Page 48 of Disenchanted
Despite his gift of the tickets, Imelda remained uneasy about Mal, and we had had quite a heated discussion about thepropriety of him providing me with a gown. Mal had insisted it was nothing, merely an early birthday gift for an old friend. According to Imelda, proper gentlemen did not give young ladies anything as intimate as clothing, no matter how long they had been acquainted.
That is why I had said nothing about the return of my mother’s earrings. Imelda would be delighted that I had them back, but she would be distressed to learn that Mal had been lavishing more money on me.
Netta spoke up timidly. “But, Mama, we all enjoy Mr. Hawkridge’s visits. He is so kind and amusing and I am sure we should all be grateful enough to welcome him at any time.”
“So I am,” Imelda replied. “I concede that he is vastly entertaining. But the sad truth is, my dears,” she added with a pointed look at me, “no matter how charming, rogues do not make good husbands.”
“How fortunate it is then, that none of us are planning to marry him,” I said as I returned to my chair and resumed my work on the hem.
Imelda said nothing, merely regarding me with sorrowful skepticism. I wished I could have told her that the reason for Mal’s frequent visits had far more to do with plotting larceny than romance, but I doubted that would have afforded Em much comfort either.
Amy returned, looking flushed, her eyes dancing with suppressed merriment. Before she could speak, Imelda said, “If that is Mr. Hawkridge, dear, you must inform him that we are far too occupied—”
“It is not Mal. It is another gentleman come to call upon Ella.” Amy giggled. “Commander Crushington.”
I was so startled, I jabbed myself with the needle. Beyond the parlor door, I could see the tall shadow of Horatio Crushington looming in the vestibule. For one panicked moment, I thought,he knows. Somehow the commander had found out what Mal and I were plotting, and he had come to arrest me. I calmed myself, remembering that I had given the commander permission to call. I had been so occupied with preparations for the ball; the invitation had completely slipped my mind.
Imelda sprang to her feet with a dismayed glance at the parlor’s disorder. I leapt up as well, feeling equally flustered and conscious of my own disarray. I was wearing one of my oldest frocks, my hair scooped back from my face by a scarf knotted around my head.
I had an urge to fly to the nearest mirror, yank off the scarf and try to finger-comb my unruly tresses. I brought myself up short. Since when have I ever fussed over my appearance? Not since the days I used to steal away for trysts with Harper.
Amy grinned. “Shall I show the commander in?”
“Yes,” I said.
“No!” Imelda exclaimed. “Oh, what is that man doing here?”
“I invited him to take tea with us some afternoon,” I said.
“Why ever did you that, Ella?”
I regarded my stepmother indignantly. “It was you who first invited him, when you suggested the commander to me as a possible suitor, remember?”
“But that was before— before—”
“Before we had tickets to the ball and now you no longer think the commander good enough? For shame, Em!”
Imelda reddened. “It is true that I hope you will have better prospects, but that is not my only reason. The commander harbors a dreadful secret. Matilda Dearling warned me only this morning.” My stepmother clasped her hands together and announced dramatically, “Commander Crushington is a foundling.”
My sisters gasped and even I was momentarily taken aback. It was considered enough of a stigma to be born out ofwedlock, but it was far worse to have absolutely no idea of one’s parentage. Any woman desperate enough to abandon her infant along the roadside must have done something truly wicked like mating with a monster or other non-human creature. According to popular belief, such a child would inherit their sire’s evil tendencies.
Netta dropped her voice to an excited whisper. “Commander Crushington is a foundling? Who would have thought it?”
“He is a very large and alarming man,” Amy said. “Perhaps he has a drop of goblin or bad fairy blood in him.”
“Madam Dearling thinks he could be part ogre,” Imelda added in a hushed tone.
“Nonsense,” I said. “Why do you listen to that nasty woman, Em? If anyone has hobgoblin blood, it is probably her. I happen to know that the commander has parents. I have heard him speak of them.”
“Then where are his mother and father? Why has no one in Midtown ever met them?” Imelda asked.
“Most likely because they live elsewhere. There are other more distant parts of this kingdom. Besides you know that most foundlings are doomed to labor in the silver mines. One would never be given such a prestigious appointment as commander of the Midtown garrison.”
Imelda frowned. “I had not thought of that.”
My sisters heaved disappointed sighs. They had clearly been intrigued by the idea that Crushington might be part ogre. As for Imelda, she still looked unconvinced that he was not. One of these days, I thought, I am going to strangle that Dearling woman.
“Are we going to leave the poor man waiting in the hall forever?” I demanded irritably. “Amy, please show the commander into the parlor.”
