Finding Ever After: four fairytale-ish novellas Page 10

  Just as she checked her clock to discover a half hour until supper, a knock sounded. Mrs. Vanderbilt stood at the door, resplendent in full evening attire. Her gown of deep burgundy swelled around her as rich as wine shimmering in candlelight. Stella wondered if she could emulate the color with her paints.

  “Mrs. Vanderbilt, how good to see you.”

  “Stella, I would speak to you.”

  “Of course.” Stella stepped back to allow the mistress of the house full entry.

  Once she’d reached the center of the room, she turned, the intensity of her gaze holding Stella’s. “I know the difficulties in losing your parents when you are young. The same happened to me, so I feel this kinship to your circumstances. And now, to find yourself starting a fresh with cloud overhead from this slander against your good name.” She folded her hands in front of herself, calm, confident. “It has always been my desire to help those under my roof in whatever way I can.”

  “You’ve been more than gracious.” Was she going to send her away? Had she heard something more of the rumors?

  She waved away Stella’s words and began to pace the few steps between the bed and the settee. “A young man approached me today regarding a young lady he’d met by our pond.”

  “Mrs. Vanderbilt, I can explain—”

  “It seems the gentleman is quite smitten with this particular lady.” Her motion stopped, and she glanced over her shoulder, brow raised, expression unreadable. “And rightly so.”

  Stella’s prepared clarification stuck in her throat. “Pardon?”

  Mrs. Vanderbilt approached, an envelope in her hand as offering. “I wanted to deliver this in person since it was quite specifically given to me with you in mind.”

  Stella took the envelope, keeping her attention on Mrs. Vanderbilt’s face. “I don’t understand.”

  “It appears this very capable and available gentleman is intent on finding you.” She gestured toward the envelope. “Or, perhaps I should say, being found by you.”

  Stella drew the card from its sheath and her breath caught. It was an invitation to a masquerade ball at Cravenwood in three days. Stella looked back to Mrs. Vanderbilt’s.

  “Mr. Vanderbilt and I are not able to attend, but I’ve informed the driver that a car should be made available to you.” Her brow peaked like a wordless nudge. “Should you wish to go.”

  Stella looked back down at the invitation. Lorraine Collins would be attending, so Stella would potentially be walking into the lion’s den. “He specifically left this for me?”

  “And a wise young lady would go, if she cares anything for the gentleman. After all, it’s a masquerade. You can be anyone you want.”

  “I can be anyone I want,” she whispered.

  Undefined by the slander, or even her past. She didn’t have to appear as a simple orphan or a renowned illustrator. Stella’s smile spun wide. What if she arrived as honestly as possible—as a woman who wanted to find her own fairytale?

  “Thank you, Mrs. Vanderbilt.” Stella reached for her cloak, her pulse rushing to a thrum in her ears. A woman who believed she’d found her own fairytale.

  “I can provide a suitable gown, should you have need of one.”

  Stella pulled her cloak around her shoulders, an idea crystalizing into silverish-blue in her mind. “That is so kind of you, but I believe I have the perfect gown, and a special one at that.”

  Mrs. Vanderbilt’s grin slanted as she followed Stella to the door. “And what will you be at the masquerade ball, so Mr. Craven can find you?”

  Stella tossed a grin over her shoulder, the very idea confirming her decision. “A fairy.”

  James scanned the room from his perch next to his father, but none of the ladies spread throughout the glittering ballroom remotely resembled Stella. He glanced over at the large clock by the fireplace. Almost six o’clock. Well, the ball had only begun an hour ago, so she still had time to arrive. The balcony on the far side of the ballroom gave the best view of the entrance, and he’d rarely left it to mingle with the growing crowd, despite his stepmother’s persistent urging.

  “Why don’t you visit with the guests while you search for your mysterious lady, son. It will be a good distraction.” Father gestured toward the full ballroom with his glass. Ah. Clearly, Stepmother had sent him on a mission for her.

  “Mysterious lady? What on earth do you mean?” James’s stepmother walked into the conversation, her attention zeroed in on James. “Weren’t you and Miss Collins becoming better acquainted? She’s quite lovely when she smiles.”

  James sent a look to his father, who stood behind Marilyn. “Indeed she is, and if that were the stuff to secure lasting happiness, I would have no qualms with your choice. However, Miss Collins isn’t the right sort for me.”

  “You ought to at least give her a chance, James.” Stepmother moved closer to him, bringing a well-honed glare with her along with a healthy dose of tangerine-scented perfume. “Of all the boys, you are the most likely to make a good marriage. I doubt Thomas will ever marry. With his dour personality and lack of conversation, what woman would have him for anything but his money?”

  James hid a wince in the rim of his glass. Thomas may not exude welcome, more concerned with business and privacy than romance, but he was a good fellow beneath the brooding demeanor.

  “And Luke?” She released a helpless sigh. “At this rate he’ll have five children before he ever has a wife.”

  James almost choked on his mouthful.

  “You must realize the gravity of your situation.” She stepped closer, index finger raised to make her point. “You’re our only hope, James, so you must take this seriously.”

  “I’m afraid you’re too late with your matchmaking schemes, Marilyn. James has his sights set on a very particular young woman he met at Biltmore.”

  “At Biltmore?” Stepmother closed in a few more steps. “Why is this the first I’m hearing of such a lady?”

  James drew in a breath to give himself time to sort out his answer. “Because I wanted to make sure she was the good sort, as you’ve been so keen to remind me. And she is. The very best. She’s wonderful with Alice, and her smile is—” He lost track of his words as her face appeared to mind. “Perfectly…delightful. Her frown is perfect too.” James turned a grin to his father. “Godmother is going to love her. You know her affinity for artists.”

  “Good heavens, he’s soft-headed about her.”

  James placed a palm to his chest. “More like soft-hearted.”

  “And she’s…she’s an artist, you say?” Stepmother’s hand flew to her throat, and she narrowed her focus to Father. “You knew about this girl? And you didn’t tell me?”

  “Not much longer than you, darling. Though, as I understand it, they’ve been acquaintances for nigh a month.” Father’s glass became his talking piece again as he tilted it toward James. “And I’m not certain your mysterious artist will have an opportunity to meet your elusive godmother. She rang not an hour ago to say that her train was delayed in Asheville on the way to Orchard Falls due to some mechanical issues or some such.” His dark eyes took on a twinkle. “But if I know your godmother, she’ll not let something like a maimed train slow her down.”

  Stepmother waved away Father’s words, returning those hawk-like eyes to him. “What do you know of her? Where is she from? Who are her family?”

  “She’s an artist—more particularly, an illustrator from Boston. You should like that.”

  “It all depends on what part of Boston if she’s to garner my liking, James. Reputation and connections are everything, you know.”

  “I’m sorry to contradict you, Marilyn, but those are rarely what matters most.”

  “They matter when it comes to fortunes and soft-hearted heirs.”

  “Marilyn,” Father said, easing her tirade for a second.

  “And she’s rather famous from what I can tell. Children’s books.” James studied the room again, searching for his lady. Please, Stella Faye. App
ear as you’ve done so many other times.

  “What of her family?”

  He turned his attention back to his stepmother. “The very best. The most generous of hearts, strong, kind, hardworking.”

  “And she’s an excellent swimmer, from what I understand.” Father offered a mischievous wink.

  Stepmother rolled her eyes heavenward and shook her head. “What to do with the likes of you two.” Her brow pointed northward. “Well, where is this lady of yours, then? If she’s caught your eye with such certainty, I suppose you invited her to the masquerade?”

  “She’ll be here.” I hope. James scanned the room again. All the doors along the terrace were opened to the view, allowing cool air to sweep into the room heated by about seventy people and two massive fireplaces on either side. Oh, what a colorful mix of guests they had. Two Shakespeares, a Mozart, a couple of Greek goddesses, one jester, a few kings, a horse, and something that resembled a…donkey? But a Stella Faye? He turned his attention back to his father, only to notice a face peeking around the corner of the column near where they stood.

  Miss Lorraine Collins? Had she heard their discussion about her? Heat soared up his neck, and he offered a quick smile. “Miss Collins, I didn’t see you standing there.”

  His parents turned, Marilyn taking the lead. “Please do join us here on the perch. It offers an excellent view of the entire ballroom.”

  She hesitated, her golden gown and the laurel upon her head identifying her as one of the goddesses. “I didn’t mean to enter in on a private conversation.” But for some reason her expression didn’t match the apology in her words.

  James’s spine stiffened with caution, but something new flickered in her eyes. Anger?

  “Not at all. We were only discussing who is here.” His stepmother turned her gaze on James. “And who is not.”

  “I’m certain all the people who should be here already are.” Miss Collins focused her attention on James too, her dark eyes conveying a message he didn’t understand, but which shot another frisson of caution through him.

  “And clearly, you are not dancing, Miss Collins.” Father offered his hand. “I’m in need of a good turn or two, and praise for your abilities has preceded you.” His father adjusted the crown on his head and offered Miss Collins his arm, needling James with a look of expectation.

  James dipped his chin. “Please, won’t you reserve a later dance for me, Miss Collins?”

  “Of course, Mr. Craven.” Her smile held more fire than pleasure. “And perhaps we can talk about art and Boston and unexpected visitors.”

  Something was wrong. A threat tinted her words, but why?

  Father led Miss Collins to the ballroom floor, and Marilyn turned to him. “You’ve offended her, James. I expect you to make up for your blunder.” With that, his stepmother spun around and joined a few of her friends by the fire, watching the crowd.

  James stepped to the railing of the perch, searching the masked faces of the crowd below for any sign of Stella. He’d believed she would come—was almost certain—but as the chimes of the clock struck six, doubt tangled its way around hope. What irony to have his fortune repel a woman’s affection instead of secure it! And what about the money anyway? They matched in so many ways that mattered more, why couldn’t she—

  He froze. His fingers gripped the railing as he leaned forward for a better view.

  A figure in silvery blue stood just outside one of the French doors off the terrace, golden sunset framing her silhouette. Something resembling…wings rose from her back, and a silver mask covered the upper half of her face, concealing her identity from everyone but him.

  He knew that face. The golden hair bathed in sunlight. Those eyes.

  His fairy had come.

  He released a laugh and pushed off the railing. His foot slipped ever so slightly on the stairs, but he righted himself, only garnering a few curious looks from guests. Rounding the crowd, he came upon the terrace doors at an angle that hid his approach from her view, giving him an excellent vantage point from which to take her in. The intricate beading of her unique gown. The simple, silver crown she wore within the folds of her golden curls. The intricate painted detail of her mask. And, of course, the charm bracelet dangling from her delicate wrist.

  Oh yes. It was her.

  Stella.

  He adjusted the white sash across his chest, secured his pale-blue mask in place, and stopped near her just as she turned his way. Her gaze met his, and the most beautiful smile lit her face as recognition dawned in her eyes.

  He bowed low, careful to hold his crown in the process. “Queen of the fairy folk, we are honored to have you visit our home.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “I thought you might not come.”

  “I’m sorry we parted in such a way.” Her eyes rounded with an apology. “There was just so much to take in and…more to explain.”

  “I’m only glad you came.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips, looking up with a grin. “Otherwise, I was going to start doubting the truth behind those fairytales you illustrate.”

  “Oh, don’t doubt them. I’ve only recently been reacquainted with how much they fit into the workings of the real world.”

  “Then let’s celebrate fairytales tonight.” Her lips spread into another beautiful smile, and he tugged her toward him. “Would you dance with me, Fairy Queen?”

  “Of course.” But she paused, studying him from head to toe. “Are you a king?”

  “Oh no, no, Your Highness.” He winked as he led her out onto the ballroom floor. “I’m Cinderella’s charming prince.”

  9

  Glass Slipper

  James Craven looked exactly like a prince out of one of her illustrations. In fact, Stella liked the look of him so well, she determined to finish the final illustration for Mrs. Bertram’s fairytale book with James as her model for Cinderella’s prince. After all, he’d dressed the part.

  For her.

  As he drew her into a dance—in the haven of his arms—the differences between her circumstances and his didn’t seem as important anymore. She belonged with him, even if it meant two different worlds merging to create a new one. Their hearts, their stories together, was what mattered.

  The costumes helped bridge the chasm of social difference. After all, she was a fairy queen dancing with a prince. And dance they did. One song after another, each one drawing them closer together. He teased her smiles into laughter. She ushered a sparkle to his eyes with her replies, and in the middle of his enormous estate house, she found her place…with him.

  The past and the future braided into this choice with him, and she meant to start their happily-ever-after with the full truth. If only she could find a private place to talk to him. A ballroom wouldn’t do, and he needed to know. For both their sakes.

  He held her respectably close, but his voice tempted her nearer into this sweet romance they’d agreed to in every way but with words. “I hope you’re here long enough to meet my godmother.”

  Stella raised a playful brow. “Is she a fairy godmother?”

  “Do fairy godmothers ever appear to men in fairytales?” He looked up at the ceiling in thought. “You know, I don’t think they do.” He shot her a pointed look. “Someone ought to change that pattern, I think. I can assure you, men need magical help as much as women.” He dipped his face closer and lowered his voice, bring some sweet scent with him. “Or perhaps they only need brave women who can swim and create magic through painting?”

  She laughed at his teasing as he continued, her cheeks warming at his compliment.

  He returned to his dancing posture but kept the twinkle in his eyes. “But for lots of people, my godmother may as well be a fairy godmother. She has one of the most generous hearts in the world, ready to help those in need, those with dreams. She’s the one who found this land for father, because she fell in love with the mountains during her first visit to Biltmore.”

  “Then I already like her.”

  “Y
ou ought to. She’s just your sort of fairy godmother too, if I could choose one for you. She loves art and creativity. Has a penchant for magnificent footwear, or so my stepmother declares. And she’s always into fixing people’s lives.” His brows wiggled as he leaned close again, lowering his voice and bringing a sweet scent of…chocolate with him. Oh yes, he was practically perfect. Of course he’d smell like chocolate. “She’s terribly interested in matchmaking everyone in her wake. If you ask me, she knows my brother Thomas better than anyone in the family. If anyone can find him a suitable bride, it’s her.”

  His animated expressions inspired Stella’s laugh, his comradery binding her heart more securely to this unexpected pairing—this dream. “I can’t wait to meet her.” The music swirled around them, his hand warm at her waist, and the whole world took on a magical glow. Perhaps the next time she illustrated a fairytale, she’d add more pastel colors. “And you must meet my Granny Morin. She still lives in the house she was born in. Mr. Vanderbilt owns it now but has given her permission to stay there as long as she lives. It’s far up on a mountain nearby.”

  “And you would take me there?”

  She’d love nothing better. Bringing him to the only other person close enough to Stella’s heart to really know her? Most certainly. “Of course. And your visit would please her so much. She’s loved hearing all about you.”

  “You’ve told her about me, have you?” His brows rose. “And what did you say? ‘He’s a silly chap who can’t swim and dabbles in trees’?”

  “Perhaps.” She bit back her grin. “Especially the trees part.”

  He gave an exaggerated eye roll. “Now she’s going to think I’m a monkey.”

  “Having been a mountain girl her whole life, I feel certain she’d love to see a monkey.”

  “Very funny.” He squeezed her hand as they waltzed.