Once upon a time, when Princes were always charming and Princesses were of necessity wondrous to look upon, there lived a darling princess. This princess was called Ella by her royal parents; the citizens knew her as “Her Royal Highness, Princess Ella”. Little Ella was named for her royal papa's own mother, to whom she bore a striking likeness, both in feature and personality. For Ella was the granddaughter of that famous storybook princess, Cinderella.
As such, she had the most golden fair hair one ever saw, the clearest, bluest eyes, the sweetest mouth, pink as a rosebud touched with dew, and the most graceful form ever eye fell upon. Her temper, in general was quiet, submissive, and dignified...goodness and graciousness surrounded her, even as a small child.
When our story opens, little Ella was but a tiny, delicate creature with the barest hint at freckles across her well formed royal nose and cheeks. At eight, she was already quite sensitive to right and wrong and was deeply grieved at cruelty to both man and beast. Her royal papa, knowing how well loved she was by his people, allowed her the free roam of the castle, and it was on the walls with an old watchman that she would frequently be found after her studies were done for the day. Sometimes she prattled to the old man about what she had learned that day, other times she listened wide-eyed to his stories—some true, some enhanced, and others plain fiction.
On the day in question, however, the small princess was leaned over the wall as far as she dared, the old watchman with a protective hand through her periwinkle sash, both observing the interesting sight below.
“What beautiful gowns the ladies have on!” Ella cried, enraptured by the gleam of the satins and silks and 'foppery' of the splendid ladies below her.
Glancing up at the old man beside her, she queried him sweetly, “Do tell me, if you know, but what is the occasion?”
The watchman squinted down, rubbing his chin. Just then, the bells in the church began to peel joyfully.
“Ah...” said he, “it'd be a wedding, your Princessness.”
Ella giggled at his pet name for her, then sighed delightedly, “Isn't is lovely! When I get married, you shall be my ring bearer.”
“As you wish, m'lady,” he could not bring himself to squash that delightful picture in the young girl's fanciful mind.
Together they leaned over and watched the gorgeous procession wind it's way magnificently toward the church.
Meanwhile, below, walking by his mother's stirrup, was a lad of ten. His hair was black, black as coal. His eyes were brown, brown as the earth turned over by the plowmen in the spring. His face, dimly freckled, was serious. He looked up the road and seemed reluctant to place one foot in front of the other.
The procession reached the church. The lady was helped down by her son and then led through the grand arching entrance. Up the aisle, all eyes turned in their direction, they moved with a slow, sedate tread towards the front where the groom, a dashingly handsome man of some forty years old, stood. To his left stood three boys: ages twelve, ten, and eight.
As the marriage took place, the four boys stood on either side of their respective parents and observed one another. The lady's son presented a calm, serious, reverent face to the watchers. The gentleman's three sons were likewise calm, but carried themselves with an air of hauteur. Glances amongst themselves and at the lad opposite them carried a sense of what was to come.
* * *
Stanley Blackwell squared his shoulders. The blow came from behind, unexpected and yet expected. Down, down the grand stairs he tumbled. Leaping up at the base of the casement, he wheeled, fists clenched in desperate anger. He was mud-encased, his rich robustly red satin forever ruined. The jeers of his step-brothers infuriated him and he charged up the steps that them.
A thunderous voice ordered, “Cease this flailing!”
Four youths untangled themselves and stood in various postures of submission and defiance. Four years had passed since that fateful morning Lord Peter had wed the Lady LuEllen, but the love that they had prayed would spring between their sons had never blossomed.
Stanley stood half-ashamed of his retaliatory anger, half-defiant in the face of his step-father's anger. The only comfort he took was that it was equally directed at the three other lads. Christoph, the eldest, dared to laugh. James and Henry giggled a little uncertainly, but their attempt at carefree amusement was quelled by a glare from their father.
“Why must you boys insist upon fighting constantly? You know it displeases me and grieves your mother! What shall I do with you?”
Christoph continued his insolent grinning, “You always mistake a playful sparring match for a bloody fight, Father...we were just playing, weren't we, lads?”
His meaningful glance induced his younger brothers to agree violently. Stanley alone stood his ground.
“I was struck from behind.”
He said it calmly, without looking at Lord Peter. Rather, his gaze was fixed defiantly at Christoph. Turning to his step-father, he asserted, “Sir...it shall not happen again. I, at any rate, refuse to cause my mother further pain.”
Bowing stiffly, he turned and left them, with as much dignity as a limp would permit. The sound of the stiff rating that the other three were getting died away as he pushed open the door to the stables.
Breathing in deeply, he stood for a moment, watching the old groom stiffly readying the carriage for the Lady LuEllen. Suddenly, Stanley stripped off his ruined tunic and took his place beside the groom.
“Let me help you, Timbrell.”
“Master Stanley!” The old man seemed shocked.
Stanley deftly took the harness out of the old man's hands. In half the time it would have taken Timbrell to do it, he had the carriage ready for his mother's use. Helping the old man into the driver's seat, he informed him, “From now on, Timbrell, I shall be helping you. As you know, with the expenses of living these days, my good step-father in unable to hire a second groom to help you. You have served well and faithfully since long before I was born...you taught me most of what I know about horses...all I ask you now is to let me repay that.”
Timbrell looked down at his young lord, “Master Stanley, what of your schooling? What of your position in life? What of..”
Stanley lifted his hand commandingly and the old man fell silent.
“My life, Timbrell, shifted drastically when my mother married Lord Peter. If it were not for Christoph, I think James and Henry would be content to let me be, but such is not the case. It hurts my mother, Timbrell, the fighting does. I have promised it shall not happen again, so I shall keep out of their way when studies are done for the day—this is the best way to do so. I may have to argue with...Father...but he is a reasonable man. Now go...do not keep your Lady waiting.”
Shaking his head wonderingly, Timbrell drove round to the front of the great mansion where Lady LuEllen was waiting for him.
As soon as she was gone, Stanley strode into the house and straight to his step-father's study. Lord Peter had just let his sons go, on the condition that they go to the school room until dinner was served.
“Ah, Stanley! I was just fixing to send one of the menservants to find you. Yes? Yes...what have you to say?”
The lad clearly had something on his mind.
As he spoke rapidly, outlining his idea to stay clear of his step-brothers by working in the stables when the day's tutoring was completed, Lord Peter's jaw went slack.
“But, my son, that is servant's work!”
Stanley's grim smile belied his lightly tossed reply, “They think so as well!”
Suddenly serious again, he blurted, “But it will keep me clear of them after school hours and it will cause my mother less grief to know that her son is helping a faithful old servant than to know that he is constantly at war with his step-brothers! Besides, sir, I like animals and I will not mind the strain it will put on my muscles. How can it hurt me? Will it make me any less of a gentleman?”
Lord Peter was unable to argue with the boy's frankness and the determination showing under the black brows. He ceded to Stanley's request, “though I do not like it much”.
Thus it was that at age fourteen, Stanley, one day to be master of his own father's estate, began to be a stable hand on his own lands. When Lord Peter's household removed for the winters to his holdings, Stanley remained on Lady LuEllen's estate. It grieved his mother than he felt constrained to work with his hands in order to avoid destructive fighting with his step-brothers. What grieved her more was the fact that his own three half-brothers, whom she bore to Lord Peter, did not know him as well as she would have liked. However, there was no talking Stanley out of his course of action, as he was a determined boy.
As for Stanley, he felt the work harden his muscles; he grew browned from his work out-of-doors. There was, however, no loss of dignity. He learned the way the common class thought, he began to understand to a greater degree the breath of the knowledge that was required to be a good farmer and husbandman of livestock. He filed away knowledge, both of the “book” sort and the homespun sort, striving to be wise in order to be one day a responsible lord. By the time he had reached eighteen, his functional knowledge of what it took to be a good landlord far surpassed that of his step-brothers. In addition to that, he had gained the undying loyalty of his tenants.
However, and to not only his mother's regrets, his polish was worn. He was frequently dirtied with stable litter and smelled of the same. His hands were rough and large. The fine calfskin gloves that most young noblemen wore burst across his knuckles. He at times felt he had earned his step-brother's mocking moniker of “Sable”.
Stanley bemoaned himself on occasion that his gentlemanly manners were on the rusty side; he remembered how to bow, which fork to dine with, and all the obvious things used more day to day...but he felt proper etiquette in speech amongst the upper class was lacking. He had become direct, blunt even, in his speech. He was a nobleman in authority on the one hand and a simple spoken farmer on the other.
“I wonder,” he laughed ruefully one afternoon to the big bay he was saddling for Christoph, “I wonder what I would do if I had to go to court!”
“Like that's likely, Sable!” Christoph's sneering voice cut through the dimness of the stable.
Stanley cringed inwardly at that name of disdain. Sable! A mix between his own name and stable...and yes, the fact that his hair was sable colored. At least the others did not call him “Stable”...that would have been far, far worse.
Stanley looked back across the length of the stable at Christoph, now a dashing blonde man of 20. His riding breeches fit him to perfection and his movement was pure grace. A thin mustache accented his upper lip. He was a fine looking young man, no one could doubt that for a minute.
Peaceable, Stanley remarked, “I would not presume to attend unbidden, of course! And you are quite right, Christoph, there is indeed small chance that that should occur!”
To the horse, “Easy, boy...we'll be ready in a minute.”
Christoph glared down from his seat upon the bay as Stanley spoke while holding the horse's head, “Go easy on him, will you? I detect a slight limp on his right foreleg.”
Christoph snorted, “Been jumping him while my back was turned, have you?”
It was a lie and he knew it, but it was a fine excuse for the hateful lash he laid across Stanley's face. Digging spurs into the horse's side, he was off as Stanley reeled from the blow, blood trickling down his cheek. Suddenly, he was angry, angrier than he had been in a long while—not because of the blow, but because Christoph was taking the big bay over jumps that it should not have been subjected to with the already tender leg.
An hour later, up on the castle wall, a golden haired maid of sixteen leaned over the parapet in her favorite spot. An old watchman, bent more than ever by age, stood beside her.
“Oh! Do look, Hudson!” Her cry was pitiful.
The old man squinted in the direction her finger was pointing.
“That poor animal is limping dreadfully...”
“Man oughtta get off him,” was the disdainful rejoinder.
As he spoke, another figure came into view, a tallish, hatless man with hair black as night. As though spellbound, Princess Ella watched as he reached the other and seemed to be in violent discussion with him. Stunned, she gripped Hudson's arm as the rider raised his crop and brought it down sharply on the other's head. The man with the black hair reached up and unseated the rider, pulling him down on top of him.
Hudson cheered excitedly, then exclaimed, “Blimly! Why don't he fight 'im now??”
It was true...the dark-headed fellow simply took the animal's bridle and led him away. The man who had been riding pranced about in a rage, but every blow he aimed at the other was deflected until he seemed to tire of it and stamped off.
Christoph was indeed very, very angry...but his attempts at engaging his step-brother in a battle of fisticuffs was thwarted by Stanley's cool deflection and single-minded determination to go directly back to the stables.
Little did the two young men realize that they had been behaving naturally before the princess of the land. Little would Stanley had cared...greatly would Christoph had cared. Christoph, a bully, was most famous with the girls as a handsome, witty sort of man. Many were the young ladies of good families thought that Christoph would make them a fine husband.
Christoph was used to having his way with Stanley; the younger boy, since that day on the steps four years before, had never raised his hand against his step-brother...and only once or twice his voice, so firm was his determination to keep peace for the sake of his mother. Thus it was that his effortless unseating of Christoph threw that young man into such a passion that he set about with a vengeance to make Stanley's life as miserable as possible. This was not limited to the following, each of which was followed up by a long litney of abusive name calling. “Sable” was heard more and more frequently.
Christoph smashed things, things like wheelbarrows.
He broke things, like pitchforks and shovels.
He ruined things, things like saddles and bridles.
He pushed Stanley as hard as he could by mistreating the horses.
He blew up the chicken coop. (That one mis-fired on him in the form of no chicken on the table for several months.)
He set hay ricks on fire.
He did anything he could think of to cause Stanley more work and disquiet of mind. Still, Stanley did not retaliate. He did not return the fire; rather he stood firm and fixed things as quickly as Christoph destroyed them. In doing so, Stanley's faithful following amongst the tenants was strengthened. He paid for their destroyed hayricks out his own pocket.
For two years, Stanley and Christoph faced each other in this game of cat and mouse. Nothing Lord Peter said could restrain his eldest's vindictive attacks and subversion directed against Stanley.
Meanwhile, the Princess Ella blossomed under the gentle and tender care of her parents and devoted tutors. Old Hudson was finally convinced to retire from his position as watch-keeper, but his presence was still faithfully found upon the castle walls each afternoon before the royal suppertime. Ella likewise found time in her maturing schedule to meet each afternoon for, at minimum, a few words with her old friend.
One afternoon as her eighteenth birthday drew nigh and she was showing him one of her new ball gowns, regardless of her maidservant's horror that she would take it upon the walls, Hudson asked the resplendent princess, “You remember back nigh almost two years ago now? The fine bay with the limp and the dark fellow who unseated the hatted one?” And he chuckled at the remembrance.
Ella halted in the midst of a twirl, allowing the rich silks to swish to a standstill about her dainty ankles.
Curiously, she nodded, “I do. I have never seen the dark-haired man since...though I believe I have spotted both the horse and rider.”
“Well,” Hudson pointed with his chin, “I discovered by accident the identity of the rider.”
Knowing how he loved to be prompted, Ella took a step closer, “Well? Who is he? Do tell!”
Gratified, Hudson stroked his beard and twinkled up at the lovely girl, “He is Christoph...Lord Peter Whimbleton's eldest son.”
“Indeed? Have I not heard that he has seven sons?” Ella queried, her interest piqued. Lord Peter she had briefly met on various occasions and had been slightly frightened off him, probably she assumed, because he was so serious, whereas her own father was somewhat of a jovial man.
Hudson nodded, “Aye, though one of them is son of his wife, the Lady LuEllen, from her first marriage.”
Ella laughed suddenly, “It amazes me how you know so much about the families of the gentry!”
The old man grinned, “My dear, when you have lived as long as I in royal circles—yes, even on the fringe edge—you learn much about the gentry. They really are no different than common folk, though their manners may be better!”
Just then bells started peeling throughout the castle. Ella started and gathered up her skirts, “I must fly! I cannot go into dinner in this dress!!”
Dashing away gracefully, her gown streaming behind her, she was unconsciously aware of the gentle laughter of the old watchman.
Dinner eaten, the royal family retired to the royal sitting room where Ella sedately took her place at the harpsichord to entertain her family for a good half-hour. The difference between the sweet girl at the instrument and the wind-blown girl who had dashed into her bedroom with but five minutes to change and reach the dinner table was so marked that her lady's maid, a good natured girl but three years the princess's senior, would have doubled over with laughter.
As the last notes drifted out the open window and through the courtyard, the king stood and stretched himself in a most undignified fashion. His wife watched him with care, “My dearest, one of these days I do believe you shall fall over backwards!”
He laughed and patted her shoulder, “And when that happens, my queen, you shall know that I am old.”
The royal family laughed together heartily for some minutes over this and various other sundry amusing remarks that stem from post-meal good humor.
Once they got their breath again, His Royal Highness, King Rudolph, addressed his daughter, “Well, my Ella, how are your birthday ball preparations coming along?”
By that, he meant ball gowns, jewelry, hair-styles, and gloves. The real preparations were being undertaken by himself, the Queen, and the head steward.
Ella's eyes gleamed. “Oh, Papa!! I simply cannot decide between the blue silk...or the violet one...”
He threw up his hands.
“My dear! My dear! What would your grandmother choose?”
The Queen smiled her agreement...after all her daughter looked much more like her mother-in-law than her own self. The Queen would have worn red, but it would not quite suit the age and complexion of the fair girl before her.
Ella smiled, “Well, Grandmother would say the blue silk...for it matches my eye's and the lines are so simple...”
“That they simply enhance your beauty without making you look 'made up',” her mother finished for her.
“Exactly!” Ella laughed. “Though I do dearly love the violet as well...all those ruffles...”
Her father seemed struck by an idea as he stood by the window. Spinning around, he announced, “Why not wear both? One to one ball, and the other to a second given a week after?”
Both of his ladies seemed enraptured by the idea, so a secondary ball was quickly thrown into the works.
* * *
The messenger pounded down the drive. Pulling his mount up so sharply that the animal skidded a couple of feet, he threw his reins to a tall, dark-haired young man with the look of a stable hand. He bounded up the wide front stairs and pounded vigorously on the door.
Stanley rubbed the blowing horse on the flank after tying him to the ring in the courtyard. Curious as to what brought the messenger, he strode up the steps continuing in all the way to the front parlor. The messenger interrupted himself in the middle of a sentence and glared with irritation at the impudent “stable-hand”.
Seating himself a wooden chair at an ornate desk, Stanley waved his hand, “Pray, continue.”
His younger brothers burst into giggles...Roland, Horace, and Philip adored their older brother despite the fact that they saw him but half the year. The messenger, suddenly quite discomfited, seeing with a sudden clarity that this dirty young man was part of the family, quickly stumbled into his message.
“Well,” remarked Lord Peter when he had left, “we have certainly been honored! 'The Family of Lord Peter Whimbleton invited to the festivities, culminating with a ball, in honor of Her Royal Highness, the Princess Ella's eighteenth birthday'! What do you think of that?”
The question was mainly addressed to his wife, but his sons were quick to agree that it was indeed an honor and that they looked forward to it with the greatest anticipation. The Lady LuEllen looked to her son to say something, but found him instead already in the doorway.
“Stanley!” She called after him. He stopped; then turned slowly, his face half-adverted.
“Yes, Mother?”
His voice was soft.
She rose and came to him, then seeing his face, slipped her arm through his and walked with him out into the sunlight.
“Stanley...my dear...what is the matter?”
He spread his hands in a gesture of showing his garments.
“Mother...Mother...I think it would best if I remained at home. I have nothing to wear; no, you needed protest. I know what Christoph's gambling debts are. Besides, I'm not even sure I would be comfortable in fashionable dress. And even more importantly, I have become rough around the edges...who am I to dare come into the presence of a princess?”
Lady Whimbleton suddenly laughed and pressed her son's arm, “Is that your trouble? My dear, there is certainly enough money on the estate to have a fine suit made for you...and as for fashionable dress! Why, my dear...men's clothing is nearly all the same...and,” she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “you needn't wear your breeches as snug as Christoph's!”
Stanley grinned back, the tightness of his step-brother's breeches were on occasion an opportunity for gossip.
His mother continued, “As for being unworthy to come into the presence of a princess! Why, Stanley! You are a fine, honest, upright, God-fearing man, even if your small talk is lacking. What else matters? Princesses are nothing more than human, you know. And...as is quite possible, you may not even have to talk to her. And fie on you! To turn down an invitation like this when there is no real reason for it! It would be something of an insult to the King himself! Your father shall see to your new suit...I shall see to that!”
She stood up on tiptoe to kiss him resoundingly on the cheek. “Now don't you worry about anything...you shall go and have a splendid time! It's about time you had a little relaxation...”
With that she breezed off into the house to present her plan to Lord Peter, whom, I must say, greeted the proposed expenses for a velvet suit with a great deal of alacrity.
“My dear,” he exclaimed, “you read my mind exactly! It's about time that Stanley had a good time. The poor lad has worked entirely too much these last years...but my! Hasn't he become quite a man! I couldn't be prouder of him if he were my own flesh and blood.”
His face fell, “I do wish Henry and James were not so set upon following in Christoph's footsteps. What did I do wrong with those boys??”
He cheered up a little bit, “However, I am pleased to see that our sons are following more in the footsteps of Stanley than Christoph.”
* * *
Ella's excitement increased as the days passed. She was panting with her flurry as she stumbled up the last step onto the wall. Old Hudson shook his head at her with a playfully grave air.
“Your princessness, you must calm yourself. At this rate of energy, you shall be completely exhausted when the ball does arrive!”
Seeing some sense in his advice, Ella bunched her skirts about her and sat down near his feet. Leaning an elbow on his knee, she smiled sweetly, “Yes, I do know...and you are not the first to tell me to slow down! Just think...my first ball! Oh! I do hope that I behave in all the right ways and not act as giddy as I have been!”
Giggling suddenly, she hopped up. “I know! Shall we practice? I have here,” and she scrambled a few large sheets of paper from her voluminous pocket, “the guest list. I thought with your wide knowledge you might be able to tell me something about them; I mean those that I do not actually know already.”
Hudson took the papers and squinted down at them wisely, “An other than noble viewpoint, I believe you are after...hmm, let us see. Lord and Lady Fitzgerald Peatmoss with seven children, four sons and three daughters. Eldest 22. Youngest 12”
He squinted off at the horizon for a moment, “I do like the way your royal Papa and Mama are inviting entire families, including the small children.”
Ella beamed, “I do so adore little children. The first day we shall have an afternoon festival, lots for the small ones to do, and then a ball in the evening! The second is only a ball, but Papa has extended the invitation for parents to bring their little ones along then as well.”
Hudson nodded, “Alright then, we were to practice.”
He stood stiffly to his feet and went through the motions of Lord Peatmoss...
* * *
At last the day of the festivities arrived. Ella's afternoon dress was a rich yellow that seemed to make her glow like the sun. Her clear blue eyes sparkled with delight...and more than one young nobleman decided that he was madly in love with the gorgeous creature. Christoph was among them and as such, he keenly felt the young princess's neglect. She had not forgotten the incident she had witnessed from the wall and while not overtly rude, Ella was nevertheless refusing Christoph's attentions.
Upon introduction to the Whimbleton family, Ella had been immediately smitten with the three youngsters and had personally invited them, amongst a growing number of small children, to take a walk through the highly decorated ornate gardens. Roland, Horace, and Philip were delighted by the princess and prattled to her like an ancient friend. Hudson was duly introduced, for he had his own special position of honor in one of the pavilions. Soon, he had the children spellbound with one of his stories. As he was reaching the climax, Horace suddenly leaped to his feet and flew a few yards away to seize a tall, black-hair young man by the elbow, “Stanley! Come on! Come over here and listen to Mr. Hudson's stories! They are better than yours!”
Half-laughing, half-embarrassed, Stanley allowed himself to be drug over and quite literally shoved down beside the amused princess by his brothers. Philip scrambled onto his lap and sat there, mouth hanging open with suspense, one arm wrapped around his brother's neck.
When Hudson's tale was done, the children went scrambling all about the place, climbing trees, splashing each other in the fountains, playing tag and blinds-mans-bluff. The chief story-teller himself promptly tucked his feet up on a bench and folding his hands over his stomach, closed his eyes for a nap. That is, after he had directed a wink in Ella's direction.
Stanley, feeling rather shy and awkward, stood and addressed the princess with a bow; “I must apologise for my brother's forwardness.”
Princess Ella collected her things about her and stood as well. Motioning him to be quiet, she took his elbow and led him out into the sunlight. Smiling, she released his arm and pulled her bonnet back on, “Oh, that is quite alright. I do hope you enjoyed Hudson's tale?”
Still feeling quite awkward, Stanley nodded his bare head, “Quite.”
He was unsure as to whether to leave the beautiful young woman, or stay. He found himself very much pleased with her kindness to him.
Ella began to move off down the path, and in such a fashion as to make it clear that she expected him to walk with her, so he did. As they went, they began to discourse on the flowers and different plants and shrubbery in the gardens...and quite before he knew it, Stanley was educating the Princess on the best ways to grow this or that...or when and how to trim this or that bush or tree. Conversation became easy between them and the Princess was delighted, for here was a young man that truly seemed to know of which he spoke and was not, in her estimation, attempting to make a fine impression on her. That, in and of itself, made a deep impression upon her; for in the the four hours of the festivities that had taken place, she had already discovered that many of the young men were there with the intent to impress her and cause her to take notice of them.
It suddenly dawned on Stanley that he was talking quite freely and he stopped abruptly, flushing beneath his tan. Ella turned to observe him, “Why, what is the matter, m'Lord Blackwell?”
It took Stanley a moment to realise that she was addressing him, whereupon he laughed with slight unease; “I do pray you forgive me for prating on in such a fashion. I quite forgot myself.”
Ella laughed gaily, “But I was enjoying your conversation! I doubt I shall remember the half of it, but it was fascinating. However, I suspect we ought to rejoin the main amusements...I should not want my guests to think I had quite forgotten them—which I confess, I had!”
Her frankness served to put Stanley more at his ease and he even dared to offer his arm over a rough patch of walkway that was in the process of repair. (Ella confided that the walks were all being redone and this one had just not gotten completed in a timely fashion.) Once past the spot, Ella did not immediately release his arm, but instead drew him towards a small gazebo where a number of older folks were gathered.
“I should like you to officially meet my parents,” she informed him cheerily. “Papa likes plants as much as you do!”
Stunned and nearly dismayed, Stanley allowed himself to be led before the king and queen. He noticed that his own mother was among the ladies and gentlemen seated about the royal pair. She beamed at him as she took in the situation.
Ella released Stanley's arm and began in a grand fashion to introduce him; where upon he bowed as gracefully as he could and glanced discreetly at his mother for encouragement.
“Papa, Mama...may I present to you Lord Stanley Blackwell...M'lord, my parents, the King and Queen.”
As soon as the official honors were over, Ella sprang lithely to her father's side and whispered loudly, “Papa, he's more of an expert of plants and flowers than are you!”
The royal papa raised an dignified eyebrow and looked over the young man. “Is he now? Come, sir, sit here and prove it to me.”
Stanley allowed himself to be seized gently by the king and proceeded to enter into a lively, and very much enjoyed by the king, discussion on botany. The queen and Lady Whimbleton meanwhile, discussed Stanley's virtues.
Ella left to go “see to her guests” as she felt was her duty. Slipping into Hudson's tent briefly, she informed the napping old man that “I should be thrilled if he dares to ask me to dance this evening. Why, Hudson, he is so terribly shy that I am quite smitten!”
Whereupon, the old man's eyes opened, accompanied by a chuckle, “He's the man who unseated Christoph Whimbleton. I am sure of it.”
Ella's eyes widened and then she asserted more firmly, “All the more reason I should be honored to dance with him.”
As she left, Hudson smiled at the ceiling of his gaily striped tent. “I shall see what I can do...” he mused softly to himself.
The looked forward to ball came at last. The small children were tucked away into bedrooms where they slept in rows upon the huge beds. The older children seated themselves discreetly out of the way...many to fall asleep where they sat as the night waxed.
Ella made a grand entrance upon King Rudolph's arm; the people gasped and buzzed compliments throughout the room, for Ella indeed was stunning in her simply cut sky blue gown, her only crown her hair done tastefully up with a strand of pearls roped into it.
Ella, it must be admitted, knew she looked lovely, but she really was not proud of it, just pleased that others thought so. Truth be told, she had whispered to her mother moments before their entrance, she would be beyond pleased if the young Lord Blackwell smiled when he saw her. It was clear to both her parents he had made quite an impression on her. The king had been singing his praises all afternoon to the queen, who had a few fine things to say about him herself from her conversation with the man's mother. All in all, they considered, from what they had seen and already knew about him, that he was a fine young man and not one to be readily tossed aside for a more fashionable one. It pleased them that he interested their daughter.
Therefore, when Stanley was not readily visible upon their entrance, Princess Ella was slightly disappointed. Her disappointment increased over the next hour as he made no appearance and, worse yet, Christoph was constantly hovering near.
As the second hour of the ball got underway, Ella suddenly saw him. Standing at the far end of the room, as though he had just entered through the big doors, Stanley looked stunning in a rust red velvet suit. His hands clasped behind him, he seemed to be enjoying the view he had of the swirling couples and the brightly clothed musicians busily playing. His eyes played over the room, a small smile about his face. Suddenly, his eyes met those of Ella and as she instinctively smiled at him, his own smile deepened. She felt Christoph tense by her side...but suddenly she forgot all about him because before her very eyes, Hudson stepped out from against the wall where he had been patiently waiting and seized the young man by the elbow. Stanley's look of surprise deepened into one of wonder and even excitement as the old man propelled him forward, directly before the princess. Hudson dropped his arm and commanded him, “Ask her princessness for a dance. Else you're a fool.”
“Hudson!” Ella was shocked, thought not entirely displeased.
Stanley ignored his irate step-brother and bowed before the Princess; “Might I have the honor?”
(The King indiscreetly jabbed his wife with his elbow, “Look, my dear! He made it after all!”)
Ella beamed and assented and the two of them stepped to the dance floor leaving a fuming blonde on the sidelines.
(The King growled to his wife, “I respect the way Ella has been courteously denying that spoiled pup pleasure all evening. If had been me, I should have put him in his place far more physically by now.” “There, there, my dear,” the Queen remarked soothing.)
It soon became apparent to all but Stanley and Ella that they were getting along splendidly. Both had rather forgotten the convention that encouraged a change of partners for each dance...and no one had the heart to remind them, for they were clearly enjoying themselves.
It was only when mid-night struck that Stanley remembered himself. Conveniently, it was at the close of a dance and a set. Stanley stepped away from the princess and bowed quite properly. Glancing at the clock, he said, “I beg your Highness to please excuse me. I must leave now.”
Ella looked quizzical, but acquiesced. Stanley did not feel inclined to tell her that he was rushing off to relieve an old man's care of a colicky equine. In fact, he was going to be thirty minutes later than he had told Timbrell...and he felt terrible about it. Quickly, he disappeared.
Christoph as quickly reappeared by Princess Ella's elbow. Wisely, he decided to refrain from making any negative comments on his step-brother. Ella absently accepted his invitation to dance.
(“What??” the King sat up straighter. The Queen mused, “I do not think she realizes who she is dancing with just yet...”)
When the dance was over, Christoph led her to the refreshment table and it was only then that Ella came out of her reverie. Realising with a start that she had broken her resolve to not give Christoph the pleasure of her attention, she refused any and all refreshment he plied on her and “begged pardon” and went to speak to her parents.
Ella's birthday ball was winding down...and Ella had been gone for the last thirty minutes. At thirty minutes to one, she had become so overcome with fatigue that she had fallen asleep in the chair she had taken for a short breather. It was there that the King located her after the official close of the ball, her head dropped upon her shoulder, surrounded by children who had likewise fallen asleep with the splendor of the event swirling before their eyes.
The following day, red-eyed from lack of sleep, Stanley stepped forth from the barn into the mid-morning sunlight. Between himself and Timbrell, the colicky mare was saved. A deep sense of satisfaction pervaded his soul—how much of it was due to the mare and how much due to the Princess's kind attentions, he did not bother to analyze. He was happy...and he wanted to enjoy the moment of pure bliss.
Moment. Indeed, for it was but a moment. All of a sudden, he learched forward onto his knees, struck from behind. A nasty laugh rang out as his stumbled forward, “There, Sable...bask in your glory!”
Before he could pick himself out of the mud, Stanley was hauled to his feet and held by James and Henry. Christoph stood before him, encased, in usual, in the most fashionable clothing, cut in such a way to outline his fine figure to the best advantage. Savagely, he lashed out with his riding crop at his step-brother. Within moments, Stanley's face was bleeding as was his chest where Christoph's whip cut through his linen shirt and into flesh.
For a moment, his mind and body were seized by a rage that knew no bounds. He strained to free himself from his step-brother's grasping hands with the intent of falling upon Christoph and beating him until his blood stained the stable threshold.
Almost as suddenly, he ceased to strain and instead braced himself against the cruel blows with the stoicism of an ancient Spartan. Christoph should not have the satisfaction of seeing him either bow or give way to an unholy rage.
The blows were merciless and at last, Stanley could take it no longer and he fainted from the pain, his numbed mind and body unaware of the suppressed moaning that had been issuing from his beaten body.
* * *
The sun was setting when Stanley at last opened his eyes. He stared upwards through swollen eyelids and wondered why he was seeing the branches of mighty old oaks. When he went to sit up, his head and breast screamed at him in protest...and he remembered Christoph's lashing riding crop descending again and again.
Propping himself against the tree trunk, he presumed that the brothers had carried him out here and left him in order to give themselves longer to prepare their defense against Lord Peter's anger. Swollen, bloody, bruised...such pain, Stanley was sure he had never before experienced. Still, his determination to return home overcame his physical condition's protestations and he heaved himself to his feet and slowly trudged a well-known path back towards house.
What repercussions his step-brother's felt from the attack, Stanley little cared. Over the next week, he spent the majority of his time reading in his room or walking slowly and carefully 'round the grounds, seeing to the estate as was his wont, but with less physical involvement.
Old Timbrell swore that if he would but give the word, the tenants would rise up and give Christoph a thrashing as he would never forget in his life. “Worse, sir, than that he gave you!”
Stanley shook his head gently, “No, Timbrell. Retaliation is not the righteous response. I do, indeed, look forward to the day, five years hence, when I may legally forbid him to put foot upon this property, but until then, we shall all continue to ignore him as much as possible. He is looking for a fight—and a fight he will not get. Timbrell, the day of justice is coming; believe me, sir. The moment I legally come into my own, Christoph will have the dogs turned on him if he puts foot upon the property without my consent. I have not that legal right as of yet. The land is still my mother's and he is her husband's son. Mother had told me that when I come into my own, they will live at Whimbleton year round...at that point I feel I shall have the right to deny Christoph entry, for this shall not be his home at all any more.”
Timbrell let the young lord have his way. There was nothing else he could do he admitted to himself, but he had a hard time convincing the younger set of tenants to drop the idea of giving “Lord Christoph” the licking they were itching to inflict upon him.
* * *
The day for the second ball rolled around and Ella was eagerly awaiting the coming of evening. Her parents decided that a discussion on of the young Lord Blackwell was not out of order. With that in mind, the royal pair went to talk with their daughter. They found her seated in front of the mirror, her maid busily dressing her hair in a simple, yet elegant fashion.
The King spoke first, “Ah, Ella...you look lovely!”
Ella beamed at her father, “Thank-you, Papa!”
He cleared his throat and sitting on the edge of her vanity grinned, “I suppose you are looking forward to seeing Stanley Blackwell again...”
Ella pinked just a bit, “Well...I do not deny that I should be pleased to see him.”
The King and Queen exchanged a significant glance over her head.
“Well, my dear,” King Rudolph informed his daughter, “I admit that your mother and I have been doing a little inquiring into him...and from all accounts...” “Save those of his step-brother's,” her mother interjected. “...he is quite an honorable young man. Upright, noble of peerage, well-loved by his tenants, not given to excess drink or frivolous indebtedness...” “Gambling,” the Queen clarified needlessly. “And your mother and I are content if you chose to place your attentions on him.”
The princess looked slightly bewildered...and then jumped up and embraced her parents, a happy smiled upon her pretty features.
“I do thank-you...he struck me as the nicest and kindest of all the young gentlemen I have ever met. I...I do like him immensely...odd and silly as it may seem from a single day's acquaintance.”
King Rudolph laughed heartily, “My dear Ella...you come from a long line of persons who know their mind almost immediately on such matters. Have you forgotten your grandmother's story...or your mother and I's for that matter? My dear. Be yourself...do not, I beg of you, chase him about, but if he pays you court, you have free permission to accept it.”
The ball opened grandly; Ella was resplendent, as lovely or lovelier than any of those fine ladies whom she had admired so many years before in company with Hudson. Her violet gown with the extremely ruffled skirt was the envy of all the other girls, and many of the young nobles re-averred their captivation by her charms.
Christoph immediately made his presence known, trying to claim the very first dance. He was smug in the opinion that Stanley would not make an appearance, covered as he was by healing scabs. Movement, Christoph knew, was still painful for his step-brother.
Lady Whimbleton, it was noted by the Queen, was conspicuously absent and m'lord Peter Whimbleton seemed vastly distracted; to such an extent that he nearly forgot to pay his respects to his Majesty properly! “Well!” she thought, “Something must be amiss...and young Lord Blackwell; my, the young man is late for the second time!”
King Rudolph was duly noting the absence of the young man as well...as was the Princess. Ella, however, kept her poise, disappointed as she was, and danced and chatted as if she was not. She remembered that Stanley had been late the previous ball—for whatever reason she could not guess; so perhaps he just liked being seasonably late. The idea actually amused her and she giggled, directly after Christoph had made some passing fool remark. He immediately seized up the apparent attention she was bestowing and begged her hand for the dance. Ella glanced at him as though seeing him for the first time and declined as graciously as her growing irritation with him would permit. Christoph bit his handsome lower lip and scowled as discreetly as his wounded pride allowed.
There was a rustle near the door and the Lady Whimbleton swept into the room. The rustle was caused more by the surprise at her appearance than her actual arrival, for Lady LuEllen was not attired as one would expect for a woman attending a royal ball. Rather, she looked more appropriately dressed for a invigorating horseback ride—which was, after a fashion, exactly what she had been doing.
Lord Peter immediately went to her side and they conversed in low tones. Christoph became keenly aware of the glances he was receiving from his father and step-mother. James and Henry likewise began to squirm and glancing at one another across the room, with one accord they separated themselves from their dancing companions and went towards their parents. Christoph's face was flaming and his jaw set as he noted his brother's deflection.
The King stepped down off the dais to see what the trouble was and almost immediately his face showed his knowledge of the incident and he sent a blazing glare at Christoph, who took refuge by stepping behind the Princess. She gave him a single, quizzical, disdainful glance and breezed gracefully towards the small knot. She instinctively felt that Stanley was somehow involved in this. As she neared, she heard Lady Whimbleton beseeching the King to grant full lordship upon her son, though five years shy of the previously mandated 25 years.
“It grieves me beyond measure,” she said, “for I know then that the hatred Christoph bears for him will bloom fully, but as it is, my Lord, Stanley refuses to take any action against him as he feels legally obligated....nay, he does it for my sake!” she corrected herself. “He will not take an action which will cause any further strain to the family. I do wish,” vehemently, “that he had given Christoph a taste of his own medicine years back!”
The Lord Peter laid a gentle hand on his wife's arm, but hardly looked reproving.
"Where is he?” the King demanded.
“Outside, m'lord,” the distraught woman replied. “He refused to come in looking as he does, for he claims he does not wish to shock anyone.”
“Fetch him,” King Rudolph ordered a guard. “This matter will be settled once and for all this evening.”
Christoph had edged up to the group, his curiosity getting the better of his cowardice and when his step-brother was escorted in, he snorted divisively, “Sable's a beaut....” He alone knew exactly what, if anything, he meant by that.
Ella gasped with horror, as did the Queen. The King stared with disgust at the marks of unwonted cruelty marking the young man's face and immediately turned towards Lord and Lady Whimbleton, “You wishes are granted...on one condition. That you do not cry out against my actions.” Where with, he reached out and grabbed Christoph by the collar, thoroughly startling the coward. “You will be spending now until your trial as our guest,” he reported to the aghast face before him. Without further ado, he handed him to the guard and turned toward Stanley.
“My lord Blackwell,” he began, “Kneel!”
Stanley went down on both knees, keeping his face as hidden as possible from the horrified gaze of the guests. However, when the King commanded him to lift his chin, Stanley did so. He looked up, not into the King's face, as he was expecting, but into Ella's.
The Princess's beautiful eyes clouded with tears at the sight of his marred face. Stanley blushed, but did not lower his eyes.
The King and Queen smiled at one another; then the King reached out and patted the man on the shoulder. “Rise up, Lord Blackwell. From this day hence you are lord and master of all the Blackwell estates, in both name and actuality. Now, quit staring at my daughter and take her upon a victory lap of the ballroom.” Turning to the musicians, he ordered, perhaps thoughtlessly, “Strike up a polka!!”
Stanley's eyes grew a bit wider and he sucked in his breath with apprehension as he rose to his feet and faced Ella in the proper position. Then, they were off, polkaing down and around the length of the ballroom. By the end of the dance, both young people were breathless and laughing, though Stanley's laughter was tinged by a few grimaces.
Before the next six months were out, Christoph had been shipped abroad to work off his debts and his cruelty to his step-brother. He never returned. James and Henry were both soundly rated by the King himself and forced to pay a fine. With the departure of their elder brother, both settled into a more profitable mode of existence and, in time, became noble and respected citizens.
As for m'lord Stanley Blackwell and the golden-hair Princess...they were royally wed in the same church that began this adventure. Hudson was ring bearer and a prouder one was never seen.
When King Rudolph died, Stanley became King to his Queen Ella and they ruled well and wisely. The common man had a true friend in their King, for he knew the ins and outs of their lives and desired to see them justly treated. Blessed by all, King Stanley and Queen Ella lived to ripe old ages and saw their great-great grandchildren. However, this is not the story of their adventures...
FINIS
As such, she had the most golden fair hair one ever saw, the clearest, bluest eyes, the sweetest mouth, pink as a rosebud touched with dew, and the most graceful form ever eye fell upon. Her temper, in general was quiet, submissive, and dignified...goodness and graciousness surrounded her, even as a small child.
When our story opens, little Ella was but a tiny, delicate creature with the barest hint at freckles across her well formed royal nose and cheeks. At eight, she was already quite sensitive to right and wrong and was deeply grieved at cruelty to both man and beast. Her royal papa, knowing how well loved she was by his people, allowed her the free roam of the castle, and it was on the walls with an old watchman that she would frequently be found after her studies were done for the day. Sometimes she prattled to the old man about what she had learned that day, other times she listened wide-eyed to his stories—some true, some enhanced, and others plain fiction.
On the day in question, however, the small princess was leaned over the wall as far as she dared, the old watchman with a protective hand through her periwinkle sash, both observing the interesting sight below.
“What beautiful gowns the ladies have on!” Ella cried, enraptured by the gleam of the satins and silks and 'foppery' of the splendid ladies below her.
Glancing up at the old man beside her, she queried him sweetly, “Do tell me, if you know, but what is the occasion?”
The watchman squinted down, rubbing his chin. Just then, the bells in the church began to peel joyfully.
“Ah...” said he, “it'd be a wedding, your Princessness.”
Ella giggled at his pet name for her, then sighed delightedly, “Isn't is lovely! When I get married, you shall be my ring bearer.”
“As you wish, m'lady,” he could not bring himself to squash that delightful picture in the young girl's fanciful mind.
Together they leaned over and watched the gorgeous procession wind it's way magnificently toward the church.
Meanwhile, below, walking by his mother's stirrup, was a lad of ten. His hair was black, black as coal. His eyes were brown, brown as the earth turned over by the plowmen in the spring. His face, dimly freckled, was serious. He looked up the road and seemed reluctant to place one foot in front of the other.
The procession reached the church. The lady was helped down by her son and then led through the grand arching entrance. Up the aisle, all eyes turned in their direction, they moved with a slow, sedate tread towards the front where the groom, a dashingly handsome man of some forty years old, stood. To his left stood three boys: ages twelve, ten, and eight.
As the marriage took place, the four boys stood on either side of their respective parents and observed one another. The lady's son presented a calm, serious, reverent face to the watchers. The gentleman's three sons were likewise calm, but carried themselves with an air of hauteur. Glances amongst themselves and at the lad opposite them carried a sense of what was to come.
* * *
Stanley Blackwell squared his shoulders. The blow came from behind, unexpected and yet expected. Down, down the grand stairs he tumbled. Leaping up at the base of the casement, he wheeled, fists clenched in desperate anger. He was mud-encased, his rich robustly red satin forever ruined. The jeers of his step-brothers infuriated him and he charged up the steps that them.
A thunderous voice ordered, “Cease this flailing!”
Four youths untangled themselves and stood in various postures of submission and defiance. Four years had passed since that fateful morning Lord Peter had wed the Lady LuEllen, but the love that they had prayed would spring between their sons had never blossomed.
Stanley stood half-ashamed of his retaliatory anger, half-defiant in the face of his step-father's anger. The only comfort he took was that it was equally directed at the three other lads. Christoph, the eldest, dared to laugh. James and Henry giggled a little uncertainly, but their attempt at carefree amusement was quelled by a glare from their father.
“Why must you boys insist upon fighting constantly? You know it displeases me and grieves your mother! What shall I do with you?”
Christoph continued his insolent grinning, “You always mistake a playful sparring match for a bloody fight, Father...we were just playing, weren't we, lads?”
His meaningful glance induced his younger brothers to agree violently. Stanley alone stood his ground.
“I was struck from behind.”
He said it calmly, without looking at Lord Peter. Rather, his gaze was fixed defiantly at Christoph. Turning to his step-father, he asserted, “Sir...it shall not happen again. I, at any rate, refuse to cause my mother further pain.”
Bowing stiffly, he turned and left them, with as much dignity as a limp would permit. The sound of the stiff rating that the other three were getting died away as he pushed open the door to the stables.
Breathing in deeply, he stood for a moment, watching the old groom stiffly readying the carriage for the Lady LuEllen. Suddenly, Stanley stripped off his ruined tunic and took his place beside the groom.
“Let me help you, Timbrell.”
“Master Stanley!” The old man seemed shocked.
Stanley deftly took the harness out of the old man's hands. In half the time it would have taken Timbrell to do it, he had the carriage ready for his mother's use. Helping the old man into the driver's seat, he informed him, “From now on, Timbrell, I shall be helping you. As you know, with the expenses of living these days, my good step-father in unable to hire a second groom to help you. You have served well and faithfully since long before I was born...you taught me most of what I know about horses...all I ask you now is to let me repay that.”
Timbrell looked down at his young lord, “Master Stanley, what of your schooling? What of your position in life? What of..”
Stanley lifted his hand commandingly and the old man fell silent.
“My life, Timbrell, shifted drastically when my mother married Lord Peter. If it were not for Christoph, I think James and Henry would be content to let me be, but such is not the case. It hurts my mother, Timbrell, the fighting does. I have promised it shall not happen again, so I shall keep out of their way when studies are done for the day—this is the best way to do so. I may have to argue with...Father...but he is a reasonable man. Now go...do not keep your Lady waiting.”
Shaking his head wonderingly, Timbrell drove round to the front of the great mansion where Lady LuEllen was waiting for him.
As soon as she was gone, Stanley strode into the house and straight to his step-father's study. Lord Peter had just let his sons go, on the condition that they go to the school room until dinner was served.
“Ah, Stanley! I was just fixing to send one of the menservants to find you. Yes? Yes...what have you to say?”
The lad clearly had something on his mind.
As he spoke rapidly, outlining his idea to stay clear of his step-brothers by working in the stables when the day's tutoring was completed, Lord Peter's jaw went slack.
“But, my son, that is servant's work!”
Stanley's grim smile belied his lightly tossed reply, “They think so as well!”
Suddenly serious again, he blurted, “But it will keep me clear of them after school hours and it will cause my mother less grief to know that her son is helping a faithful old servant than to know that he is constantly at war with his step-brothers! Besides, sir, I like animals and I will not mind the strain it will put on my muscles. How can it hurt me? Will it make me any less of a gentleman?”
Lord Peter was unable to argue with the boy's frankness and the determination showing under the black brows. He ceded to Stanley's request, “though I do not like it much”.
Thus it was that at age fourteen, Stanley, one day to be master of his own father's estate, began to be a stable hand on his own lands. When Lord Peter's household removed for the winters to his holdings, Stanley remained on Lady LuEllen's estate. It grieved his mother than he felt constrained to work with his hands in order to avoid destructive fighting with his step-brothers. What grieved her more was the fact that his own three half-brothers, whom she bore to Lord Peter, did not know him as well as she would have liked. However, there was no talking Stanley out of his course of action, as he was a determined boy.
As for Stanley, he felt the work harden his muscles; he grew browned from his work out-of-doors. There was, however, no loss of dignity. He learned the way the common class thought, he began to understand to a greater degree the breath of the knowledge that was required to be a good farmer and husbandman of livestock. He filed away knowledge, both of the “book” sort and the homespun sort, striving to be wise in order to be one day a responsible lord. By the time he had reached eighteen, his functional knowledge of what it took to be a good landlord far surpassed that of his step-brothers. In addition to that, he had gained the undying loyalty of his tenants.
However, and to not only his mother's regrets, his polish was worn. He was frequently dirtied with stable litter and smelled of the same. His hands were rough and large. The fine calfskin gloves that most young noblemen wore burst across his knuckles. He at times felt he had earned his step-brother's mocking moniker of “Sable”.
Stanley bemoaned himself on occasion that his gentlemanly manners were on the rusty side; he remembered how to bow, which fork to dine with, and all the obvious things used more day to day...but he felt proper etiquette in speech amongst the upper class was lacking. He had become direct, blunt even, in his speech. He was a nobleman in authority on the one hand and a simple spoken farmer on the other.
“I wonder,” he laughed ruefully one afternoon to the big bay he was saddling for Christoph, “I wonder what I would do if I had to go to court!”
“Like that's likely, Sable!” Christoph's sneering voice cut through the dimness of the stable.
Stanley cringed inwardly at that name of disdain. Sable! A mix between his own name and stable...and yes, the fact that his hair was sable colored. At least the others did not call him “Stable”...that would have been far, far worse.
Stanley looked back across the length of the stable at Christoph, now a dashing blonde man of 20. His riding breeches fit him to perfection and his movement was pure grace. A thin mustache accented his upper lip. He was a fine looking young man, no one could doubt that for a minute.
Peaceable, Stanley remarked, “I would not presume to attend unbidden, of course! And you are quite right, Christoph, there is indeed small chance that that should occur!”
To the horse, “Easy, boy...we'll be ready in a minute.”
Christoph glared down from his seat upon the bay as Stanley spoke while holding the horse's head, “Go easy on him, will you? I detect a slight limp on his right foreleg.”
Christoph snorted, “Been jumping him while my back was turned, have you?”
It was a lie and he knew it, but it was a fine excuse for the hateful lash he laid across Stanley's face. Digging spurs into the horse's side, he was off as Stanley reeled from the blow, blood trickling down his cheek. Suddenly, he was angry, angrier than he had been in a long while—not because of the blow, but because Christoph was taking the big bay over jumps that it should not have been subjected to with the already tender leg.
An hour later, up on the castle wall, a golden haired maid of sixteen leaned over the parapet in her favorite spot. An old watchman, bent more than ever by age, stood beside her.
“Oh! Do look, Hudson!” Her cry was pitiful.
The old man squinted in the direction her finger was pointing.
“That poor animal is limping dreadfully...”
“Man oughtta get off him,” was the disdainful rejoinder.
As he spoke, another figure came into view, a tallish, hatless man with hair black as night. As though spellbound, Princess Ella watched as he reached the other and seemed to be in violent discussion with him. Stunned, she gripped Hudson's arm as the rider raised his crop and brought it down sharply on the other's head. The man with the black hair reached up and unseated the rider, pulling him down on top of him.
Hudson cheered excitedly, then exclaimed, “Blimly! Why don't he fight 'im now??”
It was true...the dark-headed fellow simply took the animal's bridle and led him away. The man who had been riding pranced about in a rage, but every blow he aimed at the other was deflected until he seemed to tire of it and stamped off.
Christoph was indeed very, very angry...but his attempts at engaging his step-brother in a battle of fisticuffs was thwarted by Stanley's cool deflection and single-minded determination to go directly back to the stables.
Little did the two young men realize that they had been behaving naturally before the princess of the land. Little would Stanley had cared...greatly would Christoph had cared. Christoph, a bully, was most famous with the girls as a handsome, witty sort of man. Many were the young ladies of good families thought that Christoph would make them a fine husband.
Christoph was used to having his way with Stanley; the younger boy, since that day on the steps four years before, had never raised his hand against his step-brother...and only once or twice his voice, so firm was his determination to keep peace for the sake of his mother. Thus it was that his effortless unseating of Christoph threw that young man into such a passion that he set about with a vengeance to make Stanley's life as miserable as possible. This was not limited to the following, each of which was followed up by a long litney of abusive name calling. “Sable” was heard more and more frequently.
Christoph smashed things, things like wheelbarrows.
He broke things, like pitchforks and shovels.
He ruined things, things like saddles and bridles.
He pushed Stanley as hard as he could by mistreating the horses.
He blew up the chicken coop. (That one mis-fired on him in the form of no chicken on the table for several months.)
He set hay ricks on fire.
He did anything he could think of to cause Stanley more work and disquiet of mind. Still, Stanley did not retaliate. He did not return the fire; rather he stood firm and fixed things as quickly as Christoph destroyed them. In doing so, Stanley's faithful following amongst the tenants was strengthened. He paid for their destroyed hayricks out his own pocket.
For two years, Stanley and Christoph faced each other in this game of cat and mouse. Nothing Lord Peter said could restrain his eldest's vindictive attacks and subversion directed against Stanley.
Meanwhile, the Princess Ella blossomed under the gentle and tender care of her parents and devoted tutors. Old Hudson was finally convinced to retire from his position as watch-keeper, but his presence was still faithfully found upon the castle walls each afternoon before the royal suppertime. Ella likewise found time in her maturing schedule to meet each afternoon for, at minimum, a few words with her old friend.
One afternoon as her eighteenth birthday drew nigh and she was showing him one of her new ball gowns, regardless of her maidservant's horror that she would take it upon the walls, Hudson asked the resplendent princess, “You remember back nigh almost two years ago now? The fine bay with the limp and the dark fellow who unseated the hatted one?” And he chuckled at the remembrance.
Ella halted in the midst of a twirl, allowing the rich silks to swish to a standstill about her dainty ankles.
Curiously, she nodded, “I do. I have never seen the dark-haired man since...though I believe I have spotted both the horse and rider.”
“Well,” Hudson pointed with his chin, “I discovered by accident the identity of the rider.”
Knowing how he loved to be prompted, Ella took a step closer, “Well? Who is he? Do tell!”
Gratified, Hudson stroked his beard and twinkled up at the lovely girl, “He is Christoph...Lord Peter Whimbleton's eldest son.”
“Indeed? Have I not heard that he has seven sons?” Ella queried, her interest piqued. Lord Peter she had briefly met on various occasions and had been slightly frightened off him, probably she assumed, because he was so serious, whereas her own father was somewhat of a jovial man.
Hudson nodded, “Aye, though one of them is son of his wife, the Lady LuEllen, from her first marriage.”
Ella laughed suddenly, “It amazes me how you know so much about the families of the gentry!”
The old man grinned, “My dear, when you have lived as long as I in royal circles—yes, even on the fringe edge—you learn much about the gentry. They really are no different than common folk, though their manners may be better!”
Just then bells started peeling throughout the castle. Ella started and gathered up her skirts, “I must fly! I cannot go into dinner in this dress!!”
Dashing away gracefully, her gown streaming behind her, she was unconsciously aware of the gentle laughter of the old watchman.
Dinner eaten, the royal family retired to the royal sitting room where Ella sedately took her place at the harpsichord to entertain her family for a good half-hour. The difference between the sweet girl at the instrument and the wind-blown girl who had dashed into her bedroom with but five minutes to change and reach the dinner table was so marked that her lady's maid, a good natured girl but three years the princess's senior, would have doubled over with laughter.
As the last notes drifted out the open window and through the courtyard, the king stood and stretched himself in a most undignified fashion. His wife watched him with care, “My dearest, one of these days I do believe you shall fall over backwards!”
He laughed and patted her shoulder, “And when that happens, my queen, you shall know that I am old.”
The royal family laughed together heartily for some minutes over this and various other sundry amusing remarks that stem from post-meal good humor.
Once they got their breath again, His Royal Highness, King Rudolph, addressed his daughter, “Well, my Ella, how are your birthday ball preparations coming along?”
By that, he meant ball gowns, jewelry, hair-styles, and gloves. The real preparations were being undertaken by himself, the Queen, and the head steward.
Ella's eyes gleamed. “Oh, Papa!! I simply cannot decide between the blue silk...or the violet one...”
He threw up his hands.
“My dear! My dear! What would your grandmother choose?”
The Queen smiled her agreement...after all her daughter looked much more like her mother-in-law than her own self. The Queen would have worn red, but it would not quite suit the age and complexion of the fair girl before her.
Ella smiled, “Well, Grandmother would say the blue silk...for it matches my eye's and the lines are so simple...”
“That they simply enhance your beauty without making you look 'made up',” her mother finished for her.
“Exactly!” Ella laughed. “Though I do dearly love the violet as well...all those ruffles...”
Her father seemed struck by an idea as he stood by the window. Spinning around, he announced, “Why not wear both? One to one ball, and the other to a second given a week after?”
Both of his ladies seemed enraptured by the idea, so a secondary ball was quickly thrown into the works.
* * *
The messenger pounded down the drive. Pulling his mount up so sharply that the animal skidded a couple of feet, he threw his reins to a tall, dark-haired young man with the look of a stable hand. He bounded up the wide front stairs and pounded vigorously on the door.
Stanley rubbed the blowing horse on the flank after tying him to the ring in the courtyard. Curious as to what brought the messenger, he strode up the steps continuing in all the way to the front parlor. The messenger interrupted himself in the middle of a sentence and glared with irritation at the impudent “stable-hand”.
Seating himself a wooden chair at an ornate desk, Stanley waved his hand, “Pray, continue.”
His younger brothers burst into giggles...Roland, Horace, and Philip adored their older brother despite the fact that they saw him but half the year. The messenger, suddenly quite discomfited, seeing with a sudden clarity that this dirty young man was part of the family, quickly stumbled into his message.
“Well,” remarked Lord Peter when he had left, “we have certainly been honored! 'The Family of Lord Peter Whimbleton invited to the festivities, culminating with a ball, in honor of Her Royal Highness, the Princess Ella's eighteenth birthday'! What do you think of that?”
The question was mainly addressed to his wife, but his sons were quick to agree that it was indeed an honor and that they looked forward to it with the greatest anticipation. The Lady LuEllen looked to her son to say something, but found him instead already in the doorway.
“Stanley!” She called after him. He stopped; then turned slowly, his face half-adverted.
“Yes, Mother?”
His voice was soft.
She rose and came to him, then seeing his face, slipped her arm through his and walked with him out into the sunlight.
“Stanley...my dear...what is the matter?”
He spread his hands in a gesture of showing his garments.
“Mother...Mother...I think it would best if I remained at home. I have nothing to wear; no, you needed protest. I know what Christoph's gambling debts are. Besides, I'm not even sure I would be comfortable in fashionable dress. And even more importantly, I have become rough around the edges...who am I to dare come into the presence of a princess?”
Lady Whimbleton suddenly laughed and pressed her son's arm, “Is that your trouble? My dear, there is certainly enough money on the estate to have a fine suit made for you...and as for fashionable dress! Why, my dear...men's clothing is nearly all the same...and,” she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “you needn't wear your breeches as snug as Christoph's!”
Stanley grinned back, the tightness of his step-brother's breeches were on occasion an opportunity for gossip.
His mother continued, “As for being unworthy to come into the presence of a princess! Why, Stanley! You are a fine, honest, upright, God-fearing man, even if your small talk is lacking. What else matters? Princesses are nothing more than human, you know. And...as is quite possible, you may not even have to talk to her. And fie on you! To turn down an invitation like this when there is no real reason for it! It would be something of an insult to the King himself! Your father shall see to your new suit...I shall see to that!”
She stood up on tiptoe to kiss him resoundingly on the cheek. “Now don't you worry about anything...you shall go and have a splendid time! It's about time you had a little relaxation...”
With that she breezed off into the house to present her plan to Lord Peter, whom, I must say, greeted the proposed expenses for a velvet suit with a great deal of alacrity.
“My dear,” he exclaimed, “you read my mind exactly! It's about time that Stanley had a good time. The poor lad has worked entirely too much these last years...but my! Hasn't he become quite a man! I couldn't be prouder of him if he were my own flesh and blood.”
His face fell, “I do wish Henry and James were not so set upon following in Christoph's footsteps. What did I do wrong with those boys??”
He cheered up a little bit, “However, I am pleased to see that our sons are following more in the footsteps of Stanley than Christoph.”
* * *
Ella's excitement increased as the days passed. She was panting with her flurry as she stumbled up the last step onto the wall. Old Hudson shook his head at her with a playfully grave air.
“Your princessness, you must calm yourself. At this rate of energy, you shall be completely exhausted when the ball does arrive!”
Seeing some sense in his advice, Ella bunched her skirts about her and sat down near his feet. Leaning an elbow on his knee, she smiled sweetly, “Yes, I do know...and you are not the first to tell me to slow down! Just think...my first ball! Oh! I do hope that I behave in all the right ways and not act as giddy as I have been!”
Giggling suddenly, she hopped up. “I know! Shall we practice? I have here,” and she scrambled a few large sheets of paper from her voluminous pocket, “the guest list. I thought with your wide knowledge you might be able to tell me something about them; I mean those that I do not actually know already.”
Hudson took the papers and squinted down at them wisely, “An other than noble viewpoint, I believe you are after...hmm, let us see. Lord and Lady Fitzgerald Peatmoss with seven children, four sons and three daughters. Eldest 22. Youngest 12”
He squinted off at the horizon for a moment, “I do like the way your royal Papa and Mama are inviting entire families, including the small children.”
Ella beamed, “I do so adore little children. The first day we shall have an afternoon festival, lots for the small ones to do, and then a ball in the evening! The second is only a ball, but Papa has extended the invitation for parents to bring their little ones along then as well.”
Hudson nodded, “Alright then, we were to practice.”
He stood stiffly to his feet and went through the motions of Lord Peatmoss...
* * *
At last the day of the festivities arrived. Ella's afternoon dress was a rich yellow that seemed to make her glow like the sun. Her clear blue eyes sparkled with delight...and more than one young nobleman decided that he was madly in love with the gorgeous creature. Christoph was among them and as such, he keenly felt the young princess's neglect. She had not forgotten the incident she had witnessed from the wall and while not overtly rude, Ella was nevertheless refusing Christoph's attentions.
Upon introduction to the Whimbleton family, Ella had been immediately smitten with the three youngsters and had personally invited them, amongst a growing number of small children, to take a walk through the highly decorated ornate gardens. Roland, Horace, and Philip were delighted by the princess and prattled to her like an ancient friend. Hudson was duly introduced, for he had his own special position of honor in one of the pavilions. Soon, he had the children spellbound with one of his stories. As he was reaching the climax, Horace suddenly leaped to his feet and flew a few yards away to seize a tall, black-hair young man by the elbow, “Stanley! Come on! Come over here and listen to Mr. Hudson's stories! They are better than yours!”
Half-laughing, half-embarrassed, Stanley allowed himself to be drug over and quite literally shoved down beside the amused princess by his brothers. Philip scrambled onto his lap and sat there, mouth hanging open with suspense, one arm wrapped around his brother's neck.
When Hudson's tale was done, the children went scrambling all about the place, climbing trees, splashing each other in the fountains, playing tag and blinds-mans-bluff. The chief story-teller himself promptly tucked his feet up on a bench and folding his hands over his stomach, closed his eyes for a nap. That is, after he had directed a wink in Ella's direction.
Stanley, feeling rather shy and awkward, stood and addressed the princess with a bow; “I must apologise for my brother's forwardness.”
Princess Ella collected her things about her and stood as well. Motioning him to be quiet, she took his elbow and led him out into the sunlight. Smiling, she released his arm and pulled her bonnet back on, “Oh, that is quite alright. I do hope you enjoyed Hudson's tale?”
Still feeling quite awkward, Stanley nodded his bare head, “Quite.”
He was unsure as to whether to leave the beautiful young woman, or stay. He found himself very much pleased with her kindness to him.
Ella began to move off down the path, and in such a fashion as to make it clear that she expected him to walk with her, so he did. As they went, they began to discourse on the flowers and different plants and shrubbery in the gardens...and quite before he knew it, Stanley was educating the Princess on the best ways to grow this or that...or when and how to trim this or that bush or tree. Conversation became easy between them and the Princess was delighted, for here was a young man that truly seemed to know of which he spoke and was not, in her estimation, attempting to make a fine impression on her. That, in and of itself, made a deep impression upon her; for in the the four hours of the festivities that had taken place, she had already discovered that many of the young men were there with the intent to impress her and cause her to take notice of them.
It suddenly dawned on Stanley that he was talking quite freely and he stopped abruptly, flushing beneath his tan. Ella turned to observe him, “Why, what is the matter, m'Lord Blackwell?”
It took Stanley a moment to realise that she was addressing him, whereupon he laughed with slight unease; “I do pray you forgive me for prating on in such a fashion. I quite forgot myself.”
Ella laughed gaily, “But I was enjoying your conversation! I doubt I shall remember the half of it, but it was fascinating. However, I suspect we ought to rejoin the main amusements...I should not want my guests to think I had quite forgotten them—which I confess, I had!”
Her frankness served to put Stanley more at his ease and he even dared to offer his arm over a rough patch of walkway that was in the process of repair. (Ella confided that the walks were all being redone and this one had just not gotten completed in a timely fashion.) Once past the spot, Ella did not immediately release his arm, but instead drew him towards a small gazebo where a number of older folks were gathered.
“I should like you to officially meet my parents,” she informed him cheerily. “Papa likes plants as much as you do!”
Stunned and nearly dismayed, Stanley allowed himself to be led before the king and queen. He noticed that his own mother was among the ladies and gentlemen seated about the royal pair. She beamed at him as she took in the situation.
Ella released Stanley's arm and began in a grand fashion to introduce him; where upon he bowed as gracefully as he could and glanced discreetly at his mother for encouragement.
“Papa, Mama...may I present to you Lord Stanley Blackwell...M'lord, my parents, the King and Queen.”
As soon as the official honors were over, Ella sprang lithely to her father's side and whispered loudly, “Papa, he's more of an expert of plants and flowers than are you!”
The royal papa raised an dignified eyebrow and looked over the young man. “Is he now? Come, sir, sit here and prove it to me.”
Stanley allowed himself to be seized gently by the king and proceeded to enter into a lively, and very much enjoyed by the king, discussion on botany. The queen and Lady Whimbleton meanwhile, discussed Stanley's virtues.
Ella left to go “see to her guests” as she felt was her duty. Slipping into Hudson's tent briefly, she informed the napping old man that “I should be thrilled if he dares to ask me to dance this evening. Why, Hudson, he is so terribly shy that I am quite smitten!”
Whereupon, the old man's eyes opened, accompanied by a chuckle, “He's the man who unseated Christoph Whimbleton. I am sure of it.”
Ella's eyes widened and then she asserted more firmly, “All the more reason I should be honored to dance with him.”
As she left, Hudson smiled at the ceiling of his gaily striped tent. “I shall see what I can do...” he mused softly to himself.
The looked forward to ball came at last. The small children were tucked away into bedrooms where they slept in rows upon the huge beds. The older children seated themselves discreetly out of the way...many to fall asleep where they sat as the night waxed.
Ella made a grand entrance upon King Rudolph's arm; the people gasped and buzzed compliments throughout the room, for Ella indeed was stunning in her simply cut sky blue gown, her only crown her hair done tastefully up with a strand of pearls roped into it.
Ella, it must be admitted, knew she looked lovely, but she really was not proud of it, just pleased that others thought so. Truth be told, she had whispered to her mother moments before their entrance, she would be beyond pleased if the young Lord Blackwell smiled when he saw her. It was clear to both her parents he had made quite an impression on her. The king had been singing his praises all afternoon to the queen, who had a few fine things to say about him herself from her conversation with the man's mother. All in all, they considered, from what they had seen and already knew about him, that he was a fine young man and not one to be readily tossed aside for a more fashionable one. It pleased them that he interested their daughter.
Therefore, when Stanley was not readily visible upon their entrance, Princess Ella was slightly disappointed. Her disappointment increased over the next hour as he made no appearance and, worse yet, Christoph was constantly hovering near.
As the second hour of the ball got underway, Ella suddenly saw him. Standing at the far end of the room, as though he had just entered through the big doors, Stanley looked stunning in a rust red velvet suit. His hands clasped behind him, he seemed to be enjoying the view he had of the swirling couples and the brightly clothed musicians busily playing. His eyes played over the room, a small smile about his face. Suddenly, his eyes met those of Ella and as she instinctively smiled at him, his own smile deepened. She felt Christoph tense by her side...but suddenly she forgot all about him because before her very eyes, Hudson stepped out from against the wall where he had been patiently waiting and seized the young man by the elbow. Stanley's look of surprise deepened into one of wonder and even excitement as the old man propelled him forward, directly before the princess. Hudson dropped his arm and commanded him, “Ask her princessness for a dance. Else you're a fool.”
“Hudson!” Ella was shocked, thought not entirely displeased.
Stanley ignored his irate step-brother and bowed before the Princess; “Might I have the honor?”
(The King indiscreetly jabbed his wife with his elbow, “Look, my dear! He made it after all!”)
Ella beamed and assented and the two of them stepped to the dance floor leaving a fuming blonde on the sidelines.
(The King growled to his wife, “I respect the way Ella has been courteously denying that spoiled pup pleasure all evening. If had been me, I should have put him in his place far more physically by now.” “There, there, my dear,” the Queen remarked soothing.)
It soon became apparent to all but Stanley and Ella that they were getting along splendidly. Both had rather forgotten the convention that encouraged a change of partners for each dance...and no one had the heart to remind them, for they were clearly enjoying themselves.
It was only when mid-night struck that Stanley remembered himself. Conveniently, it was at the close of a dance and a set. Stanley stepped away from the princess and bowed quite properly. Glancing at the clock, he said, “I beg your Highness to please excuse me. I must leave now.”
Ella looked quizzical, but acquiesced. Stanley did not feel inclined to tell her that he was rushing off to relieve an old man's care of a colicky equine. In fact, he was going to be thirty minutes later than he had told Timbrell...and he felt terrible about it. Quickly, he disappeared.
Christoph as quickly reappeared by Princess Ella's elbow. Wisely, he decided to refrain from making any negative comments on his step-brother. Ella absently accepted his invitation to dance.
(“What??” the King sat up straighter. The Queen mused, “I do not think she realizes who she is dancing with just yet...”)
When the dance was over, Christoph led her to the refreshment table and it was only then that Ella came out of her reverie. Realising with a start that she had broken her resolve to not give Christoph the pleasure of her attention, she refused any and all refreshment he plied on her and “begged pardon” and went to speak to her parents.
Ella's birthday ball was winding down...and Ella had been gone for the last thirty minutes. At thirty minutes to one, she had become so overcome with fatigue that she had fallen asleep in the chair she had taken for a short breather. It was there that the King located her after the official close of the ball, her head dropped upon her shoulder, surrounded by children who had likewise fallen asleep with the splendor of the event swirling before their eyes.
The following day, red-eyed from lack of sleep, Stanley stepped forth from the barn into the mid-morning sunlight. Between himself and Timbrell, the colicky mare was saved. A deep sense of satisfaction pervaded his soul—how much of it was due to the mare and how much due to the Princess's kind attentions, he did not bother to analyze. He was happy...and he wanted to enjoy the moment of pure bliss.
Moment. Indeed, for it was but a moment. All of a sudden, he learched forward onto his knees, struck from behind. A nasty laugh rang out as his stumbled forward, “There, Sable...bask in your glory!”
Before he could pick himself out of the mud, Stanley was hauled to his feet and held by James and Henry. Christoph stood before him, encased, in usual, in the most fashionable clothing, cut in such a way to outline his fine figure to the best advantage. Savagely, he lashed out with his riding crop at his step-brother. Within moments, Stanley's face was bleeding as was his chest where Christoph's whip cut through his linen shirt and into flesh.
For a moment, his mind and body were seized by a rage that knew no bounds. He strained to free himself from his step-brother's grasping hands with the intent of falling upon Christoph and beating him until his blood stained the stable threshold.
Almost as suddenly, he ceased to strain and instead braced himself against the cruel blows with the stoicism of an ancient Spartan. Christoph should not have the satisfaction of seeing him either bow or give way to an unholy rage.
The blows were merciless and at last, Stanley could take it no longer and he fainted from the pain, his numbed mind and body unaware of the suppressed moaning that had been issuing from his beaten body.
* * *
The sun was setting when Stanley at last opened his eyes. He stared upwards through swollen eyelids and wondered why he was seeing the branches of mighty old oaks. When he went to sit up, his head and breast screamed at him in protest...and he remembered Christoph's lashing riding crop descending again and again.
Propping himself against the tree trunk, he presumed that the brothers had carried him out here and left him in order to give themselves longer to prepare their defense against Lord Peter's anger. Swollen, bloody, bruised...such pain, Stanley was sure he had never before experienced. Still, his determination to return home overcame his physical condition's protestations and he heaved himself to his feet and slowly trudged a well-known path back towards house.
What repercussions his step-brother's felt from the attack, Stanley little cared. Over the next week, he spent the majority of his time reading in his room or walking slowly and carefully 'round the grounds, seeing to the estate as was his wont, but with less physical involvement.
Old Timbrell swore that if he would but give the word, the tenants would rise up and give Christoph a thrashing as he would never forget in his life. “Worse, sir, than that he gave you!”
Stanley shook his head gently, “No, Timbrell. Retaliation is not the righteous response. I do, indeed, look forward to the day, five years hence, when I may legally forbid him to put foot upon this property, but until then, we shall all continue to ignore him as much as possible. He is looking for a fight—and a fight he will not get. Timbrell, the day of justice is coming; believe me, sir. The moment I legally come into my own, Christoph will have the dogs turned on him if he puts foot upon the property without my consent. I have not that legal right as of yet. The land is still my mother's and he is her husband's son. Mother had told me that when I come into my own, they will live at Whimbleton year round...at that point I feel I shall have the right to deny Christoph entry, for this shall not be his home at all any more.”
Timbrell let the young lord have his way. There was nothing else he could do he admitted to himself, but he had a hard time convincing the younger set of tenants to drop the idea of giving “Lord Christoph” the licking they were itching to inflict upon him.
* * *
The day for the second ball rolled around and Ella was eagerly awaiting the coming of evening. Her parents decided that a discussion on of the young Lord Blackwell was not out of order. With that in mind, the royal pair went to talk with their daughter. They found her seated in front of the mirror, her maid busily dressing her hair in a simple, yet elegant fashion.
The King spoke first, “Ah, Ella...you look lovely!”
Ella beamed at her father, “Thank-you, Papa!”
He cleared his throat and sitting on the edge of her vanity grinned, “I suppose you are looking forward to seeing Stanley Blackwell again...”
Ella pinked just a bit, “Well...I do not deny that I should be pleased to see him.”
The King and Queen exchanged a significant glance over her head.
“Well, my dear,” King Rudolph informed his daughter, “I admit that your mother and I have been doing a little inquiring into him...and from all accounts...” “Save those of his step-brother's,” her mother interjected. “...he is quite an honorable young man. Upright, noble of peerage, well-loved by his tenants, not given to excess drink or frivolous indebtedness...” “Gambling,” the Queen clarified needlessly. “And your mother and I are content if you chose to place your attentions on him.”
The princess looked slightly bewildered...and then jumped up and embraced her parents, a happy smiled upon her pretty features.
“I do thank-you...he struck me as the nicest and kindest of all the young gentlemen I have ever met. I...I do like him immensely...odd and silly as it may seem from a single day's acquaintance.”
King Rudolph laughed heartily, “My dear Ella...you come from a long line of persons who know their mind almost immediately on such matters. Have you forgotten your grandmother's story...or your mother and I's for that matter? My dear. Be yourself...do not, I beg of you, chase him about, but if he pays you court, you have free permission to accept it.”
The ball opened grandly; Ella was resplendent, as lovely or lovelier than any of those fine ladies whom she had admired so many years before in company with Hudson. Her violet gown with the extremely ruffled skirt was the envy of all the other girls, and many of the young nobles re-averred their captivation by her charms.
Christoph immediately made his presence known, trying to claim the very first dance. He was smug in the opinion that Stanley would not make an appearance, covered as he was by healing scabs. Movement, Christoph knew, was still painful for his step-brother.
Lady Whimbleton, it was noted by the Queen, was conspicuously absent and m'lord Peter Whimbleton seemed vastly distracted; to such an extent that he nearly forgot to pay his respects to his Majesty properly! “Well!” she thought, “Something must be amiss...and young Lord Blackwell; my, the young man is late for the second time!”
King Rudolph was duly noting the absence of the young man as well...as was the Princess. Ella, however, kept her poise, disappointed as she was, and danced and chatted as if she was not. She remembered that Stanley had been late the previous ball—for whatever reason she could not guess; so perhaps he just liked being seasonably late. The idea actually amused her and she giggled, directly after Christoph had made some passing fool remark. He immediately seized up the apparent attention she was bestowing and begged her hand for the dance. Ella glanced at him as though seeing him for the first time and declined as graciously as her growing irritation with him would permit. Christoph bit his handsome lower lip and scowled as discreetly as his wounded pride allowed.
There was a rustle near the door and the Lady Whimbleton swept into the room. The rustle was caused more by the surprise at her appearance than her actual arrival, for Lady LuEllen was not attired as one would expect for a woman attending a royal ball. Rather, she looked more appropriately dressed for a invigorating horseback ride—which was, after a fashion, exactly what she had been doing.
Lord Peter immediately went to her side and they conversed in low tones. Christoph became keenly aware of the glances he was receiving from his father and step-mother. James and Henry likewise began to squirm and glancing at one another across the room, with one accord they separated themselves from their dancing companions and went towards their parents. Christoph's face was flaming and his jaw set as he noted his brother's deflection.
The King stepped down off the dais to see what the trouble was and almost immediately his face showed his knowledge of the incident and he sent a blazing glare at Christoph, who took refuge by stepping behind the Princess. She gave him a single, quizzical, disdainful glance and breezed gracefully towards the small knot. She instinctively felt that Stanley was somehow involved in this. As she neared, she heard Lady Whimbleton beseeching the King to grant full lordship upon her son, though five years shy of the previously mandated 25 years.
“It grieves me beyond measure,” she said, “for I know then that the hatred Christoph bears for him will bloom fully, but as it is, my Lord, Stanley refuses to take any action against him as he feels legally obligated....nay, he does it for my sake!” she corrected herself. “He will not take an action which will cause any further strain to the family. I do wish,” vehemently, “that he had given Christoph a taste of his own medicine years back!”
The Lord Peter laid a gentle hand on his wife's arm, but hardly looked reproving.
"Where is he?” the King demanded.
“Outside, m'lord,” the distraught woman replied. “He refused to come in looking as he does, for he claims he does not wish to shock anyone.”
“Fetch him,” King Rudolph ordered a guard. “This matter will be settled once and for all this evening.”
Christoph had edged up to the group, his curiosity getting the better of his cowardice and when his step-brother was escorted in, he snorted divisively, “Sable's a beaut....” He alone knew exactly what, if anything, he meant by that.
Ella gasped with horror, as did the Queen. The King stared with disgust at the marks of unwonted cruelty marking the young man's face and immediately turned towards Lord and Lady Whimbleton, “You wishes are granted...on one condition. That you do not cry out against my actions.” Where with, he reached out and grabbed Christoph by the collar, thoroughly startling the coward. “You will be spending now until your trial as our guest,” he reported to the aghast face before him. Without further ado, he handed him to the guard and turned toward Stanley.
“My lord Blackwell,” he began, “Kneel!”
Stanley went down on both knees, keeping his face as hidden as possible from the horrified gaze of the guests. However, when the King commanded him to lift his chin, Stanley did so. He looked up, not into the King's face, as he was expecting, but into Ella's.
The Princess's beautiful eyes clouded with tears at the sight of his marred face. Stanley blushed, but did not lower his eyes.
The King and Queen smiled at one another; then the King reached out and patted the man on the shoulder. “Rise up, Lord Blackwell. From this day hence you are lord and master of all the Blackwell estates, in both name and actuality. Now, quit staring at my daughter and take her upon a victory lap of the ballroom.” Turning to the musicians, he ordered, perhaps thoughtlessly, “Strike up a polka!!”
Stanley's eyes grew a bit wider and he sucked in his breath with apprehension as he rose to his feet and faced Ella in the proper position. Then, they were off, polkaing down and around the length of the ballroom. By the end of the dance, both young people were breathless and laughing, though Stanley's laughter was tinged by a few grimaces.
Before the next six months were out, Christoph had been shipped abroad to work off his debts and his cruelty to his step-brother. He never returned. James and Henry were both soundly rated by the King himself and forced to pay a fine. With the departure of their elder brother, both settled into a more profitable mode of existence and, in time, became noble and respected citizens.
As for m'lord Stanley Blackwell and the golden-hair Princess...they were royally wed in the same church that began this adventure. Hudson was ring bearer and a prouder one was never seen.
When King Rudolph died, Stanley became King to his Queen Ella and they ruled well and wisely. The common man had a true friend in their King, for he knew the ins and outs of their lives and desired to see them justly treated. Blessed by all, King Stanley and Queen Ella lived to ripe old ages and saw their great-great grandchildren. However, this is not the story of their adventures...
FINIS