Cinderella and the Colonel (3 page)

Cinderella smoothed her plain dress on her legs
, and was surprised when Lady Delattre took her hand. “You look tired, darling,” the older woman whispered.

“I might be a little
, but my work is not without its rewards,” Cinderella said.

“You will not let even a single servant go?”

“No.”

“You are just as stubborn as your father
,” Lady Delattre said, shaking her head. “It is very noble of you, but what will you do when you marry? Julien and Marcus cannot afford Aveyron.”

Cinderella kept her face a smooth mask. When Cinderella’s father
was alive, no one had dared to push the topic of Cinderella’s marriage. Now that he had been gone for over two years, Cinderella’s marriage seemed to be the only thing noblewomen could think of.

It wasn’t like the groom
was going to be a surprise. Cinderella had two choices: Julien Rosseux or Marcus Girard—who was several years younger than her.

It
was expected she would marry, and with taxes as high as they were, she would be forced to marry without a dowry. Her husband would take her to preserve Trieux nobility, not to inherit Aveyron, as had once been the reason for her popularity. When she married, it was likely that Aveyron and everything in it would have to be sold, for no one would want an estate of such monstrous size to care for in addition to their own.

Cinderella wished there
was another way, but she couldn’t see it.

“Cinderella?”

Cinderella gave Lady Delattre her best smile. “I apologize; my thoughts clouded my mind for a moment. I do not know what I will do,” she said.

Lady Delattre sighed. “If on
ly my Rodolf hadn’t died in the war,” she said, referring to her deceased son. He never would have been a candidate for Cinderella’s hand before—the Delattres weren’t of high enough standing to be joined to Cinderella’s family in the lavish times before the Erlauf invasion.

“I am sorry
, Lady Delattre,” Cinderella said, resting her fingertips on the older woman’s hand.

Lady Delattre took a shudder
ing breath and bravely nodded.

When Cinderella
removed her attention from her saddened hostess, she met Julien’s gaze.

The shy young man
blushed and looked away.

Cinderella folded her hands together and returned her attention to Lord Delattre and Lord Rosseux’s conversation. She wouldn’t give up on
Aveyron until she had exhausted all other options.

Julie
n and Marcus were nice enough, but Cinderella’s priority was Aveyron.

“
You seem distracted today, Mademoiselle.”

Cinderella tore her gaze from the squad of patroll
ing soldiers. “I beg your pardon,” she said, setting the officer’s usual bag of carrots on the counter.

“There is noth
ing to pardon,” he said, coins clinking in his hand. “It was merely an observation.”

Cinderella said noth
ing and held her hand out for the coins as the officer did not seem inclined to place them on the counter as usual.

The officer held Cinderella’s gaze
, his mouth slanting in a smirk as he brushed his fingertips against her palm, touching her hand longer than necessary.

Cinderella jerked her hand back. “Thank you for your business
,” she said, her tone as stiff as the set of her shoulders.

T
hree soldiers stood with the officer instead of his usual pack. One of them laughed at Cinderella’s reaction and nudged the officer.

The officer
still smirked. “What is your name, Mademoiselle?”

Cinderella
, in the process of sliding the coins in the money box, almost dropped the coins. “What?”

“Your name.”

Cinderella puffed up like an anxious cat. Behind her Vitore squealed and dropped a basket of winter potatoes. She could lie, but the farce wouldn’t last long. Hair as red as hers was rare, and everyone knew the produce stand belonged to Aveyron.

“Mademoiselle?” the officer said
, his smile growing more crooked.

“Cinderella.
My name is Cinderella,” she finally said.

The officer tipped the brim of his hat.
“Until tomorrow, Cinderella.”

He left with his cronies
, exiting the market the same way he entered.

“Mademoiselle
,” Vitore said, hovering at Cinderella’s shoulder.

“I know
,” Cinderella said, her heart icing over as the officer disappeared from view.

With his exit
, market business resumed. The cobbler went back to mending a busted shoe; a baker once again shouted his list of baked goods, and even the meat chickens five stalls up started clucking again.

The tap of the cobbler’s hammer on the bottom of the shoe bare
ly resumed before a mousy-looking woman scurried across the market. “Lady Lacreux, whatever will you do?” the mousy woman wailed.

“About what?”
Cinderella said, checking on the potatoes Vitore had dropped.

“About the
officer
. You’ve caught his eye, mark my words. He’s going to try and seduce you,” the woman said, wringing her hands.

“The Erlauf devil
,” added the milkmaid in the stall next door.

“He can try all he want
s. I will ignore him,” Cinderella said, placing the potato basket on the counter.

The mousy woman tisked.
“But he’s with the
Army
.”

“I fail to see what
that has to do with my refusal.”

“The q
ueen has a soft spot for her army lads,” the tanner’s wife said, joining the mousy woman. “She may let him yank you before her with the complaint that you have scorned him.”

“Just so
,” the mousy woman emphatically nodded.

“Mademoiselle
,” Vitore said, hunching with distress.

“It will be fine
, Vitore,” Cinderella said before turning to her growing audience. “All the man does is buy carrots from me. He has given me no reason to think he sees more to the exchange than obtaining vegetables.”

“Oh
, but he asked for your
name
.”

“And you cannot miss the way he eyes you—like you
was a wee rabbit and he a fox.”

“
You best watch your step with him, Lady Lacreux,” the potter across the way called as he wrapped a clay pot for a customer. “No telling what he might try.”

“He makes it plain
he comes here for you,” the sharp-mouthed milkmaid said, feeding her goats some hay. “He enters the market and heads for you, as if you’re the only person here.”

“Aye
,” said a woman selling candles. “The rest of us is plain as dirt. You, Lady Lacreux, you’re why ‘e comes ‘ere.”

The public reckon
ing warmed Cinderella. Most of the after effects of the war with Erlauf were negative, but not all things were bad. Previously no commoner would have spoken to Cinderella. The change probably had something to do with seeing her work side-by-side with her servants, but their concern softened Cinderella even if their worries were aggravating.

“I will be careful
,” Cinderella said to the expectant crowd.

“Good
,” the mousy woman said. “We want none of their kind messing with
our
nobles!”

“Couldn’t you stay away a few days?”
the ropemaker, a friend of the milkmaid, asked.

“What a grand idea
,” Vitore said.

“No
,” Cinderella said, wiping her hands on her apron. “He hasn’t done anything yet to make me worried.”

“He brushed your hand
as if he was caressing your cheek,” Vitore muttered.

“If he makes any further insinuations
, I will avoid the market,” Cinderella said.

The mousy
-looking woman planted her hands on her hips. “If you’ll excuse me for speaking so, Lady Lacreux, if that foreign devil looked at one of my daughters the way he looks at you with that eye of his, I would pack her up and send her to her aunt in the country before the day was over.”

“Perhaps,” Cinderella said.

“
But?” the tanner’s wife asked.

“
But I do have the protection of Aveyron, and my title. They don’t mean as much as they used to, but it should be enough. Furthermore, I have made many allowances, but I
will not
let Erlauf keep me from conducting business,” Cinderella said, sticking her chin out. She paid her taxes and upheld the law like a good conquered noble, but she would
not
let this feckless officer affect her any further!

The commoners exchanged glances. “Pride of nobility
,” the milkmaid offered.

“Foolish th
ing,” the ropemaker said, shaking his head.

“I thank you for your concern. Should the situation grow dire
, I will not hesitate to take action,” Cinderella said.

“Nobles
, think they’re above the worldly desires of others,” the tanner’s wife said, shaking her head in disgust.

Cinderella
had to choke back the laughter. There was truth to their words—Cinderella would have to be stupid to miss the wolfish way the officer looked at her. But they were forgetting—those from Erlauf hated the citizens of Trieux just as much as the citizens of Trieux hated them. Why would the officer want anything to do with a high-ranking noble whose heritage, country, and inheritance was something he hated?

It
was dusk when Cinderella started home. The market stall had been packed up earlier in the afternoon, but Cinderella had stayed behind in Werra for…reasons. Not that it mattered—she failed in the goal she meant to accomplish.

The walk from Werra improved her flagging spirits.
The dirt roads were peppered with people taking their goods home and walking with their pack animals and flocks. The countryside was painted hues of orange and crimson from the setting sun, and the birds still sang.

It
was beautiful, and it required no work on Cinderella’s part to enjoy it. She treasured the quiet moments when she didn’t have to worry about her future or taxes.

A farmer on a cart pulled by two mules doffed his cap to her as he passed by
, his wagon laden with bags of grain.

Cinderella elbowed her cloak out of the way and waved.

“At times like this it seems like nothing has changed,” Cinderella said, tossing her head to get the fringe of her bangs out of her eyes. She watched wild geese and swans fly overhead, returning to the north as winter fled the onslaught of spring.

The beauty of the moment
was shattered by raised voices.

Further up the road, a
small caravan of four wagons was stopped. One cart was filled with cages of ducks and chickens, another had produce, the third was packed tight with goods—blankets, pots, and the like—and the final wagon held a handful of commoners. Cinderella recognized the drivers and the passengers as sellers and craftsmen from the market.