Rapunzelle: an Everland Ever After Tale (10 page)

And then she was laughing, and he was digging his toes into the grass beside hers, and he had to admit that it felt remarkably good. Remarkably freeing.

She plopped down beside him, leaning back on her elbows, staring up at the canopy of leaves above them. “You’ve really never tried this?”

“Not since I was a boy. It wasn’t proper.”

One of her husky chuckles. “No, it probably isn’t. Not for me, so definitely not for a duke, right?”

“Correct. But back home, with the horses…things were different.”

She fell back on the ground, stacking one hand behind her head, her knees still bent so that she could touch the grass with her bare feet. “Tell me about it, please? About your home?”

He looked down at her, so relaxed and at ease here among this perfect little secluded bower, and realized that he would tell her anything she asked. So he settled his weight on his hands, and began. “My grandfather was made
Knez
at a time when the Tsar was handing out titles just for passing him a handkerchief. In our defense,
Dedushka
was a brilliant horseman, and put that talent to good use, breeding and training the best animals for the Tsar and his court. My father followed him, and we had a large holding where we became famous for our horseflesh.”

“Had? As in, you no longer have?”

So he told her about the Tsar’s Emancipation of 1861, and how the serfs had been cut off from their ancestral lands. “The family business began to fail, with fewer and fewer serfs to work the land.”

“President Lincoln freed the slaves here in America, around the same time.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t the same.” A not-at-all-lady-like snort. “Well, not quite the same, anyway.” Another. “Fine. Perhaps they were. But they were…” He took a deep breath. “They were our way of life; we relied on them as they relied on us. When the Tsar cut them off—freed them or whatever—many moved to what used to be Poland. We had to begin to sell off the horses, and not for the profits we’d been used to.”

She asked him more questions—insightful, probing questions—and he found himself telling her all about the changes his father had to make, and the way their horse program had been whittled down to a fraction it once was. About the way the sudden loss of power and prestige had weakened the nobility, just as the Tsar had planned, and changed
Otets
forever. About the simple days of his childhood, working with his father and the horses and Old Ivan, laughing at the idea that he’d one day be in charge of everything.

“And your mother?”

“
Mama
was English, but she moved to
Rossiya
when they married.
Otets
told me that it took a while for her to get used to the idea of serfs, since Britain had abolished serfdom centuries before, but that she came to enjoy the privileges and wealth. She died when I was eight, before the Emancipation.” But after she’d had the chance to become godmother to her childhood best friend’s baby daughter. Dmitri remembered that trip, the itchy collar he’d been forced to wear for the baptism, and the way his father had cooed over the tiny squalling infant. He remembered
Otets
crying again, when he’d received the sympathy letter from the baby’s mother after
Mama’s
death, and then again when he heard about the little girl’s disappearance. That guilt—the feeling that he’d failed his beloved wife’s memory by not being able to protect her goddaughter—had haunted Vasili Volkov until his death.

“Is that why you speak English so well?” He’d been so caught up in his memories of
Otets
’ grief that it took him a moment to think about what had been said last.
Ah, yes. Mama
.

“Partially. She was the second daughter of an Earl, a lady in her own right. Which is why she was matched so well with
Otets
, I suppose. When they were married, her only stipulation was that any sons be sent back to England for upper education. Since I was their only child,
Otets
sent me off after I was presented in St. Petersburg.”

More questions, more reminiscing. He told her funny stories of his years in school, of trying to learn English as fast as possible. They laughed about the intricacies of the language, and he even taught her some Russian. That led to questions about Everland, and the people, and she told him all about her friends and her parents’ medical practices. If he hadn’t admired her family before, he did after he heard how “Doctor” Carpenter had never been to medical school, but his wife had, and they helped people from all over. They’d both come from back East—she didn’t know where, exactly, but knew that her mother had been to Female Medical College of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia, and had once heard her father speak about New York City as if he’d been there—but had moved to Everland when Zelle was a little girl, intent on practicing medicine.

She showed him how to skip stones, standing ankle-deep in the cool lake, and he described—at her urging—what it felt like to control a powerful horse using only the muscles in his knees. She reminisced about climbing trees and picking berries with her best friend Briar, and he told her about the places in Russia where there was always snow on the grounds, and mountains so high that the tops were lost in clouds. They laughed and joked and if he hadn’t been half in love with her before, that afternoon guaranteed it.

She was magnificent.

The sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky when Zelle’s stomach rumbled. Since he’d been feeling empty for the last half-hour or so, he had to laugh with her at the sound, knowing that they’d have to head home soon. He wasn’t ready for the afternoon to be over, but he was suddenly ravenous for a meal of steak and potatoes from Spratt’s Eatery.

But not as ravenous as he was for something else.

As nonchalantly as he could, Dmitri lowered himself to his elbows beside her. She was again lying on the grass, her knees bent and her arms stacked behind her head. She looked thoroughly at ease, and ready to be kissed. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part.

But as he tried to come up with a way to bring up the topic again, she surprised him. Of course, he was coming to realize that he shouldn’t be surprised by anything she did anymore, but it still caught him off guard when she rolled up on one elbow, placed a hand in the center of his chest, and pushed his shoulders down against the grass.

“Zelle…?”

“Dmitri, something occurs to me.”

He liked the mischievous look in her green eyes, and smiled up into them. “Please, enlighten me.”

“Well, I kissed you that first time, without warning you. And you kissed me earlier this afternoon, without warning me. It occurs to me that we should try it, where neither of us is surprised, and we’re both in agreement.”

“In agreement that we want to kiss?” She was leaning downward, and he slowly snaked his arm between the ground and her waist, happy to be able to hold her.

“Yes.” The twinkle in her eyes belied her serious expression. “It’s only fair, after all.”

“I agree,” he murmured.

“You agree that we should agree, or you agree that we should kiss?”

“That one.” And then he squeezed, and she fell against him, and his lips were on hers. It was a gloriously improper, wildly free, completely exuberant kiss, and Dmitri smiled against her lips. She made him even warmer than the Wyoming summer sun, made his heart beat faster than a ride on one of his prize geldings.

There, on the ground beneath that tree, beside the incongruous lake, he realized that were it not for his horses, for his father’s dreams and his grandfather’s legacy, he would stay here in this increasingly appealing American town. He would court Zelle Carpenter, and enjoy watching her pleasure at each new experience. He would taste her lips every day, and thank God for the chance.

He loved her. And in that moment, he knew that he loved her enough to stay. Loved her enough to
find
a way to stay.

And after, when they stole kisses as they pulled their shoes back on, and walked hand-in-hand back towards the town; when he kissed her once more at the back door of the Van Winkle Inn; as he watched her wave and then twirl in an excited circle and hug herself before running towards her house, he was sure of it. All he had to do, now, was figure out how to court her, and he would. Zelle Carpenter was the most refreshing, most invigorating woman he’d ever met, and he wanted her in his life.

He needed to speak to Max DeVille.

Fall in love.

That’s what Helga had told her to do. Go fall in love. Have an adventure with Dmitri.

And when she’d climbed out of that window, the strange lady holding the ladder and beaming down at her, that’s what she’d been planning on doing. She’d been off to have an adventure with Dmitri…she hadn’t thought about falling in love with him, but maybe another kiss…

Was it possible for her entire life to change in the space of one afternoon? Yesterday at lunchtime she’d just been desperate to find a way out of the house, to be able to show Dmitri the Lake. She’d worried about her parents’ feelings, and wondered if it would be worth it.

But then some woman claiming to be her
Godmother
had shown up and offered her the way, and Zelle had spent the afternoon in his arms, in his heart, and now… Now she didn’t know what she wanted any more.

No, that wasn’t true. She wanted him. Wanted Dmitri.
Forever
. And gosh, wasn’t that interesting? Zelle hugged herself, and spun in place once, the stone walls of her garden blurring around her. Mother thought she was out here weeding, but this was the best place in the house to pace, to think, because no one could hear her floorboards creak, if she was stomping around barefoot in the garden.

Yesterday afternoon, she’d fallen in love with a Russian duke. Prince. Whatever. Oh, there wasn’t any doubt about it; she’d followed Helga’s advice and gone and fallen in love with him. His charm, his grace, the way he saw the real
her
and seemed to like her. She’d fallen in love with the way he made her feel when he touched her, when he kissed her. She’d fallen in love with his gorgeous voice, and the way he could look so stiffly proper one minute, and so relaxed and unpretentious the next.

She’d fallen in love with
him
.

Oh dear. Zelle began to pace again, enjoying the freedom to kick her skirt out of the way as her feet slammed down against the cobblestone path. Six strides to the gate, six strides to the thyme, and back again. She chewed on her bottom lip and crossed her arms in front of her breasts. She’d fallen in love with him, and he was a
duke
for heaven’s sakes. Half of yesterday’s conversation had been telling her about his ancestral home, and how much it had meant to his family, and tradition and heritage and blah blah blah. He’d been to London, had gone stepping out with some of the decade’s more refined young ladies. Girls in Nowhere, Wyoming did
not
fall in love with Russian dukes and live Happily Ever After.

No matter what crazy ladies masquerading as Godmothers had to say about things.

“
Uuugh!
” It felt good to let out some of her frustration, so she stomped a foot for good measure, and tried to ignore the sting when her bare foot slapped against the stone. Stupid stone. Stupid self, for falling in love with a man she couldn’t have.

“Is everything alright in here?” Briar poked her head around the gate, one brow lifted in curiosity.

Sighing, Zelle gestured for her friend to come into the garden. “I’m fine. Just stupid.”

“Ahh, nothing new, then.” Briar grinned cheekily as she slipped into the garden.

Zelle stuck out her tongue and plopped down on the stone bench, the one big enough for two. The one that she’d probably never sit on with Dmitri.

“Look what I brought you.” Briar was holding a little white box, tied up with a string. Zelle knew what that box contained, because she’d helped her friend convince Ian Crowne to order some for confectionaries. Briar’s sweets could drag
anyone
out of a mope.

Eagerly, Zelle reached for the box, and scrabbled at the string. Sure enough, Briar had baked a batch of chocolate eclairs, Zelle’s favorite, and the blonde girl wasted no time in shoving one almost-whole into her mouth. Her eyes nearly closed in bliss at the way the flavors exploded on her tongue, and she made an involuntary little hum of approval.
Goodness
, they were delicious.

Briar chuckled, and settled herself on the bench as well. “I thought you might like them. My parents left me alone for a few hours, so you know what that means.”

Zelle sighed in pleasure. “Chocolate eclairs!”

The Jorgensens didn’t exactly disapprove of their only daughter’s baking ability, but they thought that it should only make an appearance for special holidays or church socials. Briar, on the other hand, dreamed of opening a confectionary shop one day, where
everyone
could enjoy her talents. Her parents thought that she should be focused on finding a husband to help on their large farm, and therefore disapproved of any skills that didn’t involve tending corn or keeping house. As a result, Briar only baked—or whipped, or mixed or chopped—when her parents weren’t around, and then promptly delivered the delicious fruits of her labors to her friends in town.

One day, Zelle knew that people would line up to
pay
her best friend for these treats. But for now, she was glad to “taste-test” them—as Briar said—whenever necessary. She licked her fingers delicately, and then took a much more refined bite of the second éclair. “These are amazing, as always.”

“Yep.” Briar had probably eaten half the batch herself. The two girls adored chocolate in equal amounts. “I made them for you.”

“For
me?”

“I figured it was the only way I could sweeten you up enough for you to tell me what happened yesterday.” She nudged Zelle, who tried to hide her blush by popping the rest of the éclair into her mouth. “I know it was something important; you’re brighter than my strawberry filling. So spill.”

“Mmmm-mmhmm-hm.”

“That’s alright, I’ll wait until you’re done chewing.”

Zelle snorted, trying not to laugh with a full mouth, but made short work of swallowing the treat. “I had a nice day.”

“A
nice
day? That was it? Did you go see Dmitri?”

“Fine. It was lovely.” After she’d returned home, and climbed up the ladder, Helga had taken one look at her and began to giggle. The rotund woman hadn’t said a word, but had continued giggling while she climbed out the window in her hoops, collected the ladder on her shoulder, and disappeared around the next building. Zelle couldn’t decide if “Happy” had been giggling at her, or
for
her. But either way, and despite its rather odd ending, the day had been lovely.

“
Lovely
? Oh, honey, I’m going to need more details than
that
! Have another éclair and tell me everything.”

Zelle never could keep a secret from her friend—and she
did
have chocolate. So she told Briar all about sneaking out—she glossed over the
hows
, because she still wasn’t sure who Helga had been—and meeting Dmitri. She told about the afternoon and the conversations and the way he made her
feel
, when he spoke to her as an equal, and respected her opinion, and seemed to understand the real Zelle Carpenter. And then she told all about his kisses, and how
they
made her feel, until Briar was pink with envy and they were both giggling.

“You
kissed
a duke, Zelle! Or is he a prince?”

“Dmitri says that the title means about the same thing. There are many ‘princes’ in his country, which is why, in England, the title was considered similar to ‘duke’.”

“Well,
I’m
calling him a prince, since it sounds more romantic. You kissed him! Do you love him?”

Leave it to Briar to be so direct. “I…I don’t…” Zelle sighed. “Yes. I know it’s silly, to fall in love with someone so quickly, but… He sees
me
. Who would’ve thought that a man like him could show up someplace like
this
, and be the first one to really understand me in…ever?”

“And it doesn’t hurt that he’s to-die-for handsome, either, does it?”

Zelle rolled her eyes at her friend’s smirk, and ignored the jabby elbow again. “I guess not, no.”

“
And
a good kisser, hmmmm?”

“Why do you keep nudging me? Just say what you mean!”

“I mean, Zelle, that he’s handsome, and special, and he kissed you beside Lake Enchantment. Obviously you’re going to fall in love with him.”

“You think that this is just some silly infatuation, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“…In so many words, no. But you’re thinking it.”

Briar put one arm around Zelle, and the slimmer girl laid her cheek against the offered shoulder. “I am not. I’m thinking that you’ve been trapped by your wonderful, over-protective parents for far too long, and it’s about time that you got out and got to experience love. Your first love.”

“He’s a duke, Briar.” Zelle heard the desolation in her own voice.

“And you think that he couldn’t love you in return?”

“He has responsibilities back home. Russian dukes do not stay in dusty Wyoming towns, no matter how nice the kissing is. He’s going to go home to his horses.”

Briar kissed her forehead. “Well, then, what are you going to do about it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You love him, and you’re not sure how he feels about you, is that it?”

Zelle sighed. “It’s probably for the best. Maybe this
is
just an infatuation.”

“Do you really think that?”

There, in the garden, Zelle considered. Considered the way she’d been treated her entire life. Considered the way the men of Everland thought of her. Considered how the people around her—everyone except Briar—saw her as someone who needed protecting. Considered how it had taken a foreigner to see her as she really was; for the first time in her entire life, someone who understood her well enough to be willing to remove his shoes and relax in the grass, despite his fine clothes and finer attitude.

“No.” No, this wasn’t an infatuation. Briar had called it her
first love
, but Zelle knew that it would be her only. No man would ever understand her as well as Dmitri did.

“Then do something. Fight for him.”

Zelle snorted. “Like what? Run away together? I couldn’t do that to Mother and Papa.”

“Well, I was thinking of something not quite that level of drastic. Like, inviting him to dinner, maybe.”

Leave it to Briar to make her chuckle when Zelle’s heart felt so heavy. “My parents have forbidden me to see him, remember? They think he’s bad news.”

Briar leaned away, forcing Zelle to sit up and look at her best friend. “I think that you need to figure out how Dmitri feels about
you
. You’ve fallen in love with him, but has he fallen in love with you?” Her friend’s words set the pit opening in Zelle’s stomach all over again. What if this was all just…just
fun
to him? What if he didn’t feel nearly the same way about her as she did about him?

Zelle didn’t know how to respond, and Briar seemed to understand. She squeezed the slimmer girl’s shoulders, as if trying to make her understand. “The only way to figure that out is to spend more time with him, right? And the only way for
that
to happen is to convince your parents to let you.”

“But they—“

“They might, if you invited him to dinner, and made them all sit down together. After all, if you love him, he’s a good man, right?”

“Right.” Even now, confused about so many things, Zelle knew that. Knew that Dmitri was a good man, empirically.

“So make them see that. They’ll see the way you feel about him, and they
will
see that. And then they’ll let you spend more time together, and you’ll be able to find out his feelings.”

Her friend’s words sent an odd sort of lightness through Zelle. It took a moment to realize why. Optimism. She was, for the first time today, optimistic about something. She could invite Dmitri to dinner, and he’d impress her parents with his manners and his attention and his utter wonderfulness, and they’d understand why she wasn’t going to stay away from him. She loved him, and she wanted to see him as often as possible.