Cinderella (Faerie Tale Collection) (11 page)

“Which is precisely why I will not tell you.”

He dropped his hand. “Are you jesting me? Someone did something to you so horrid that I would throttle them if I knew what it was?”

Her trusting eyes met his. She took a couple of deep breaths, but still did not speak.

“Ella? What is it?”

She turned her head away.

His heart lurched. “What are you ashamed of? Do not turn from me now. Please, whatever it is, let us work it out together.” He grasped her hands. “Please, I need this—I very much need this right now.”

He watched as her gaze darted to their clasped hands and then to his eyes. “Will you promise me something?” she asked.

“Anything.”

“Promise that no matter what I tell you, you will remain impassive and you will not harm those involved.”

My word! What had the girl suffered? “I promise I will do everything in my power to not react badly to whatever it is you reveal.”

Ella grinned. “That is not good enough.”

“What? ‘Tis the best I can do. Promise to control myself. But, it really depends on what you say—what secret you reveal that will make me decide how to properly respond.

“Jonathan!”

“Eleanoria!”

“You must promise.”

“You would have me lie, then? If that is what it takes, then so be it. I will lie to you. Though I would much rather not.”

She sighed and, releasing one hand, turned slightly and rested her head upon his shoulder. After a few minutes of silence, she began to tell him.

“When my father died, apparently he left everything in his last will and testament to me—everything—except I was not told this. In fact, I was told just the opposite.”

She paused and John wrapped his arm around her and nudged her in closer.

Her voice cracked as she continued, “I was told—I have been told, been reminded nearly every day since his death—that I own nothing in that house. Nothing. Not even my mother’s…” She trailed off as the emotions became too much for her.

John’s hand clenched next to her side—the only outward showing of rage he would allow himself. “Continue,” he whispered. “Tell me what else has happened.”

“They took all of my mother’s possessions, all of the items she had received from her dowry and ancestors that were meant for me, and divided it amongst themselves. Even earlier this week, I found my grandmother’s pearls with Jillian. My clothing, my bedroom, everything—they took it all. I was forced to live up in the attics, earning my keep for them. So I would not become a burden. That is why they sold Sunshine.” Her shoulders shook as she valiantly tried to get the rest out. “They—they did not want me to believe I was better than them, so they took her from me. They took everything from me. And have repeatedly, every single day of my life, told me the most horrible truths about myself and my person. Things I cannot even think of. Things I would never want to say out loud.”

Her voice barely recognizable through her sobs, she continued, “All of it—it was all done so I would believe the lie. So I would believe my father did not remember me in his will and only included them. So I would not question any of it. I would forever subject myself to their abuse and cruelties.”

His mind raced, imaging full well what they had said to her and how the fiends treated her. It was a wonder she was so warm and gracious as she was with the treatment she had received. Though, there was one thing that puzzled him. “How did you discover the truth?”

She shook her head and snuggled in closer to his shoulder and chest. “I would have never known it. I would have never thought to question any of it at all. It was Lacey, Miss Dashlund, who revealed the whole of it last night.”

“Miss Dashlund?
The
Miss Dashlund, the girl who ruined the queen’s garden party?”

He could feel her smile, though he could not see it. “The very same.”

“And how did she come to be your ally?”

“I do not know. There has been a change overcome her, this past year at least, that I have noticed, and recently she has become even more pleasant with me. I dare say we are close to almost friends, if not sisters.” She snorted. “I believe it may have something to do with her clumsiness and becoming more and more my stepmother’s trial as each event becomes worse and worse.”

John could not quite imagine such a silly girl being Ella’s friend and confidante, but if she were truly an ally in her life, then he would mayhap have to open the castle up for her too… His thoughts halted. Right then and there, they halted. What was he thinking?

He was thinking of Ella with him always.

He simply could not become king without his Ella by his side. Her wisdom, her loyalty, her happiness, her gravity, her humility…here was the answer he had been searching for—waiting for. His aching heart burst with warmth. He loved her.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ELLA PULLED BACK AND looked up at John. “Though I believe there is more to the story of Lacey’s awkwardness and mishaps than has been revealed. I am afraid Jillian is behind most—if not all—of it. I have not been able to fully understand why Jillian would do something this underhanded toward her own sister, but I am sure she…” Ella stopped and turned more fully toward him. “What? Why are you looking at me with such a grin?”

“Cannot a man smile when he is in the presence of a beautiful woman?”

She blinked. “Did you not hear a word of what I spoke of a few moments ago?”

His grin deepened, showing a faint dimple near the corner of his mouth. “No, not a one.”

He must not be serious. Laughing, she asked, “You honestly did not hear anything I said about Jillian?”

“Afraid not. My mind was more agreeably occupied.”

Her breath caught as her eyes met his—they sparkled dangerously into her own. “May I inquire what you were thinking of?”

“You, of course.”

“Oh. Me?”

“Just so.”

Her insides began to flutter wildly about. “And what was that?”

“How much I wish I could kiss your perfect mouth right now.”

She flushed and grinned, her eyelashes fluttering as she tried desperately to focus on anything but his intense gaze.

“I am quite positive you are the most adorable woman I have ever met when you are embarrassed.” He released her hand and gently cradled her chin. “Can I kiss you again?” he asked once her eyes had settled more firmly upon him.

“Yes, please.”

She let out a little whimper as his mouth closed upon hers. Just to connect with someone, someone who understood her and felt her and cared for her. After all the horridness she had faced, to share such a delicate thing as one’s lips was simply magical. It offered so very much hope and happiness and joy within her. She clung to him as he deepened the kiss, almost as if he were pouring his heart and soul into it.

Breathless, she pulled away first, inhaling on gasps. “John—John, what has happened to you? I feel as though a connection between us was realized. I do not know what I am saying—or what I am trying to say—but it feels—it feels…”

“As though our kiss was saying all the words we cannot at the moment?” His eyes seized her in a way no one else had ever been able to. The intensity, the emotions, the raw feelings were all there for her to take and pluck and explore them at will.

“What can you not say? Does it have anything to do with what happened the past twelve hours or so?” she asked.

He closed those eyes briefly, before opening them again. “It has everything to do with that—and nothing to with it at all.” All of the sudden, as if a great weight had descended upon him, he hunched lower. “There is so much I need to reveal to you—so very, very much. But I worry. I worry if now is the time. If you would still wish to be near me if you knew. If you would not run away and hide from me.”

“Such intrigue! Why are you speaking in riddles? Why not come out and say what you need to?”

“Because I am afraid to lose you.”

She shook her head, finding his hand again and clasping it. “I am going nowhere. I promise you, this. I have shared with you my biggest, deepest secret, the one thing no one knew; it is time to trust me with yours.” She leant forward and kissed his worried mouth. “We are friends, are we not? I promise, whatever it is you reveal, I will not abandon you. I cannot. For I have shared with you all that I am—all that I know. It is yours to safeguard for eternity. John, what more could there be? What more horrors can we face than my past? If you are still here after listening to such a worthless soul as mine—then I am no friend of yours if I do not stay and listen to your suffering heart.” She smiled. “We are the same, you and I, and we will battle through this together.”

John wrapped her up in his arms and kissed her once again. An urgent, passionate kiss as if he were a man afraid to lose what precious thing he held in his arms and so therefore proving to himself and the world she still existed. When he released her, he looked more haggard and troubled than she had ever seen him before.

She whispered, “What? What can it be? What could be so awful as to put such lines and worry upon your brow? My dearest John, please—please allow me to shoulder this burden with you.”

Abruptly, he climbed to his feet and began to pace in front of her. His hands shaking and going every which way—to his hips, to his hair, to his face—as if they had no idea where to settle. “Eleanoria Woodston,” he began as he turned his back to her. “I do not know what to say to you. I do not know how to control the emotions of these past twenty-four hours within me. There is so much inner turmoil at the moment, I find myself completely at a loss.” He spun around and looked directly at her. “I beg of you to have patience with me—open your heart to the compassion I know that is there within it, and loan some my way. For I have much to reveal, things I have not fully come to terms with myself. And I have no one to turn to but you.” He glanced out toward the tree nearest. “My soul yearns to explode and share with you everything—every last bit. And yet, my mind is terrified to do so. I am torn on where to begin, how to speak this all properly—how best to communicate to you all that must be revealed without you becoming alarmed and leaving me.”

Slowly, she stood and walked up to his side. So lost in his thoughts, she could tell he did not see that she had moved, until he glanced down as she placed first one hand around his waist and then the other. Pressing her face against his strong chest, she held him to her. Giving him the strength and calmness he needed to silence his anxiety and inward struggle and ramblings. There was not much to offer him but tranquility and peace—and so she did, in droves—waves upon soothing waves she sent toward him from herself.

As her hands clung to his back, she could hear his racing heart begin to slow with each breath.

He wrapped his arms around her and murmured, “Thank you. Thank you.”

“When you are ready, you may tell me what has happened. Until then, do not worry yourself over such things. I am sorry if I pressed you. It does not matter, in the end it does not matter at all.”

“You did not press me, Ella. I have wanted to tell you what is on my heart for some time. But, as I have said before, I do not know how to express myself as well as others do.”

“No matter.” She pressed a kiss upon his chest. “You will tell me eventually.”

He heaved a sigh and tightened his hold. For several minutes they stood there in the garden clasping one another and breathing, enjoying, being.

When he took another deep breath, his hands stilling from the soft circles they were creating upon her back, she knew he would begin to tell her. However, Ella had not prepared herself to hear—

“My father died this morning. He was taken quite ill last night—my mother is so distraught. And I am at a loss as to what to do. I do not know how to go on without him.” She gasped as he clasped her tighter, and then slowly each word coming out in completed pauses, a breath between every one, he revealed, “My. Father. Was. The. King.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

ELLA’S WHOLE BODY WENT numb, her arms slackened their hold. “I beg your pardon, what did you say?”

“I am Prince Anthony. I am not John, the outrider to the Lord Gavenston. I am the duke’s cousin and best friend—but even he—even he did not know my father was ill. No one did.”

She would have pulled away, but his arms tightened upon her. So many voices and memories flew at her at once. She could not think properly. She could not fully process what he had said. He could not be Prince Anthony. He could not be! No.

“Please, do not leave me. Please, do not pull away. Allow me to hold you until the realization of all that I have revealed settles into your heart.”

She snuggled in closer, pulling her arms around to tuck against his chest. “Why did you not tell me?”

“I wanted you to trust me—to come to know me as a person before you were made aware of the fact I was royalty. I knew how you felt about the people of the court.”

“And this is how you came by my invitation to the ball so readily?”

“I—yes. It is my connection to the queen—my mother. I simply just asked her to write one out and she did.”

Ella took a deep breath. “Your mother is the queen?”

“Yes.”

“Your father the king?”

“Yes.”

“You—you, the man holding me at this moment, are Prince Anthony.”

“Yes.”

“But I remember you. You are John! You have always been John—the boy whose horse Sunshine beat every year.”

“The boy who would sneak out of the castle with his cousin, and pretend to be villagers so he could race against the only horse worthy enough to challenge him.”

“Every year?”

“Every single year, yes. It was me. It was always me.”

“I was soundly winning and outracing the prince, this whole time—it was Prince Anthony.”

“Yes.”

She bumped her head against his chest. “Why did you not tell me? Why keep something like this under lock and key for so very long?”

“Ella,” he said gently, “as a boy, I would have been whipped if anyone knew. As an adult—you were dressed as a servant. It was not right. I had no notion of why Lord Dashlund’s daughter would be dressed so, which is why I pretended to be John a bit longer to solve the great mystery you have finally revealed to me.”