The Ugly Stepsister (Unfinished Fairy Tales Book 1) (9 page)

He stares at me for a long moment, as though he can’t believe me. I can’t blame him. From the way Bianca and Claire and the other girls talk about him, he must have been used to girls fawning over him ever since his birth. For good reason. Heck, my anger’s crumbling as he looks at me with those golden-brown eyes of his.

“Sometimes I like to accompany Henry when he visits Dr. Jensen,” he explains. “I dress as a citizen because I’d rather not be recognized. Much less of a fuss. Besides, if people do not know who I am, they will be more willing to talk. Which is more beneficial if I am to become their king one day.” He pauses, and clears his throat. “In fact, I am surprised that you are the earl’s daughter. The dress you wore certainly was much plainer compared to the one you have on now.”

He rakes a gaze on me from top to toe, quickly, but I swear his eyes linger on my bare shoulders longer than necessary.

“I’m not used to fashionable clothes,” I mutter. “This gown is beautiful, but try wearing it all day. It’s a miracle I haven’t fainted.”

“Which is why you took off your shoes.”

“Oh! Um...yeah.” I sit down on the bench again. “I should be returning to the buffet. I only came out for a bit of fresh air.”

“So did I.” He smiles, and I quickly focus my attention my feet.
Focus, Kat.
Don’t be swayed by his incredible good looks
.

To avoid further embarrassment, I decide to return to the buffet. Lady Bradshaw will be suspicious if I disappear for too long. I hike up my skirts just a little above the ankles. Weird, I know. I’m used to wearing shorts—summer heat drives me crazy—but in front of him, I’m not comfortable showing my legs. Geez. Only a few weeks in this world; I’m adapting fast.

“Your feet,” he says, looking pointedly at my big toe. “They’re bleeding.”

Dude, I’ve been walking for hours in these heels, thanks to your ridiculously enormous castle. But I just roll my eyes and say, “Of course. You try walking in these heels from the entrance to the castle, standing for hours waiting for the presentation, and see if your feet don’t blister.”

He kneels before me and cups my foot. A tingle shoots up my body, right from my toe to my head.

“Hey!” I try to snatch my foot back, but he holds on.

“I may not have undergone medical training like Henry,” he says gently, “but I can treat a minor wound. If you keep walking around with those blisters, you’ll hurt yourself worse.”

Then he takes off the white cravat he’s wearing and unravels it, so in its original shape it’s a long strip of silk, not unlike a bandage. Then, with his sword, he cuts it in half.

I cannot believe this. The prince is treating my blistered feet with his own clothes. Not really sure if a cravat counts, I suppose it’s more like an ornament, but still. I’m turned into a statue—I just sit there while he winds the silk deftly over my toes and then round my heel, finishing with a snug knot around my ankle.

“With the extra layers, the slippers will be tighter,” he says, “but at least the blisters won’t become worse. There, try them on.”

Face burning, I insert my foot in the glittering slipper. He’s right—it’s definitely a tight fit, but I’m not rubbing my raw wounds against the shoe. The silk is soft and smooth, better than any bandage.

“Thank you,” I say. Then, remembering this is a monarchy, I add, “Your Highness.”

He straightens up. “I am glad to be of service, lady. Shall I accompany you back to the buffet?”

“Please don’t,” I quickly say. He looks hurt; I wish I hadn’t spoken so fast. “The girls in there will kill me if I’m seen with you.”

He grimaces, but nods. “As you wish.”

I don’t trust myself to curtsy prettily, so I bow my head. “Then I’ll just, um, go. Thanks again, Your Highness.”

The prince smiles—a smile that should be banned for making a girl’s knees go weak.

“You’re very welcome, Miss Katriona.”

To my surprise, Lady Bradshaw does not lash out at me when we get back home.

“The queen seemed quite accommodating when I suggested the ball,” she says, smirking. “She says it is an excellent suggestion and that she will discuss it with the king. I wouldn’t be surprised if they make the announcement before the Season is over.”

My heart leaps. Finally, one of my goals is going according to plan.

“And to imagine that the prince actually accompanied his mother in the presentation!” Lady Bradshaw brandishes her bread stick in the air before dipping it into her soup bowl. “Bianca, dear, how right I was to insist on that décolletage! He cannot have missed the view when you curtsied.”

Décolletage? I guess she means that Bianca showed a lot of cleavage.

“True, but Claire’s also wearing the same fashion. It is possible he may prefer her assets over mine.” Bianca tosses her head, but a blush spreads across her neck to her face. “It is rather surprising, though, that the prince should choose to attend the presentation. I am certain that he was absent when Harriet presented.”

“That was two years ago,” Lady Bradshaw says. “Perhaps he has finally come to his senses. Twenty-one is a great difference from nineteen. Most young men are married before they are twenty-five. I should not be surprised if his parents have convinced him to stop dilly-dallying.”

“I hope that Katriona’s misfortune will not reflect badly on me,” Bianca says as though I were not at the table. “It is no minor feat competing with Claire and the other girls. If this ball will be held, I shall endeavor in every way possible to outshine the others.”

I shall endeavor in every way possible to make Elle outshine you
, I want to say. Instead, I pretend like I haven’t heard her.

Lady Bradshaw looks thoughtful.

“Truly there is no guarantee that the prince will favor you over the others, but your opportunity is greater than the other young ladies’. Lady Eckhart informs me that her eldest son is quite wild over you, and she insists that we dine with them next week.”

Bianca shrugs and reaches for another bread stick. “Why settle for a star when there is the sun?”

Lady Bradshaw smiles—a slow, calculating smile. “Very well. We shall strive to increase the chance of your being selected when the time comes. It is preferable to attract his attention before the ball, but there’s no telling which events he will participate in. One appearance at the presentation is insufficient.”

“Perhaps,” Bianca taps her fingers on the table, “perhaps it is worth trying to find a servant in the palace who could supply us with the prince’s schedule. Or we could try getting further acquainted with Duke Henry. He is, at least, easier to find, as he still attends science lectures in the royal institute.”

Damn. Now I have more stuff to worry about. Apart from finding the godmother and lady lessons, I now have to prevent Bianca from getting the prince. That might not be impossible, but I also have to prevent everyone else from getting the prince. And with the Season opening, there’ll be plenty of chances.

For a second, an image of the prince flashes in my mind. When he knelt before me and bandaged my foot, when he bowed and smiled...

“Ow!”

I’ve reached for the teapot and my fingers brushed against the pot instead of the handle. This time, both Lady Bradshaw and Bianca are too deep in scheming to admonish my klutziness.

I’ve only seen the prince twice and already I’m behaving like a lovesick fangirl. God knows what I can do when there are hundreds—no, thousands—falling for him. How am I to cut down the competition for Elle? One Bianca is enough of a headache to worry about.

Elle does not come to my room until late after dinner. Since Martha is busy clearing the dishes and washing the pots, I try my best to undress myself. First I kick off those damn high heels, hoping never to wear them again. I pull the pins out of my hair and drop them into my jewelry box, hearing them clink against the smooth, polished wood.

Then comes the hard part. I reach behind and try to unlace myself, but Elle somehow did the tie so elaborately, so complicatedly that I end up lacing myself even tighter. If I keep trying, I could suffocate myself. I wait, but soon I grow frustrated and grumpy, because my dress is so big that it’s difficult to move about the room without bumping into the dresser or the bed. I’m feeling tempted to take up a pair of scissors and slash the ribbons when Elle enters.

“Miss Katriona!” She rushes toward me. “I am so sorry that I didn’t return earlier. Here, let me to assist you.”

With her deft, capable hands, she loosens the laces in a few seconds, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I can literally feel my lungs re-inflating.

“Did it take a long time with Bianca?” I ask.

She nods. “Still, I should have come back earlier. I went to Mamsie’s today.”

“How is she? Better, I hope?” I say eagerly.

“She hasn’t coughed that much, and she didn’t throw up at all.” Elle is beaming. “It is real kind of you, miss, to ask after her.”

I don’t tell her the real reason I’m concerned about her mother’s health is because I need to ask Mrs. Thatcher if Elle has a godmother.

“And that’s not the only good news.” Elle helps me step out of my dress. She removes the crinoline, thank God. “Mr. Henry found Billy a job at a bookstore. All he has to do is dust the shelves, fill the ink pots, and run some simple errands.”

“That sounds great.” I can still remember Billy’s hands, covered with scars and scratches, his shoes ragged and torn. “We are lucky that we ran into the duke and the pri—I mean, his friend.”

Elle nods. “Mr. Henry is the kindest man I’ve ever met.” She blushes and quickly holds out my nightgown. “By the way, how was your presentation? Did it go well?”

“It sucked. I mean, um, not really.”

Her eyes widen. “Was the queen displeased?”

“She pointed at me and laughed her head off.”

“What!” Then Elle pauses and shakes her head. “You’re making fun of me, miss.”

I grin. “Well, she could be laughing in her mind. Anyway, Mother isn’t happy. I tripped and fell when walking backward.” I sigh. All those expensive lessons for nothing.

Elle’s hand flies to her mouth. “You tripped? Poor Miss Katriona, that must have been awful! Were you injured?” She gestures to my feet. “Did you twist your ankle?”

“I’m fine. The slippers were giving me blisters, that’s all.”

Elle insists on bringing me some cold cream. I give in, since my feet are starting to stink.

When Elle unravels the cravat around my foot, she frowns. “This is no common bandage; it’s too fine.” She holds up the soiled piece of silk and gives me a rather shrewd, probing look. “A gentleman’s cravat used as a bandage. Do you have an admirer, miss?”

“Oh that.” I try not to make it a big deal. “Just some guy—some man I met at the palace. The shoes were killing me, so he offered to help.”

Elle nods slightly, though she still has this thoughtful expression on. But I wasn’t really lying. I just didn’t say that the guy was Prince Edward.

“That was very nice of him.” She folds the cravat neatly into a square. “Which lord is it? Once I wash this thoroughly, we had better return it to him.”

“I—I forgot to ask his name,” I say lamely. “Seriously, I don’t think he’ll mind. I’m sure he has loads of cravats around; he can do without this one.” I simply cannot return it to him in person. First, I have no idea how I can meet him when no one can predict when he pops up; second, I’ve no idea how I can return the cravat to him in private. Actually, I’d really prefer that we didn’t meet again.

TEN

“The chief object of the Season,” Lady Bradshaw says, “is to find a husband.”

A huge lump of sugar slips from my tongs and falls into my cup. Hot tea splashes out and brown stains appear on the tablecloth. Bianca shoots me a look of disgust. We’re having afternoon tea with just the three of us after three days of incessant parties, and I’m super thankful for a break.

“Perhaps the notion is not fully bred into your mind yet,” Lady Bradshaw continues icily. “But it is imperative that you procure a suitable partner, preferably before the Season is over. It is widely considered a failure for a young lady, if she does not receive a marriage proposal within three seasons.”

Three seasons. As most girls presented are seventeen or eighteen in Athelia, one can be called a failure when she is unmarried at twenty-one. By this definition, most Hollywood actresses would be considered fossils.

“And,” Lady Bradshaw lowers her voice, signifying the end of the world is to come, “if you are still unattached when you reach thirty, you are doomed to spinsterhood.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Mom is nearly forty, but she never lacks for dates. She was actually going steady with this lawyer from Chicago who drove up to Oakleigh every weekend, but she later dropped him when she discovered he wasn’t really divorced.

Okay Kat, remember this is a different world.

“And getting engaged is becoming more difficult these days,” Bianca says, inspecting a fingernail. “Claire says many men are purposefully delaying marriage, especially the younger sons, who prefer to establish their own career before settling down.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about you, dear. You already have enough beaux. With the number of invitations you’re getting, it’s becoming more of a nuisance than flattering.” Lady Bradshaw puts down her teacup and looks at me with a long, piercing look. “But you, young lady, had better make an effort. Ever since that…that disaster at court, your chances of attracting a husband—which are already low—are further diminishing.”

Whatever. I’ll be returning to the modern world as soon as I can, and the last thing I want is to fall for some dreamy Mr. Darcy-ish guy here in Story World.

Still, even though I feel zero pressure to spouse-hunt, the Season is tough enough, not to mention damned exhausting.

Back in school, there’s this girl who’s desperate to join the in-crowd and always complaining about her super-strict parents enforcing a super-strict curfew, (six o’clock…okay, I admit that is pretty harsh) but now I can tell her it really isn’t that exciting. I’m living the life of the beautiful and popular—I’m doing nothing but partying all day. And I hate it.