Page 46 of Charmless
As for Horatio, yes, I had had my kiss, but it might well be the last embrace I would ever have from him unless I could find a way to keep my promise about Mal. Little wonder that I felt bludgeoned as I trudged homeward.
I was unlatching my gate before I realized I had completely forgotten the marketing, but I lacked the stamina to return to the shops.
“Looks like it will have to be turnip stew for dinner. Again.” I muttered as I let myself in the front door. I dreaded the barrage of dismay I would receive from my family over this menu. No doubt Em would point out to me we would all be dining on golden plates at the palace by now if only I would stop being so obstinate about marrying Florian.
Fortunately, I did not have to deal with my stepmother. Em was taking a nap, perhaps worn out from the excitement of thevisit from her former beau. I just hoped it had not beentooexciting and my stepsisters had succeeded in playing chaperone.
Amy was likewise up in her bedchamber, perhaps blissfully dreaming of the perfidious young prince who was never going to come for her. The only one awake was Netta, plucking out melancholy tunes on her harp in the parlor.
I left her to her music, refusing her offers to help me with preparing supper. Netta was grace personified when playing her harp, but a bit of a disaster when in the kitchen. We could not afford anymore broken crockery.
However, in my current distracted state, I was as much of a danger to our dishes as Netta, to say nothing of my fingers as I pared the turnips. I kept wracking my brain for some way to prove Mal innocent of the Aura Chamber theft. Alas, the best and most direct way of doing that was lost to me. I should have confessed to Horatio a long time ago about the stolen orb. Maybe he would have understood. Now it would lead to Mal being promptly arrested and perhaps me as well.
Since proving that Mal was elsewhere that night was out of the question, the only other solution was to find the real culprit behind the theft and vandalism of the Aura Chamber. How I was going to do that, I had no notion. I hoped Mal would have some idea.
Thinking about Horatio and my recent visit to the garrison stables reminded me of another chore that had been added to my list since the night of the ball. Amy’s infatuation with her prince had led her to neglect her beloved miniature ponies. She remembered to feed and water them, but Pookie and Pippa were accustomed to so much more attention from their young mistress, little treats, daily brushings and walks along the grassy field behind the stables. It fell to me to make up for her absence and although I have never been that good at handling Amy’s cantankerous ponies, I did my best.
As I made my way to the barn, I peeked over Mrs. Biddlesworth’s fence. My neighbor had always had a nasty habit of spying upon me, trying to catch me out in some wrongdoing. I felt like her beady eyes had been upon me more than usual of late, ever since the prince had proposed marriage.
When I satisfied myself that Mrs. B. was nowhere lurking about, I leaned across her fence and snitched a couple of her tart summer apples for Pookie and Pippa. Dreadful of me perhaps, but I was annoyed with the woman for threatening to accuse me of witchcraft if I didn’t marry Florian. Shoving these treats into my apron pocket, I dragged open the rickety barn door.
When I was a young child, our stables had served as a coach house for several horses and a small gig. A groom whose name I could no longer recall— I believe it might have been Jeremy— lived above the stables. I vaguely remember he had a large bristling mustache and called me ‘Miss Filly.’ Whenever he fed the horses sugar lumps, he also gave one to me.
It has been a long time since we were able to afford luxuries such as owning a carriage and horses or employing servants. Now the only occupants of the stable were Amy’s Caballettes, a breed of ponies not much bigger than a sheep-herding dog.
As I slipped inside, the barn was cool and shadowy compared to the bright warmth of the day. My nostrils were assailed by a mingling of hay, horse sweat and dung. Too much dung. The ponies’ stall needed mucking out, a chore that I was not looking forward to since their enclosure comprised a large portion of the barn.
Their pen had been fashioned by combining several stalls and replacing the doors with a knee-high wooden fence. This enabled them to bed down together in their nests of straw while having room to move about.
At my approach, Pookie and Pippa thrust their shaggy brown heads over the top rail. They had learned to tolerate me overthe past few days, no longer flattening their ears back and threatening to snap. While they eagerly accepted the treat I offered, crunching down the small green apples with gusto, their dark eyes regarded me with reproach as though demanding,“Where is our Amy? What have you done with Amy?”
“Sorry fellas,” I murmured, “I promise she will come to her senses and return to you soon and she will need your comfort more than ever.”
I bent down to stroke Pippa’s mane. His ears pricked up and he shied away from me, stomping, and blowing a loud snort through his nostrils. Pookie also began to act strangely, shifting about in the stall and emitting a shrill whinny. For one dreadful moment, I wondered if Mrs. B had noticed my habit of stealing her fruit for the ponies and had done something to poison the apples. I would not have put it past the woman.
But as Pookie and Pippa became more frantic, I realized their movements were inspired by alarm, a fear that I shared when I detected a furtive footstep behind me. I whirled around to confront a man garbed in a midnight blue cloak, the hood pulled forward to conceal his features. Too short to be Horatio or Florian and not Mal’s lean frame either. This was a stranger creeping into my barn for what sinister purpose I could not imagine.
My heart hammering, I backed away, seizing the pitchfork from the hay bale. Brandishing it at him, I demanded, “Who are you? What do you want?”
His hands were encased in leather gauntlets. He flung them upward, assuming a defensive posture.
“Ella, please. Don’t be alarmed. It’s me.”
That low musical voice reverberated through me, striking a chord from my past. Using his left hand, he swept back his hood, revealing familiar features, the aquiline nose, the sensitivemouth, the light blue eyes, and dark blond eyebrows the same shade as his chin length hair.
“Harper!” I quavered. I recollected myself enough to add. “I mean Your Highness.”
“Please, you don’t need to call me that,” Prince Ryland said. “Even though I know you have good reason to run me through, I would greatly appreciate it if you could lower that pitchfork.”
The pitchfork wavered in my hands as I sucked in a deep breath, struggling to recover from my shock. For seven long years, this man had vanished from my life, only to start popping up again. First at the ball and now here in my barn, rising before me like some pernicious spirit I believed I had exorcised. I lowered the pitchfork, jabbing it into the hay bale with more force than necessary.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
“I just needed to see you again. Talk to you.”
“We said everything that needed saying the night of the ball.”
“No, we didn’t. We were interrupted by Florian.”
