Page 5

ELINOR

I’m so late in arriving home that I barely notice the fancy carriage with a crest on the door parked out front. I cut through the yard and hasten in the back, where Chompers and Tom are uneasily sharing the kitchen. The dog scratches at the door to the hall and whines.

“Out,” I dump my packages onto the scuffed table and open it. “You’ll only try and steal the pork, anyway?—”

I break off mid-sentence at the sight of a royal messenger taking his leave.

“Another lady?” The messenger scowls. “You assured me there were only two.”

“She is only a maid from the village who comes in to cook and clean.”

I bristle. Chompers moves to his master’s side and plops his rear end down obediently beside Tremaine’s boot. I swear that animal looks smug. I glare at him.

The messenger in his wig and frankly ridiculous livery eyes my patched rag of a dress. “There was a Lady Elinor Scinder living at this address. What happened to her?” He taps a thick white envelope bearing a red wax seal on the palm of his gloved hand, considering.

My lips part to speak. Tremaine cuts me off.

“She ran away.” He clucks his tongue. “With a stableboy. Classic. I did not wish for a scandal to mar my own daughters’ marriage prospects. You understand?”

The servant eyes me, his gaze locking on my unfortunate red hair, then nods.

“It’s not true,” I finally pipe up.

“Get back into the kitchen.” Tremaine raises his fist in warning. I flinch. He’ll strike me if I don’t obey.

Scowling, I shuffle back to my domestic domain. An embarrassment to be kept out of sight.

“Not the first peasant girl who’s attempted to crash the ball. We are at maximum capacity. Only the ladies and one chaperone may attend.”

The messenger’s haughty words sear through my entire being. In the kitchen, I close the door but for a tiny crack and peer through it.

“Should Lady Scinder return with her virtue intact, see that she receives this.” The footman glances at my hiding spot. I flinch away, keeping out of sight. “King’s orders.”

Tremaine ushers the royal messenger out the front door.

Hurt like crushed glass in my lungs makes me bold. He’s already taken everything from me. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to attend the ball for fun; I want to go because it’s my right and obligation as a lady. He has no right to deny me that privilege.

“That wasn’t fair, Tremaine.” Inwardly, I wince at how much I sound like Stacia, who constantly complains about unfairness whenever she doesn’t get her way. Yet I hold my ground.

He stalks over to me and looms menacingly. I have to peer up, and up. I am not especially short. My stepfather, however, is very tall.

“Fair,” he echoes.

I gulp, but anger makes me brave.

“The invitation belongs to me,” I whisper. Emotions I can scarcely name close my throat, making it difficult to speak.

“Life is not fair, Elinor. Ever. Your father ruined this house with his supposed brilliance, yet he failed to patent his invention. Another man profits from his ideas. Do you think that is fair?”

“N-no,” I stammer.

“My wife dying in childbirth with my son. Was that fair ?” he demands.

I shake my head, thinking she was my mother, not only your wife.

I lost my brother, too. But the words won’t come.

I’m trembling with fury at this selfish man, who has taken out his disappointments on me instead of helping a child cope with the loss of her natural parents.

Who has violated me and denied me any chance of escape.

I’m not the one who used grief as an excuse to become a monster.

For years, I have held onto the love my parents showed me.

I have tried to show this horrible man that there is another way.

Kindness is a choice. I have shown Tremaine and his daughters compassion every single day no matter how they treated me—because I choose not to let grief and anger twist me into someone I am not.

But I could scream into his face and I would still remain unheard. He isn’t interested, and I remain trapped.

Tremaine taps the wax-sealed envelope on his palm, mimicking the messenger with a cunning expression creeping over his face. My blood goes from volcanic to frigid in a few racing heartbeats.

Fear congeals in the pit of my stomach when he turns abruptly, goes to his study and takes down the metal chest containing my dowry. He slams it down on his desk with a thud.

“If you want the invitation, Elinor, give me the key to this box.”

My throat works. I don’t trust him. Tremaine places the invitation on top of my inheritance. An evil grin spreads across his lips.

If I give him the key, my one chance at starting a new life will be gone in the blink of an eye. Frittered away on new gowns for my sisters, illegal magic potions, and liquor.

“I have to cook dinner,” I blurt out, and flee.

* * *

That night, I stare up at the cobwebs bathed in moonlight where they hang between the wooden rafters. A water spot mars the rotting wood in the corner. In winter, the wind whips through the gap and freezes me even beneath my pile of thin, patched blankets.

Tom leaps onto the bed and kneads my stomach. I roll over with a huff and drag him close. His rumbling purr is a balm to my aching soul.

“What should I do?” I whisper between his ears. The cat yowls, then settles into my embrace. He doesn’t like to be held. He’s tolerating my touch, just barely.

If I go to the ball, I have a chance at changing my entire life.

Or I could lose my only chance of escape.

By dawn, I’ve made my decision.

Resolute, I deliver Stacia and Cilla’s breakfast trays, then venture into Tremaine’s dark study.

For once, it doesn’t reek of overindulgence.

Chompers growls, but he slinks past me without incident.

I kick the door closed behind him, stride to my stepfather’s worn leather chair and flinch when he peers up at me. Awake.

“Well, girl, what have you decided?”

I hand over the key, holding his eye. “I’ll need a gown, too.”

He picks up the key and examines it in the low light. I stride to the window and yank the curtains aside. “You’re missing a beautiful day.”

“Get the horses ready,” he says, already inserting the key into the box. His greedy expression roils my stomach.

So does the sight of gold coins stacked neatly inside. A fortune. I could have run away and lived in comfort for years.

“There is enough here to buy an entire wardrobe for both girls,” Tremaine says with satisfaction, and closes it, tucking away the key.

“All three of us,” I insist. The sidelong look he gives me does nothing to quell my unease.

I hitch the bays to the heavy black carriage.

Tremaine insists I drive. Dust blows in my face all the way into Belterre City.

By the time we arrive at the best modiste in Belterre City, I’m a filthy, travel-weary mess.

The other women and their servants stare at me before wrinkling their noses and looking away.

“Isn’t that Lady Woordige and her daughter? We outrank them. We should be ahead of them in line,” Dru complains.

“They arrived first,” Tremaine says.

“It’s not fair. I’m melting in this hot sun. I’ll get freckles,” Stacia whines.

“Hold your tongue, girl,” Tremaine snaps.

“I need to use the necessary,” Cilla says not two minutes later.

My gaze locks on the coins in Tremaine’s pocket. It’s a fraction of my full dowry but if I could pick his pocket and run…

You cannot leave them, my conscience pipes up. They’re your family.

I had better get a dress out of this, at least. If I meet the prince and fall in love, I can hire a whole contingent of servants to care for them. Better than I can by myself.

Prince Alistair is said to be handsome, an excellent hunter, and a good dancer. A man like that could surely take care of me. He would love me. See my kindness as strength instead of a weakness to be exploited.

We’d make a real family.

My daydream is interrupted when whispers ripple down the line. Ladies lift their skirts and dart into the street, dodging passers-by.

“What’s happening?” Cilla asks.

“It’s the prince,” says the woman who thought I was a beggar, her eyes shining with excitement. I’ve been careful to stay out of her line of vision, but she pays no attention to me now. “He’s returning to the castle. His ball is a fortnight hence.”

Eyeing the line waiting for service at the modiste, I know we’ll be lucky to get in at all.

Dru and Stacia dart after the other girls.

The line shortens abruptly. Mothers and maids remain in place to hold their spots.

A few, apparently coming to the same conclusion I have—that Madame will never be able to finish so many gowns in time for the ball—quietly exit the line.

I remain glued to Tremaine’s side. “We’re not going to get an appointment,” I mutter.

“We will.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a coin. “Once my daughter is queen of the realm, our problems will be solved forever. We just need to get gowns.”

I can only watch helplessly as he passes a coin to a maid, who slips out of her spot and hustles away guiltily. Tremaine takes her space, ignoring the glares of the people behind him.

Fuming at his underhanded and wasteful approach to getting ahead, I nonetheless follow him. Cilla and Stacia return, looking crankier than ever.

“Did you get to see him?”

The taller stepsister shakes her head. “False alarm.”

“Or he went another way.” Stacia fans herself. Dark circles rim her underarms.

Finally, it’s our turn. The coolness of the modiste’s shop is a relief after so many hours in the heat. Stacia plunks herself on a tufted velvet chair.

“I am afraid I cannot accommodate any additional orders before the ball,” the dressmaker says. I hang back, trying not to stare at the finery dripping from every surface while self-consciousness roils my insides.