Midnight Falls: A Thrilling Retelling of Cinderella (28 page)

“What are you doing?!” Bethany exclaimed when she saw her mother adjusting the jeweled accessories on Aislinn’s ears and across her neck.

“Bethany,” Isolda said, nervously, “don’t overreact and just listen to me! This is important for all of us. As lovely as you are, it is someone like Aislinn that both the queen and prince prefer. We must cater to their whims even if we may not like it. But you stand to inherit as much as any of us.”

“There are oodles of other stunning gowns to take your pick from, Bethany,” Aislinn remarked without taking her eyes from the mirror that stood before her. “You mustn’t be so devastated.”

I could fight both of them!
Bethany thought to herself.
I could rip my precious tiara from her tiny pinhead and tear that dress to shreds so no one can wear it. Why can’t you just do it? It is not like you can express the equivalent of your wrath with mere words. It is not like you will ever be able to hurt them like they hurt you.

“Take that off this instant or I will rip it from your head along with a fistful of your hair!” Bethany yelled, her fingers clenched.

“Bethany!” Isolda countered, “It is coarseness like that that makes you so undesirable to a man like Prince Leopold.”

“Oh, and you know him so well do you, Mother?” Bethany riposted.

“I know what he wants,” Isolda retorted, defensively. “Grace and respectability.”

“Is that what you call what you were doing in the hallway at your party the other night with Peter? Respectability?!”

Isolda’s eyelids dimmed and for all the rage within Bethany’s breast, it was beginning to find competition with her mother’s fury.

Aislinn’s curiosity was piqued and she looked over to her sister first, then to her mother. “What is she talking about?” Aislinn asked, mortified.

“You listen to me,” Isolda declared, ignoring Aislinn. “I am still your mother. You will not speak to me like that now or ever! I have half a mind to throw you out of the house for your disrespect. I have been tempted to do it for the last twenty years!”

Bethany was too angry to cry, but the heat beneath her skin burned her eyes and they begin to tear up anyway. “For twenty years, really, Mother?” Bethany said, wounded. “So even when I was a baby you could not bear me?”

“Even when you were a baby you liked
her
more,” Isolda replied, now crying herself.

If it weren’t for her hateful words, Bethany might actually have been glad to see her mother showing signs of humanity. “Who?”

“You know damn well
who
.”

“Isabella?” Bethany said, in complete shock. Isolda did not respond.

Aislinn was still completely stunned by what she was witnessing. She did not utter a syllable.

“You know what, Mother?” declared Bethany, determined to have this be the last time she was ever made to entertain the maniacal notion of Ella’s mother being the personification of wickedness. “It’s all yours. All of it. You win. The dress is yours, the tiara, the prince, even the crown. And most of all, you can have your hatred all to yourself. I want nothing more to do with your mad delirium about Ella’s mother. You are just jealous. You were jealous of Isabella and now you are envious of her daughter.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Bethany! Stop it right now!” Isolda spat.

“I am,” Bethany replied coolly. “That is what I am doing right now, in fact. I’m stopping this. As soon as I can, I will find a way to leave this house and your sight forever. I would never want to burden the future royal family of Gwent by bearing any kind of likeness to your mortal enemy, now would I?”

“Bethany, stop!” Aislinn pleaded.

Bethany had never once seen her twin sister so confounded and she did not know what to make of it. “Good luck, Sister,” Bethany said, an all-but-dormant affection for her one and only sibling finding its way into her heart and voice. “Consider the tiara my parting gift to you. If you end up becoming the queen, be a good one.”

Bethany turned, her cheeks flushed with tears, and walked slowly toward the gaping doorway. Even her father, who’d been drawn toward the commotion and stood outside the room discreetly, seemed in a complete daze.

“Bethany! Don’t you dare turn your back on me!” Isolda shrieked. But Bethany was gone. Henry stood motionless in the doorway and stared contemptuously at his wife. Isolda wiped tears from her face and glowered at the man.

After several moments of unbearable, almost combustible silence, Henry turned his gaze toward his daughter. With sincerity but an air of sadness, he spoke to Aislinn for the first time in a very long time. “You look lovely, Daughter.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ella unfolded the thick ball of paper in her hands… again. She’d intended to burn the letter countless times in the last two days but she had never been able to do it. She was not sure why; the words that had been strewn so vehemently across the page many hours before bore no significance any longer. They were words of desperation; a woeful application for freedom that Gabriel would not have been able to grant even if he had wanted to.

Gabriel,

You do not need me any longer. I must part

company with you. Please continue to use

whatever I may provide by way of resources or

use of my home. Be assured that the secret of

your true identity and your intentions are safe with me.

But I can continue no longer.

Good luck to you and may some semblance of

peace find its way into your life.

Sincerely,

Ella

Sitting on her bed with her legs draped over the side, Ella handled the parchment indelicately in her fingertips. Like friction against wood ignited flame, she wondered if perhaps her relentless manipulation of the stationary in her hands would yield the fire that burned it into ash.

Once and for all.

But it was not to be. Ella re-read the letter again and then crinkled the paper. There was a gentle knock at her door.

“Come in,” Ella hollered, tucking the note underneath her pillow. Marion’s face poked out from behind the open door. The woman took one look at Ella and her face lit up. She had never seen anything more breathtaking.

Ella was donning one of her mother’s most spectacular gowns and even Isabella had never borne so stunning an image. She’d purchased it in Paris when Ella was only five years old and the little girl jumped up and down whenever Isabella wore it; from thence, pink was Ella’s favorite color.

And it was the softest shade of pink that ever existed. The fabric was silk with a brocade bodice of silver thread; its light hue made it appear almost angelic. When Ella stood up from her bedside, the long skirt fell down her legs and bounced along the wooden floor playfully. It was gathered only at one side of Ella’s waist and the lack of symmetry paid homage to the sculpted romanticism of the troubled artists of Paris. But even in its untraditional design, Ella was statuesque. From the point at which the fabric gathered at her waist, the bodice was formed by a long, narrow strip of pink silk that wrapped tightly around her waist, spiraling upwards at a slant until it reached her left shoulder; from there, it wrapped twice more, loosely, around her shoulder and upper arm. Ella’s right arm and shoulder remained completely bare. The centerpiece of the ensemble was a dazzling diamond necklace, resting contently on the pale skin of her chest. It was simple but awe-inspiring.

“Oh my goodness,” Marion said, her face lit up brightly, “I cannot believe it. It is like looking into the past and seeing your mother.”

Ella blushed. “Thank you, Marion,” she said. “I have to admit that no matter how averse I am to events like this, it is nice to finally have a reason to wear something so dazzling. I know we are commanded not to covet, but I must confess that gowns like this make me want to forget every moral objection I ever had against materialism!”

“I hear you, love,” Marion said with a chuckle as she scurried forward to meet Ella in the center of the room in front of the tall mirror. “There is nothing like a gorgeous dress to make sinners of us all!”

“Very funny. Where is Marguerite?”

“Downstairs with Louis and Frome. She said she wanted to see you come down the steps, just like a promenade. You know, neither she nor I ever got to do anything like this. We are living vicariously through you.”

Ella smiled and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Per Marguerite’s suggestion, Ella opted to wear her hair up in a loose bun with several tiny diamond and pearl pins strategically placed to hold the thickness of Ella’s curls in place. A few wild ringlets had escaped the coiffure, but she liked the look and did not try to re-pin them.

“You know, it’s strange,” Ella said contemplatively, “that here we are bubbling with excitement about this royal ball when only a few weeks ago, I had no intention of attending it at all.”

“It’s true,” Marion responded. “I have to remind myself that this is all in the name of subterfuge and deception.”

Ella grinned a second time but after holding the expression on her face for only a few seconds, her eyelids began to wilt and her smile twisted in a futile effort to conceal her descent into sadness.

“What is it, child?” Marion asked, trying to follow Ella’s eyes as she dropped her head into her hands. Marion knew, as well as she’d known anything in her life, the reason that her young friend was grieving so. But in her sincerest efforts to comfort Ella, Marion still asked the question
why
; what good would it do spouting off the predictability of Ella’s feelings toward the man she’d been living with for two straight weeks when all the girl really needed was someone to see her situation as exceptional as she did? Predictability was meaningless when it was your first time around at life.

“Gabriel,” Ella said, struggling to maintain some semblance of restraint. “I…I…”

Marion waited, her hand gently placed on Ella’s back. After one more deep breath, Ella finished her declaration.

“I love him.”

Ella released her face from her hands and threw them around Marion’s neck, clutching her friend and mentor so desperately that she feared she might squeeze the life from her aging bones. But Marion did not falter. She had looked after Ella like her own child for some seventeen years and it grieved her immensely that she had no way to ease her suffering.

“Oh my sweet Ella,” Marion said warmly, “I know you love him. But why is that making you weep like this?”

“Because,” Ella replied mournfully, “after tonight, I don’t know if I will ever see him again.”

“What do you mean? Why not?”

“Because once he has accomplished what he set out to do, he will have no more use for me.”

Marion pulled Ella from her body and looked intently at her. “Why do you say that?” Marion asked, sincere and unpredictably curious.

“Why would he have use for me after Thurlow is stopped?” Ella posed. “Gabriel will be free to live as he likes. He will no longer be a fugitive and he won’t need to consort with people like me.”

“And do you think having ‘
use’
for you is the only reason he might want to stick around?”

“It wouldn’t matter either way.”

“Why not?”

“He is broken, Marion. That is why. And my love will not put him back together. I know that now.”

“What about his love?”

Ella’s heart shivered. “What do you mean?” she asked Marion, her soul yearning for something,
anything
, to hold on to.

“Gabriel is in love with you! Do you not see that, Ella? I saw it in his eyes that first morning I met him. That was the real reason I feared for you, child. I knew that with enough time, nothing could be done to stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Why, love of course, silly girl. From its very start it is a wild journey.”

“But don’t you see, Marion, that it makes no difference if he loves me? We may have started the journey together, but I have since left him behind.”

“Maybe it is the other way around.”

Ella was breathing so deeply, so despondently, that the snug fit of her bodice was causing her chest and shoulders to rise.

“You are so afraid of losing Gabriel,” Marion went on, “that you believe every action you take, every thought that enters your head, is either the one thing that will push him away or that which brings him to you forever. You cannot tether yourself to fear like that. Gabriel may be damaged like you say but he has never paused to see whether he was losing you or holding onto you. He simply did what he had to do. And you have to as well.”

“How can I do that when all I can think about every second of my life is whether or not he will be there in the morning when I wake?”

“Trust him! Give him a chance to learn what you were born knowing, Ella.”

Ella wiped a tear from her cheek.

“What is that?” she asked Marion, like she was eight years old again.

“That life is beautiful.”

Marion spoke her declamation proudly, but somewhat put out that she had to say it at all. The two friends embraced a second time and after many moments, Ella pulled away and looked once again into the mirror.

“Well, hopefully it is not too noticeable that I’ve been carrying on like a baby,” she said, rubbing beneath her eyes.

“Marguerite will have something to help with that, I am sure.” Marion said, straightening Ella’s hair and resettling her misplaced diamond pendant. Once completed, Marion made her way toward the exit to give Ella a few last moments to herself. She opened the door and took one step toward the hallway when she turned back in Ella’s direction.

“Ella?” she said softly.

Ella turned and met Marion’s gaze.

“I wish I could promise you that Gabriel will be the man you want him to be, the man that you deserve,” Marion said, thoughtfully, “but I cannot. Even after everything, he might never accept the happiness that you can offer him. If that happens, it will hurt something awful, I am afraid. But it will pass; and until it does, I will always be here.”