Disenchanted Page 13

  “I never doubted you are a man of duty and honor,” I said.

  “No, what you doubt is that I could be a good man. You think me hard and unfeeling, perhaps even cruel. I wish that you might not judge me too harshly until we become better acquainted.”

  He added tentatively, “Your stepmother has been kind enough to say that I might call upon you some afternoon.”

  I had forgotten all about that. I grimaced.

  “Of course, I would never do so if you do not wish it.” When I said nothing, his face fell.

  He backed away from the gate, clicked his heels in a rigid bow. As he turned to go, my conscience pricked me. I could not forget how deeply I was indebted to him. I would likely be sprawled dead in the lanes of Misty Bottoms if not for the commander.

  But if I permitted Crushington to call upon me, it would only encourage him to hope I would one day return his regard and that was quite impossible. Still he looked completely disheartened as he reached for the reins of his horse. So strangely vulnerable and alone, this man who thought of friendship as a luxury he could not afford.

  One half hour visit, a cup of tea, a few cakes…would it really cost me so much to allow him that? I was probably going to regret this, but I opened the gate and hurried after him.

  “Commander Crushington.”

  He was about to vault into the saddle, but he paused at the sound of my voice. Although there was little hope in his eyes, he regarded me questioningly.

  I drew in a deep breath. “I was unkind to you just now and it was very wrong of me when I owe you so much.”

  “You owe me nothing, Miss Upton. I do not want your gratitude.”

  “You have it all the same. I cannot tell my family what happened this afternoon without greatly distressing them. But if they knew how you had rescued me, they would be grateful as well. What I am trying to say is…if you did wish to call upon us some afternoon, you would be welcome.”

  I was aware that I sounded more reluctant than cordial. I sought to make up for it by offering him my hand. When he eagerly accepted it, I gasped at the sudden throb of pain in my wrist.

  Crushington released me immediately. “Ella, I am sorry—” He stopped and frowned. Taking my hand more gently, he upended my palm and exclaimed, “You were hurt by that brute.”

  I stared down at the bruises darkening my skin. My wrist was even starting to swell a little.

  “It’s nothing,” I said. “I will apply a cold compress to my wrist. It will be fine.”

  I tried to ease away from him, but he cradled my hand in his grasp. “When I was a wee lad and got injured, my mother had her own remedy for my pain.”

  I had difficulty picturing the formidable commander as ever having been “wee” or for that matter, even having a mother. I stiffened as he raised my hand to his lips, thinking he intended to kiss my hurt away as my own mother would have done.

  Instead he blew softly against my wrist. His lips never even grazed my skin and yet the contact felt so—so intimate, I shivered.

  “Better?” he asked.

  I nodded, too astonished to even reclaim my hand. When he released me, I hugged my hand close to my bosom.

  “I have many duties that require my attention, but if you truly do not mind, I will call upon you early next week?”

  “Next week would be fine.”

  He mounted his horse and smiled down at me. “Until next week then.”

  I nodded, stepping back out of the way as the commander urged his horse into motion. As Crushington wheeled Loyal about, heading toward town, I stared after him. What an extraordinary gesture for a man as stiff as Crushington, blowing on my wrist that way. What stunned me the most was my reaction. As I headed toward the house, my skin still tingled from the warmth of his breath.

  All thoughts of the commander flew out of my head as my front door burst open. My two stepsisters rushed toward me, squealing, “Oh, Ella! Ella, thank the fairies, you are home at last!”

  I stopped in mid-step, tensing with alarm. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  I barely got the words out before Amy and Netta launched themselves at me, flinging their arms about my neck. The fact that they were giggling eased my fear, but I gasped, “Girls, please,” as I tried to pull free of their strangling hugs.

  It was not that I did not appreciate such a welcome home. My stepsisters had been hardly speaking to me when I left the house earlier. But my body was too bruised to endure this much exuberance.

  They released me, but they were still bouncing around with such excitement, I had to take a step back to spare my toes.

  “Ella, you have been gone forever,” Amy cried.

  “We have been waiting and waiting for you,” Netta chimed in.

  “We have just been about to burst,” Amy said.

  “Let me tell her,” Netta insisted.

  But Amy thrust her aside, shrieking, “We are so happy! Now we can all go to the ball!”

  I stared at them with incomprehension. Had Amy been snooping in my room again? If she had picked the lock on my treasure chest and noticed the emeralds were gone, my stepsisters might have leapt to conclusions, guessing that I planned to sell the earrings to buy the tickets. It was an unlikely surmise, but the only explanation I could find to explain all of this wild excitement.

  The girls linked hands and commenced a joyous dance around me.

  “Amy! Netta! Please stop,” I said. I felt sick at the idea of informing them I had not acquired enough money and that one of them was going to be weeping soon.

  When they ignored me, I spoke more forcefully. “Stop.” Because there was no easy way to say it, I just blurted out, “We cannot all go to the ball because we can only buy two tickets.”

  The girls stumbled to a halt, but they were still smiling, unfazed by my announcement. Amy chortled. “Silly Ella! What are you talking about? We already have the four tickets.”

  “How is that even possible? Did Madam Dearling decide to loan Em the money after all?”

  “That horrible woman? Of course not,” Amy scoffed. “Now you really are being silly, Ella.”

  “Then how?” I demanded.

  The girls exchanged a grin and cried in unison, “We have a fairy godfather.”

  “What!”

  They both giggled and assured me that I would see for myself. I could not get another sensible word out of either of them as they dragged me into the house. I tried to curb my impatience with all this air of mystery as they hustled me through the drawing room and out the double doors leading to the rear garden.

  Like most of the homes in Midtown, we had a modest-sized back lawn, not even half an acre. Ours was surrounded by a picket fence badly in need of painting. Next to the small stable that housed Amy’s beloved ponies was my forlorn attempt at a vegetable garden, badly in want of weeding. The most charming feature of our yard was a pergola where we sometimes had afternoon tea. The latticework covering provided shelter for a wrought-iron table, a bench and some dainty carved chairs.

  I could see my stepmother hovering over someone as she handed her guest a cup of tea. But it was not until Imelda resumed her seat that I obtained a clear view of her visitor. That was when I received my final shock of the day.

  The person lounging upon the bench was Mal.

  “Here he is.” Amy tittered as she propelled me toward the pergola. “Our fairy godfather!”

  Chapter 8

  Never had a man looked less like anyone’s idea of a fairy godfather than Malcolm Hawkridge. He was dressed after his usual fashion, high black boots, tight breeches and a loose-fitting white shirt open at the neck. Whatever he had been doing the last fortnight, Mal had acquired a deeper tan and shed the last of that ridiculous black hair he had tried to grow. He had lost what remained of his own hair as well and was now completely bald. It suited him, enhancing his virility, making him look dangerously seductive. I was astonished that Em had permitted him to cross the threshold, let alone served him tea on her best china.


  Her reason for doing so rested next to the sugar bowl on the table: four gilt-edged, creamy vellum tickets to the ball. My stepsisters had not been talking utter nonsense.

  Imelda sprang to her feet, appearing considerably relieved to see me. “Ella, dear, here you are at last. We have all been waiting for you.” Imelda’s hands fluttered in that way she had when she was nervous. “Only look who surprised us with a visit in your absence, your friend, Mr. Hawkridge.”

  “That is not all he surprised us with.” Netta scooped up a ticket and pressed it into my hand.

  “Mal has made it possible for us all to go to the ball,” Amy trilled. “Can you believe it?”

  “No, I can’t.” As I stared at the ticket, my first thought was that I need not have hazarded my life selling my beloved mother’s earrings, after all. My second thought was far more disturbing. What sort of game was Mal playing at now?

  I lifted my gaze from the ticket, directing a sharp glance at him. Mal dabbed his mouth with a napkin. He set his teacup aside before rising leisurely from the bench.

  “Hallo, Ella.” He smiled at me as though we had parted company just yesterday and he had not disappeared for two weeks, leaving me to worry and wonder about his absence.

  I wanted to hug him. I wanted to strangle him. I wanted to barrage him with questions, but I could do none of those things in my family’s presence.

  I sank down into the nearest chair, waving the ticket. “This is indeed a surprise. I hardly know what to say.”

  Mal shrugged. “A simple ‘thank you’ will suffice.”

  As he resumed his seat, my stepsisters jostled each other to secure the place on the bench next to him. Amy won, casting Mal a coy smile. Netta emitted a tiny sigh, settling onto the nearest chair. If even I had noticed how wickedly attractive Mal looked, I should not have been surprised by the effect he was having on my sisters. There was far more than gratitude in the way they regarded their “fairy godfather.”

  Netta twirled one of her curls while peeping at him through the thickness of her lashes. Amy’s cheeks were stained with a rosy blush. Mal treated their flirtatiousness with a wry amusement. My poor Em appeared on the verge of having a spasm, despite the ball tickets.

  She fluttered as she poured me a cup of tea. “Of course, you were not here for me to consult, Ella. I did worry it was not quite proper to accept such a costly gift from a single gentleman, even if he is your friend.”

  “But then Mal explained that he won the tickets,” Amy put in.

  “Mr. Hawkridge, dear,” Imelda reproved gently.

  I frowned at Mal. “You won them? How?”

  “Shooting dice with Waldo the Wharf Rat and Long Louie at the Winking Goblin.”

  “Oh, dear,” Imelda said. “You did not mention that. How—how extraordinary.”

  “Isn’t it just,” I said drily. “I would not have expected the sort of rapscallions who frequent the Winking Goblin to have ball tickets to wager.”

  “Why not? Rapscallions have daughters too,” Mal said. “As a matter of fact, the person I won the tickets from, Waldo the Wharf Rat, has four charming girls.”

  Imelda fanned herself with a napkin. “Waldo the Wharf Rat? Oh my! What an unusual name.”

  “How fortunate for us that he is not lucky at cards,” Amy chortled, but my tender-hearted Netta cast Mal a stricken look.

  “But that means that Mr. Wharf Rat’s poor daughters cannot go to the ball because we have their tickets.” Netta’s face fell and she appeared ready to cry.

  Mal paused in the act of adding another lump of sugar to his tea, clearly surprised by Netta’s reaction. He made a swift recovery. “Don’t worry about that. Waldo’s girls won’t mind.”

  “How could any girl not mind being deprived of the ball?”

  “Because they have no interest in wedding a prince. Er…they are already happily married. Quite recently they all up and eloped so Waldo no longer needed those ball tickets.”

  “All four of his daughters eloped at once?” Imelda exclaimed.

  “How romantic!” Amy sighed.

  Netta brightened. “They must have found their true loves. That’s wonderful.”

  No, it was a load of frap. I could not believe that even my stepsisters could be naive enough to credit such an outlandish tale. But Mal had always possessed the ability to tell the most blatant lies while contriving to look as guileless as a newborn babe. He enjoyed testing to see how much nonsense he could get a person to swallow. As his gaze met mine across the table, I saw the mischief dancing in his eyes.

  When I thought no one was looking, I mouthed silently, I am going to kill you.

  Mal grinned and mouthed back. I love you too.

  Blast the man. He knew that I could not challenge his ridiculous story any further, not without upsetting Imelda, who was already struggling with the propriety of accepting the tickets. Mal was obviously determined that she do so. But why?

  When he had offered to send me to the ball, he had made it abundantly clear he would not advance a penny toward tickets for my family. What had caused him to change his mind? Unfortunately, there was only one reason I could think of. Mal must have been unable to find another way to break into the royal palace. By supplying tickets for my entire family, he knew I would be obliged to attend the ball. Very likely, he hoped he could still persuade me to steal the orb for him. I knew Mal could be devious when it came to achieving his ends, but I felt hurt and angry that he would seek to manipulate me in this ruthless fashion.

  I could not confront him with my suspicions until we were alone. All I could do was fume in silence until an unexpected opportunity presented itself in the form of Mrs. Biddlesworth.

  I could just see the top of her straw bonnet and her eyes as she spied upon us over the garden fence. The woman had been doing that more frequently of late. No doubt she hoped to catch me conjuring up another exotic plant through the use of illegal magic. Usually, I would tease her by squinting one eye and mumbling nonsense words as though I really was casting a spell. A silly and reckless thing to do, I knew. One of these days, I probably would provoke her into filing a complaint against me. I wondered if Commander Crushington would be the one to arrest me, looking all sad and rueful, but clapping me in irons all the same.

  I astonished both Mrs. Biddlesworth and my family by waving and calling out cheerily, “Hello, Mrs. B!”

  Mrs. Biddlesworth was obliged to straighten from her hiding spot behind the fence. She made a halfhearted gesture of greeting, her face flushed as red as her peonies.

  “That woman! Always snooping,” my stepmother huffed. “You should not encourage her, Ella.”

  “Oh, Em, you can hardly blame Mrs. B for being curious about why we are all making so merry. I should go tell her our good news.”

  “No, please, let me,” Netta cried. “I am just bursting to tell someone.”

  “No, I shall tell her,” Amy said.

  Just as I had known they would, my sisters leapt up, rattling the table in their haste.

  “Girls, really!” Imelda protested. “I will not have you indulging that woman’s vulgar curiosity.”

  Amy and Netta were already racing across the yard, eager to be the first one to share the glad tidings. I laid one hand soothingly on Imelda’s arm.

  “I think someone should offer Mrs. B an explanation. After all this time, I doubt she recognizes Mal. She is probably wondering why we are entertaining a man who looks rather like a river pirate. One would hate for any unsavory rumors to get started…”

  I did not even have to finish the thought before Imelda leapt to her feet and rushed after the girls. Mal had been smothering his laughter into his napkin during this entire exchange. His mirth abruptly ceased when I whipped around the table and pounced, seizing him by the ear.

  “All right, Hawkridge. What by all the fairies are you up to?”

  “Ow! Ow! Ow! Let go!” He pried my fingers away and regarded me reproachfully. “Is this any way to treat your fairy godfather?”<
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  “This is one fairy godfather who is about to gets his wings clipped if he doesn’t start talking. Where have you been all this time? What mischief have you been plotting? Where did you acquire those tickets?”

  Mal rubbed his ear. “Could I have one question at a time, please?”

  I plunked down on the bench beside him so hard the wood creaked. “Let’s start with those tickets. I don’t want to hear any more frap about you winning them at the Winking Goblin. The palace might claim everyone is welcome at the ball, but I highly doubt the king sent a herald to pole down the river to deliver an invitation to Waldo the Wharf Rat.”

  “His Majesty might have done.”

  “But he didn’t. Any more than the Wharf Rat has daughters.”

  “That is where you are wrong, Ella. Waldo does have four girls, although—” Mal chuckled. “His daughters are more into swordplay than waltzing, and if he had so much as suggested they deck themselves out in frills to attend that ball, they would have chucked their father into the river.”

  “Then why did you tease my poor stepmother with such an absurd story?”

  “Because if I told her the truth, that I had bribed a herald to give me an invitation so I could buy the tickets, Imelda would have refused to take them. She appears to have some ridiculous scruple about accepting expensive gifts from a man outside of the family.” He added teasingly, “Of course, I could have told her we had become betrothed.”

  “Only if you wanted to give my poor Em heart failure. Why did you go to such pains to acquire the tickets and get Imelda to accept them? If you think by sending us all to the ball, you will able to maneuver me into stealing that orb for you—”

  “I thought nothing of the kind. The tickets are a gift, Ella. Pure and simple, no conditions attached.”

  “Then I truly do not understand. I know how much you despise my stepmother and sisters. Why would you give them such an expensive gift?”

  “Because I hated the way we parted that day in my shop. I felt ashamed for the way I tried to pressure you into stealing the orb and sulked when you refused. It seemed important to you that your stepmother and -sisters go to the ball. So I guess that makes it important to me too.”