Page 120 of Charmless
“He was so young, so handsome.” one of them wailed, the ribbons of her nightcap fluttering in the morning breeze.
“And so noble,” another wept. “Everyone is saying that the prince saw some hapless maiden fall into the mill pond. PrinceFlorian dove in to rescue her. He managed to save the girl, but the prince became entangled in the reeds and drowned.”
“Stupid wench!” The beribboned girl choked. “He should have let her die.”
“No!” Another girl piped up through her tears. “I heard that it was a dear little child that the prince saved.”
“No, I think it was a puppy,” a third girl sniveled.
“An entire litter of puppiesanda baby,” someone else cried.
I had to bite my tongue to refrain from putting an end to these foolish rumors. This gossip had doubtless been generated by whatever tale Sidney Greenleaf had concocted to account for Florian’s sudden demise. It vexed me that Greenleaf’s fabrication would result in the villainous prince being forever enshrined as a hero.
But I could not expose the lie without revealing that I was responsible for Florian’s death. If that was ever known, all the kingdom’s besotted young maidens would fall upon me and tear my hair out by the roots until I ended up as bald as Mal.
Quickening my steps, I hurried onward until I was well out of earshot of all this annoying wailing and chatter. As I left the main part of town behind me, I was relieved to find the lane in front of my house empty and quiet. I had to pause to catch my breath, all the harrowing events of last night threatening to catch up with me. After my rush to get home, I felt ready to drop from exhaustion, but I braced myself to be confronted by a frantic Em and my two tearful sisters.
All was mercifully silent when I crept into the front hall. My family were notoriously late risers. Was it possible that by some miracle that the royal herald had not yet reached this part of town and my stepmother and sisters were still abed?
That hope swiftly died when I heard voices emanating from the kitchen. Sighing, I whipped off my hat, schooling my features into an expression that would be suitably contrite. As Iapproached the kitchen door, I caught the faint sound of Netta asking, “Shouldn’t someone wake Ella? It is so unlike her to sleep this late. She is usually up well before any of us.”
My heart fluttered with hope again as I pressed my ear to the kitchen door listening to Amy’s reply. “I can’t imagine how Ella could have slept through the herald trumpeting and banging at our door. I’ll go wake her.”
“No, dear,” my stepmother said. “I will go up myself and rouse her, but I so dread telling her the horrible news.”
“Ella will have to learn it sometime. I am sure the entire kingdom will be buzzing about it,” Amy said.
“The poor girl will be devastated when she hears about Florian.”
“But Mama, how can you have forgotten?” Netta protested. “Ella didn’t even like him.”
Indeed! How could Em have forgotten after the way we had quarreled over my refusal to marry Florian? But my stepmother had a remarkable gift for suppressing any memories she found unpleasant.
“Ella may have said she detested Prince Florian, but I never understood her,” Em said. “Such a handsome, charming man and he so adored our Ella. I am sure that after the prince’s tragic death, Ella will realize how much she loved him and be flooded with grief and remorse.”
It was all I could do to smother a groan. But I was far too grateful to have avoided causing my family a great deal of alarm. I backed away from the kitchen door, then stole upstairs to my bedchamber as quietly as possible.
The first thing I did was snatch up the letters I had left on the mantel and tear them to pieces. I started to remove Mal’s shirt when I caught the creak of footsteps as someone mounted the stairs. Shucking off the breeches, I shoved Mal’s clothing under the bed.
A tentative knock sounded at my door. “Ella?” My stepmother called.
I scrambled into my nightgown, only to realize I had put it on backwards. But I had no time to correct my mistake.
Em knocked louder. “Ella, dear.”
I leapt into bed, dragging the covers up to my chin as my bedchamber door inched open. Em paused on the threshold, peeking inside.
“Ella? Are you awake?”
“Yes,” I mumbled in a sleepy voice. “Come in.”
As my stepmother entered the room, I made a great show of stretching and yawning. “Goodness, Em! You are up already? How late is it? Why did no one wake me?”
“I thought it best you get as much rest as you can before I spoke to you.” Em closed the door, leaning up against it. “My poor child. Brace yourself for some shocking news.”
I shifted to a sitting position, plumping the pillow behind my back. “All right, consider me braced.”
Em clutched her hands dramatically to her chest. “The king has died.”
