The Ugly Stepsister (Unfinished Fairy Tales Book 1) (7 page)

“Where did you find the bottles?” Darcy Guy asks.

“By the river,” Billy grins proudly. “Usually I can’t find anything but a few scraps. Today I’m bringing in more than Jimmy does.”

I catch my breath. “You don’t go to school, do you?”

Billy shakes his head.

Elle hurries in with a pan of water. “Here,” she gasps. “Got it from a well.”

Henry takes a small bottle from his briefcase, uncorks it, and lets a few drops mix with the water.

“What’re you doing?” Elle cries, looking alarmed.

“That’s iodine, a kind of chemical,” I say. “He’s purifying the water so it’ll be safe to drink.”

Henry stares at me. I’m not facing Darcy Guy, but I can feel his gaze on me as well.

“How do you know this?” Henry asks, looking confused. “Few educated gentlemen, unless they’re in medical practice, have heard of iodine. To hear of it from a young lady like you is…remarkable.”

Crap. I forgot that in this world, normal people don’t take chemistry.

“I...I read it in a book,” I stammer. “A long time ago, I don’t remember which one.”

The sick woman starts coughing, which arrests everyone’s attention. Henry gives her a dose of medicine from another bottle and pats her back.

“Mamsie...will she be all right?” Elle asks, a tremor in her voice.

“As long as she’s taken good care of, she will be fine,” Henry says. He gives her a warm, encouraging smile. “Make sure she consumes clean water and washes her hands before she eats. Cholera is caused by bacterial infection through water, so you would not want to make things worse. She will recover, but it will take months of close supervision.”

Elle and Billy look at each other—despair is written in their eyes. I wish I could transport them into the modern world. We never have to worry about diseases like this.

“All...all right,” Elle says. “We’ll do our best. How much is that bottle? The thing you use to make water clean?”

“I can...” I begin, but Henry interrupts me. He writes something on a slip of paper and hands it to Elle.

“You may pay in multiple installments. Don’t worry, I won’t charge any interest or set a deadline.”

Elle nods. “Thank you, Mr.—er—”

“Henry,” he says, smiling. “Just Henry will be fine.”

I give myself a mental slap. Of course this is the better way. From the look on her face, Elle isn’t the kind of person who happily accepts charity. She earns a wage, however meager it might be, and prefers not to rely on others.

Still, my heart goes out to her and her family. Little Billy, still clinging to his sister’s skirt with his scarred hands. Elle’s mom, lying on a dirty mattress in a one-room hut. And did Billy mention he has another brother called Jimmy? He can’t be much older if he earns less than Billy collecting glass bottles.

“What kind of imbeciles are running this country?” I can’t help it, the words burst from my lips.

Henry chokes—he seems to be trying not to laugh. I don’t get it. I am totally serious. I’ve seen lots of horrible things happening on the news, but I’ve never witnessed one tragic event personally. Even if this is Story World, it feels real. So real that I want to puke.

Elle tugs on my sleeve and shakes her head, but I’m not done yet.

“Seriously.” I wave my hand at Billy. “A child his age should be in school, but he’s out scavenging glass? Isn’t there any charity that can help him? Isn’t there a law that states children must be educated?”

Silence falls. I am breathing heavily; I expect my face is bloated red and my freckles must stand out horribly. I must look wild and unprincipled and unladylike before these two gorgeous men, but I can’t say I regret it. I’m far from being philanthropic; I don’t volunteer or organize funding campaigns or anything, but I just can’t keep quiet when looking at all those scars on Billy.

Darcy Guy turns toward me with an unreadable expression. I stare back, willing myself not to back down.

“Certainly there is much to improve, lady.” Darcy’s voice is rich, warm, like dark chocolate. “The government has made too many excuses under the pleas for progress, ignoring the sacrifices that go behind the scenes.”

Henry turns to Elle. “With your permission, I shall find a respectable craftsman and see if he can take young Billy here as an apprentice.”

Tears glisten in Elle’s eyes. For a moment, she appears even more beautiful than Bianca, and that’s saying something. “That’ll be lovely, Mr. Henry. Oh, I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

Henry’s ears become pink and he deliberately coughs as he turns back to Elle’s mother.

It is then I remember I came here to inquire after Elle’s ancestry, but seeing her mother sleeping peacefully, I suppose it’ll have to wait. How long have I been here? Do I have time to return before dinner?

“I should be going,” I say. “Elle, stay here and look after your mother.”

Her eyes widen and her lips part slightly. “I couldn’t, miss. You’ve already done so much for me.”

“I’m sure Madam—er—Mother, can do without you for one evening.” I give her a firm nod. “Don’t you worry. Family is more important than a few hours of chores.”

She stares at me for a moment, like I just gave a speech in Russian. Uneasiness creeps into my mind—I guess the old Katriona would have never spoken as I did.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say in my most authoritative voice, and turn away before Elle can further protest. I nod toward Henry and Darcy Guy. Maybe I should have curtsied, as Pierre had taught me that is the proper way of greeting a man, but I don’t trust myself with my poor sense of balance.

I move toward the door and beckon to Van. When I prepare to climb into the hansom, someone calls me.

“Lady.”

The dark chocolate voice. Darcy Guy approaches me, his gaze fixed firmly on my face.

“May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

My heart’s pounding in my ears. The man before me may be dressed in period clothing, but he’s hotter than any man I’ve ever seen, whether in real life or on the silver screen.

“Er...” I squeak. After my outburst earlier, I’m now reverted to wimpy-girl-mode. “Kat. Katriona Bradshaw.”

“The Bradshaws? Are you, by any chance, the daughter of the late Earl Bradshaw?”

“Stepdaughter,” I clarify.

“The girl with you is your servant?”

I nod.

“Do you usually accompany your servants and visit their families?”

Um, not true, but I can’t tell him the reason I’m visiting Elle’s family is because I need to ask about her godmother.

“Sorry, but I must leave now. I...I have further duties at home.”

“Then pardon my indulgence in delaying you.” He recedes a step, but I’m sure his gaze is still on my back as I climb into the hansom. My right foot slips, but I manage to grab the side and hoist myself up, throwing my weight against the back of the seat. I don’t look back; I must look horribly clumsy and stupid.

Soon I am on the way home. Once the hansom reaches the main bustling streets, a tingle of excitement shoots up my spine. I’m sorry for Elle and her mother and regret I haven’t been able to get more information about Elle’s ancestry, but I suspect were it not for me, Elle’s mother would have been much worse. And I have met two hot guys. Well, Henry isn’t exactly hot—he’s more like this boy-next-door type, but Darcy Guy more than makes up for the rest.

Geez, even thinking about him makes me want to fan myself.

Okay, Kat. This is
Story World
, for heaven’s sake, so get a grip on yourself. You’ve no business drooling over storybook characters. Remember the mission.

EIGHT

The next day at breakfast, Bianca positively shines. She is wearing a golden pendent shaped like a rose, which accentuates her long, swanlike throat. Possibly one of the many things she got while out shopping. Elle, who is pouring her tea, simply can’t compete. Just compare her chapped, calloused hands to Bianca’s smooth, marble-white fingers. Unless plastic surgery exists, I doubt even the fairy godmother can make the prince fall in love with Elle. Bianca can’t be the only beautiful girl in Athelia. With so many girls around, how is the prince going to notice Elle?

Still, if I want to get back to the real world, I have to try. On my way back from Elle’s, I came up with another plan.

“Mo...Mother,” I begin. “We are to go to the palace next week, aren’t we?”

Lady Bradshaw arches an eyebrow. “And?”

“Well...I’ve been thinking. About the chances of Bianca marrying the prince.”

Bianca chokes on her tea. I can’t help but feel impressed with myself. Score one for making Miss Perfect lose composure.

“The king and queen would rather the prince marry someone of his own station, but he isn’t keen on marrying,” I say, remembering what Bianca said to Poppy. “That means he isn’t interested in the daughters of dukes. How about we persuade the king to make a compromise?”

“But how?” Bianca asks.

“Well, maybe we can convince them to throw a ball for the prince. And put out a notice: every girl in the kingdom, between the ages fifteen to twenty, is invited. The king no longer will insist the prince marry a high-born lady, but on the other hand, the prince must choose a bride.”

Lady Bradshaw’s eyes gleam. “Interesting concept. But will the prince compromise?”

I shrug. I don’t know the prince. I’m just following the story! “If he can’t even find someone among all the eligible ladies in the kingdom, then we’ll know it’s no use trying.”

“Unless,” Lady Bradshaw chews on her lip, “he has a secret lover.”

Bianca snorts. Somehow by holding up a handkerchief over her mouth, she manages to snort in a ladylike manner. “If he does, then he’s hiding it very well. So far, the most time he spends is with that eccentric cousin of his.”

That’s it. He’s gay. Incest! Aaah!

“Katriona’s idea may be worth considering,” Lady Bradshaw says. “I shall try to broach it to the queen in the buffet after the presentation. Allowing the prince to choose his bride will give him a degree of independence, which he must appreciate. And when he is presented with all the eligible ladies in the kingdom, he can no longer excuse himself.”

Bianca finishes her tea. “This suggestion, while novel in conception, may not be entirely unfeasible.”

Okay. Now that Lady Bradshaw approves, I just have to hope that the king and queen will accept the idea.

“Hold still, miss,” Elle says.

I clench my fists and try to breathe normally. The corset made for the presentation isn’t as comfy as the ones I wear daily—actually, I find my corsets are getting tighter. Maybe it’s due to all the desserts I’ve been secretly consuming. Once Elle laces up my back, my lungs feel like they’re squashed together.

I barely recognize myself in the mirror. My hair is piled on top of my head and secured with numerous pins and even a few ostrich feathers—talk about the insanity! But that’s not the end of it; Elle produces a long white veil and pins it to my scalp with all the flowers and feathers.

“‘Tis the latest fashion for being presented in court,” she says. “Olga told me so, when I got Miss Bianca’s new stockings. I’d trust the best dressmaker in town.”

I look down at the dress. White satin draped with double layers of white tulle, embroidered with golden roses and leaves. It’s gorgeous, but the white dress and veil make me feel like getting married.

“How is your mother doing?”

A soft smile spreads over Elle’s face; she looks remarkably pretty. “She’s getting better. Mr. Henry came yesterday, and he showed us how to mix salt and sugar in water, which worked wonders. He says as long as we keep the windows open and the water clean, she’ll gradually recover.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I say.

Elle fastens a ruby pendant around my neck. The ruby rests in the hollow of my throat. It looks nice, but does little to help me feel less naked.

“It’s all your doing, from when you made Mr. Henry come with us that day.” She surveys my reflection and claps her hands. “There. You look lovely, and I wish you luck, miss.”

I eye the detestable train, which trails three yards on the floor. Luck. Yeah, I’ll definitely need it.

Now I know why Lady Bradshaw purchased a new carriage when we already have a hansom. It fairly sparkles in the afternoon sun, the golden trappings gleaming. The coachman, a new, distinguished-looking fellow wearing a smart gray suit, sits on the high seat, which is covered with a new blue cloth stitched with silver threads. Van and another footman stand on a tiny platform at the end of the carriage. Already I can imagine what it’s like to be Cinderella.

As the carriage rolls toward the palace, I close my eyes and take a deep, pacifying breath. It’s the day I am presented to the queen. My head is heavy and uncomfortable, my mind thick and woolly—how many pins and flowers did Elle stick in my hair? Across me, even Bianca looks a bit nervous. She’s looking out the window with her hands clasped together on her lap, her knuckles white. Lady Bradshaw is silent too. Perhaps she’s working on conveying to the queen my suggestion of the ball.

It seems to take forever. Our pace grows slower and slower, until the carriage comes to a halt. I look outside—lots of onlookers are gathered outside, their gazes curious and excited, like we’re part of a Brazilian carnival. It’s embarrassing, really, being a public spectacle.

Then comes a rap on the window—I jump and almost bump my head on the top of the carriage. Thank God I missed it, or all those feathers would be squashed flat.

A funny-looking man with a round red nose is knocking outside. “Eez Madame needing help with her hairstyle?”

Lady Bradshaw opens the door. “That would be much appreciated.”

Bianca brushes past me. The round-nosed man adjusts her veil, tweaks her flowers, and adds some extra pins to secure everything on her head. Then he does the same to me. I yelp when a pin pricks my scalp. The man apologizes but assures me I look beautiful and reminds me not to toss my head, lest I disturb his fine work.

When he disappears, I ask Lady Bradshaw, “Who was that?”