Once Upon a Romance 01 - Before the Midnight Bells (2 page)

Papa

Ella folded the letter away carefully. For the second time that day, tears ran down her face. Slowly she let her head sink down to rest on her folded arms, as she waited for the ache in her heart to go away.

Christopher Maximillian Wellesley, eldest son and heir to the title of Lord Nathaniel Reginald Wellesley, Duke of Yarrow, most loyal subject of His Royal Majesty, King Regal Augustus II of Albion, was busy berating the Crown Princess Vivienne Bellicia Victoria. Most of the nobility would have been aghast at the very idea of raising their voices to one of the royal family, but Max and Vivienne had been playmates since they were very young, and Max frequently took the privilege of treating her as a younger sister.

“
…such a harebrained idea! I don’t know how I let you talk me into it. I must have been drunk. I
was
drunk, wasn’t I? The king is going to have your head—
NO
, he’ll have
my
head, because he won’t be able to find yours…”

Vivienne smiled fondly at her friend. She knew that Max loved her dearly, and would do anything for her. That’s why she’d had no hesitation in asking him to go along with her “harebrained” scheme, despite the delicate nature of the situation.

“
Max, I—”

“
This is a horrible idea, I tell you,
horrible.
It’s going to rebound on us both…”

“
Max.”

“
You are going to be disowned and I am going to be beheaded…”

“
Max.”

“
And what will you do if you succeed, Princess Featherhead..?”

“
MAX!”

This last exclamation was accompanied by a small foot stamp, and Max pulled up sharply, aware that he might have crossed a line with that last comment, but Vivienne was still smiling at him. He took a deep breath and modulated his tone before asking, “Yes, Vivi?” His voice was full of exaggerated adoration, but Vivienne knew he was still mad at her. He only used her nickname when he wanted to irritate her. He knew she hated it. She smiled anyway and motioned him down into a seat next to hers.

“
Max, you know this is the only way.” When he started to interrupt her she gave him a quelling look. She understood his reservations but, after all, patience only extends so far. Vivienne was royalty; her quelling looks were among the best in the kingdom. Max sank deeper into his chair without a murmur.

“
My father is a good king and a decent enough man, but he has an irrational fear of
bad things
which will
happen
to me. He doesn’t want me to go anywhere or do anything. He doesn’t want me to leave his side. Or breathe funny. And he has decided that if he marries me off then he will have another set of eyes on me at all times, making sure I continue to be
just fine.
”

“
Oh come now, Vivienne, it can’t be that bad.”

“
He has been arranging ‘chance’ meetings with eligible young men once or twice a week for
months
now.”

“
Surely some of them are nice?”

“
Oh, of course they are. They’re all
nice.
Never mind that they have the brain power of a bird, or lack any semblance of physical appeal, or
still have to ask permission of their Mommies if they want to go play
.”

“
You’re making that up.”

“
Last night at dinner he sat me next to a twelve year old earl.”

Max winced; he could recognize a coup de grace when he saw one. Still, it would never do to yield too easily.

“
I don’t know why you’re complaining. You’d get the chance to raise him to be exactly the husband you want him to be.”

“
You mean, malleable when he’s in his cups?”

“
I
knew
I must have been drunk. It’s simply outrageous that you would get a man to commit his word of honor to this kind of folly when you know he’s befuddled by wine.” Quickly he began dodging the couch cushions that were flying at his head. The last one caught him full in the face—her royal highness had excellent aim.

CHAPTER
THREE

“
Ella!”

Ella winced as her needle slipped and jabbed her finger. Her stepmother’s strident tones never failed to startle her as they reverberated up the stairs and rattled the old attic windows. She’d only just settled down to her sewing, but given the impatience in Millicent’s voice…

“
ELLA!”

…it didn’t seem like she would have much of a chance to accomplish anything before being needed elsewhere. In fact, judging from the calls…

“
ELLLL - LA!”

…her stepmother was marching up the old narrow staircase to fetch her. Personally. Ella sighed in frustration. These days she no longer
had
even the buffer of a maid between herself and her stepmother’s erratic summons.

Clara, Greta, and Junie had been gone for months, and Ella was doing her best to keep the household running without them. The table fare suffered, not to mention the cleanliness of the house, but aside from Clara’s comforting presence, the thing Ella missed the most was her privacy in the attic. Greta used to be sent to fetch her, but now her stepmother invaded Ella’s work rooms on a regular basis.

As though thinking of her had helped pull her up the final steps, Millicent bustled into the room. Ella’s stepmother was a short, extremely round woman. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a profusion of curls that did nothing but emphasize her overly generous figure, but it was the latest fashion and Millicent would wear her hair no other way. The coral empire-waisted gown, also the newest style, made her look like a sausage in a draped organza casing. Overall the effect was comical, but Ella didn’t smile. If Millicent was excited enough to search her out, it could only be for one of two reasons. Ella prayed that the fashionable gentry had not taken up yet another expensive hobby that Millicent wished to indulge in, but if that wasn’t it… Ella closed her eyes and took firm hold of her resolve. She would have this argument a hundred times if necessary.

No matter if it was driving her crazy.

“
Eleanor, my dear,” began a rather breathless Millicent. The stairs were, after all, very steep, and Millicent was, after all, very round. “You must come down to the parlor at once. This very minute. I am bursting, simply
bursting
,” here Millicent paused to take a deep breath, and did, for a moment, look very much like she was about to burst, “with news, and I must have all three of you girls together to share it.”

“
But Stepmother, the sewing,” began Ella.

“
Oh, bother the sewing,” replied Millicent, completely unconcerned that without Ella’s daily attentions to their wardrobes all four women would have presented a very slovenly sight before the rest of the gentry
.
“
I
t can wait. You must,
simply must
, come down right away.”

“
Surely
your news
can wait,” Ella said with a little impatience
.
“I’m almost done with the last of our dresses that I must mend before I can begin work on Mrs. Minglesall’s latest order.”

Millicent gazed at Ella in horror. “You aren’t doing a dress for Mrs. Minglesall? Say that you aren’t, dear, you know I would die of shame.”

“
Stepmother, Mrs. Minglesall is an excellent customer, and I am
happy
to sew for her. Not only is she a kind woman, but she pays promptly, and I very much need to finish this dress for her so that I can settle our account with the paper shop.” The bill for the fine, delicate paper that Millicent and Beatrice had used in their most recent craze—paper folding—had been enough to make Ella gasp.

“
But Eleanor, dear, she’s our
neighbor.
”

“
Yes, Stepmother, and I hope that she will encourage all our other neighbors to patronize my shop, as well.”

“
Ella!” Millicent was scandalized
.
“
Y
ou cannot mean to say that you hope that all our peers will find out that you have gone into
trade.
”

“
That is exactly what I do mean, Stepmother. How am I ever to have a successful shop if no one knows it’s there?”

“
But Eleanor, you will ruin our name! How will you three girls make good matches if everyone thinks we’ve become nothing more than glorified merchants?” Privately Ella thought having word spread that they were destitute would hurt their chances far more, but she didn’t say anything. She knew from experience the futility of arguing with Millicent over her spending habits. “Even if Beatrice and Prudence find husbands, no one will want to marry a woman who
works
.” Millicent said the word as though Ella were engaging in the foulest of misdeeds. “You will be left a spinster.”

“
Well and good, then, Stepmother, as long as I am a spinster with a fine dressmaking shop.”

The look on Millicent’s face was not so much anger as it was total incomprehension. Ella’s stepmother had never been able to understand the joy she took from dreaming of beautiful things and then making them with her own two hands.

“
I never should have let you take over the girls’ sewing.” Millicent fell back on her usual complaint. Ella sighed. Millicent was convinced that if Ella had never been forced by necessity into maintaining—and then, eventually, creating—their wardrobes, that she also would have never found the desire within herself to create beautiful things. Ella was tired of this old argument.

“
What’s done is done, Stepmother, and at least you cannot say that you are displeased with the results of my skill.” Ella’s attempt at
distraction
worked. Millicent beamed at her.

“
It’s true, we are the best dressed family among our set, despite our difficulties.” Millicent was always so vague about the lack of money, as though it had been caused by misfortune or an act of the gods, rather than her own extravagant expenditures. “And it certainly will come in handy now, won’t it! If only you would keep it a family secret.”