His black hair was now mixed with gray and it made Ella feel momentarily nostalgic for her father. What would he look like now? Would his hair be just as grey, less grey, perhaps more?

“Little Ella,” Lord Angleton said, heading straight toward her and drawing her into a hug. “You’ve grown so big now. You look so much like Penelope.”

She enjoyed his embrace, lingering for a moment longer than she should. He felt sturdy and supportive. It was a little like the way she felt when her father had hugged her. It seemed it had been too long since she’d received a loving, fatherly hug. Ella remembered fondly how she used to address her father’s friend when she spoke. “Uncle Bart. That’s kind of you to say.”

He released her and she noticed another young man enter behind him. It was his son Charles, Ella was sure. Charles was two years older than Ella and when they were children, he had enjoyed showing her the frogs and toads he found in the woods. Now, Charles was the same height as his father, but lean like a pole. He had an awkward gait, a shy smile, freckles and flaming red hair.

“Charles,” she said, and gave him a gentle smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

He nodded. Lady Kenna directed everyone to a seat and dominated the conversation, chattering endlessly, their guests too polite to buck against their host’s rudeness. Ella spoke to Lord Angleton once more but not at all to Charles. When Lord Angleton kept trying to inquire of Ella’s life, what it was like, she felt Lady Kenna’s hostile stare. Finally, Ella made her excuse, just like Lady Kenna had asked her to, and said she needed to rest. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, dear,” Uncle Bart said. “But, I brought you a gift. Charles, get the gift for Ella, please.”

Charles, who’d been carrying a shoulder satchel, reached inside and pulled out a drawing pad and a small wooden box. “It’s drawing coals and pencils,” he said, as he handed it to Ella.

She felt pure joy at the sight of the gifts and said a heartfelt, “Thank you,” as she accepted them.

“You still draw?” Bart said.

“Yes, I do, Uncle Bart,” she said “It was one of the few things my father taught me, so I like to do it still. I appreciate this very generous gift.”

Bart chuckled, his frame shaking. “Oh, think of Edward when you use it and I shall be happy. I still miss him.”

“As do I,” said Lady Kenna, standing. She turned to Ella. “Dear, I’d hate for you to fall ill. If you’re not feeling yourself, you should rest.”

“Yes,” said Bart. Ella turned to head toward her room. Bart called out to her. “Ella, before you go, I should just say, you’ve turned into a lovely young woman. Your father would be proud of you.” She nodded and went to her room.

Inside her tower, she sat quietly, wondering if Uncle Bart was right. Would her father be proud of her? She’d gone off and whored herself to some noble man she barely knew. Though, did it matter if she barely knew him or not. Even if she’d known him well, the truth of the matter was that he was someone who viewed her merely as another possession to use. She thought he was different at first, but she realized that he wasn’t. And is that the life her father would want for her?

Even though Lady Kenna was an awful woman, did that mean that Ella had to do such things to get away from her? Was there another way to do this? A way that her father might, in fact, be proud of? She sat in quiet contemplation and after a while, she saw Lord Angleton and Charles ride off on their horses. She watched them through the tiny window, though she doubted they saw her.

A moment later, the door down below banged open and Ella heard Lady Kenna climbing the stairs, before the woman emerged before her, seething. “Your father’s friend hopes to arrange a marriage between you and his son Charles,” she said.

“I don’t want that,” Ella said, before Lady Kenna could say a word more. She knew she had to stop this right now. Lady Kenna would never agree to such a thing and expressing any interest in it was of no value to Ella.

“I don’t care what you want or don’t want,” Lady Kenna said, a vein bulging in her forehead as she charged over. The thin, pinched woman pointed a bony finger toward Ella and spoke bitterly. “Lord Angleton will be back on Sunday to attend Church with us and then have tea. You will tell him that you do not want to wed right now, and you will suggest that Charles marries Bathilda.”

Bathilda! Charles seemed a decent fellow. Ella wasn’t sure she could suggest such misery for him when he’d never done anything to harm her. But she could never argue with Lady Kenna. “Of course, stepmother,” she said.

“Don’t you dare think about doing anything to get an in for yourself with Lord Angleton and his son. If you do anything to jeopardize Bathilda’s chance at a good marriage, I will marry you off to the wickedest suitor I can find. Someone evil and depraved, someone who will make your life miserable from top to bottom. You think that living here with me is bad. You have no idea. You have none whatsoever. The only chance a woman has for a good life is a good marriage. If you want any chance at that, you will make it right for my Bathilda. Or else I will turn your life into what mine once was. I have lived with a wicked man. You have only known people like your father and Lord Angleton, men who are kind and gentle to their women, men who would never degrade, humiliate or beat you. Well, I have known such men. I was married to such a man, and only death kept it from being permanent. If you want even a chance at something happier than misery, a shot at spinsterhood or an actual man who will treat you with, at the very least, respect, then you will do what I say.”

Ella took a step back, amazed for once by her stepmother’s honesty. “Yes, stepmother,” she said.

Ashton lunged with his epee, striking his cousin in the chest. Chandler kneeled, conceding defeat, and then stood and lifted the mask from his face. “Well done, your Highness,” Chandler said.

“Oh, you don’t have to be an arse because you lost,” Ashton said, extending a hand to help him up. Chandler looked like a softer version of his brother Leith: blond, fairly muscular, but with a mischievous twinkle in his eye and a more playful spirit. The cousins had been practicing fencing in the courtyard and Ashton had bested Chandler. While Leith was almost unbeatable, Ashton tended to have at least 50/50 odds with the younger of his two cousins.

As Chandler stood, he smiled at Ashton. “So, you seem particularly dapper,” he said. Then he whispered. “Enjoying your nighttime activities.”

Ashton looked around to see if anyone was within earshot. Seeing a few servants settled in the distance, he spoke softly. “Of course I am,” he said. “I shall always thank you and Leith for suggesting it. Unlike you, I’m not able to get out to such establishments. So ordering in, as this is an ideal compromise.”

Chandler chuckled. “When will Aunt Elizabeth finally let you out from under her shackles?”

Ashton shook his head. “Four more weeks,” he said. “My father has promised me free reign after my birthday ball. As soon as I finish greeting all the visiting nobles and am officially presented to the world, I can come and go as I please. Until then, I must humor my mother.”

Chandler set his epee on a small table. A servant approached to retrieve it, but Chandler waved him back, so that he and his cousin could finish their chat. Chandler unlatched his white fencing jacket and removed the plastron beneath it. He looked up at his cousin. “I’m still a tad confused about why it is you’re not allowed about. You’re the only prince under lock and key I’ve ever met. And nary a single one of your citizens has seen you.”

Ashton rolled his eyes. “It’s mother’s belief in fairies and enchantments and soothsayers and magic,” he said.

“The church can’t be happy with that,” Chandler said, even softer than he’d spoken before.

“It doesn’t know,” he said. “But, there was an old soothsayer who told my mother when I was born that I would be in grave danger until I turned 20, and that she needed to keep me close to the castle, protected. She needed to keep me away from prying eyes. So, my last official portrait was when I was an infant, and since then I’ve been mainly here, and sometimes, as you know, we traveled to stay with your father. Apparently, his duchy is some type of safe haven.”

“A safe haven?” Chandler asked, smiling and then raising an eyebrow. “Safe for you, but not the ladies.”

Ashton snickered. “Chandler, I am not like you and Leith in that way,” he said. “I enjoy the companionship of a maiden, like any good man, but I don’t enjoy it the way you and your brother do.”

“While I can’t speak for my brother, I certainly enjoy my nighttime activities. Perhaps if you gave it a try,” Chandler said, with an uptick of hope in his voice. “You might like it, too.”

“I’ve found something I like just fine,” Ashton said.

Chandler grinned and winked at him. “I saw,” he said.

Ashton took a step back and gave his cousin a scrutinizing stare. “What do you mean?”

“Your father had some secret errand for Heinrich last night, and I had to escort her out,” he said. “She’s quite fetching. I could see why you like her. Maybe you’d consider sharing?”

Ashton felt the anger surge in him as he looked at the lascivious grin on his cousin’s face. He grabbed Chandler by the collar and said in a low growl, “Stay away from her. Do you understand?”

Chandler’s eyes widened and he tried to pull loose, but his cousin’s grip was too strong. “Yes,” he said. “She’s off limits. I won’t go near her again.”

Ashton let go of him and nodded. “She’s not like the other girls. She’s not your type,” he said. “Trust me.”

Chandler nodded. “Of course, cousin.”