Hollis turned, too, and even from where Caroline sat, she could see Hollis’s dark blue eyes shining with tears of joy. The guests rose to their feet as the prince and his bride began their procession away from the altar. Rose petals rained down on the couple and their guests from above. The little flower girls fluttered around behind Eliza like butterflies, flanking her train as they followed the couple down the aisle. Prince Leopold offered his arm to Hollis, and she beamed up at him. Caroline felt left out. Hollis and Eliza were near and dear to her heart, the closest thing to sisters she’d ever had, and she longed to be with them now.
Eliza and Prince Sebastian floated past Caroline and Beck without any acknowledgment of them. That was to be expected—the two of them looked absolutely besotted. They were so enthralled with each other, in fact, that Caroline fretted they’d walk into any one of the marble columns that lined their path.
Oh, but she was envious, filled to the very brim with envy. In England, she rarely gave marriage any thought except on those occasions Beck complained she ought to settle on someone, anyone, and relieve him of his duty. But he didn’t really mind his duty, his protestations notwithstanding. Caroline rather suspected he liked having her underfoot. So she flitted from one party to the next, happy to enjoy the attentions of the many gentlemen who crossed her path, happy with her freedom to do as she pleased.
But looking at Eliza, Caroline realized that she did indeed want one day to be in love with a man who would be as devoted to her as Prince Sebastian was to his bride. She wanted to feel everything Eliza was feeling, to understand just how that sort of love changed a person.
Prince Leopold and Hollis passed by Caroline and Beck. Hollis’s face was streaked with happy tears. Prince Leopold happened to look to the guests as they passed, a polite smile on his face. His gaze locked on Caroline’s—well, not locked, really, as much as it skimmed over her—but nevertheless, she smiled broadly. She began to lift a hand but was suddenly jostled with an elbow to her ribs. She jerked a wide-eyed gaze to her brother.
“Stop gawking,” he whispered. “You’ll snap your neck, craning it like that.”
Caroline haughtily touched a curl at her neck.
Beck turned his attention to the procession. The king and queen were passing them now. Beck leaned toward her and whispered, “He’s a prince, Caro, and you are just an English girl. You’re indulging in fairy tales again. I can see it plainly on your face.”
Just an English girl? She very much would have liked to kick Beck like she used to do when she was just a wee English girl. “Better to dream in fairy tales than not dream at all.”
Beck rolled his eyes. He stood dispassionately as the archbishop and his altar boys followed the king and queen.
Just an English girl, indeed.
Copyright © 2020 by Dinah Dinwiddie
Keep reading for an excerpt from From Cinderella to Countess by Annie Burrows.
From Cinderella to Countess
by Annie Burrows
Chapter One
‘You really are a very silly girl,’ said Lady Bradbury, as Eleanor looked out of the window for about the fourteenth time that morning. ‘In spite of all your Latin and Greek.’
Yes, she probably was. There was no good reason for getting so excited, just because Lord Lavenham was due to arrive some time today. But she just couldn’t help it. From the moment the housekeeper, Mrs Timms had opened up his room to air it, and put in fresh bedding, her spirits had lifted.
‘Men like him,’ went on Lady Bradbury, ‘never marry girls like you.’
‘Of course not. I never expected...’ She was far too plain, for one thing, while he was the most attractive person, male or female, she’d ever seen. The first time he’d paid one of his visits to his mother’s aunt, Lady Bradbury, since Eleanor had been working for her, Eleanor had been capable of doing nothing more than just sitting there, drinking in the sight of him. If she’d been any good at painting, she would have spent hours since then attempting to capture his chiselled features and the lustrous black curls that crowned his head, although not even one of the Dutch masters would be able to recreate that glint of wickedness she’d since come to learn always gleamed from his ebony-dark eyes.
A glint that never failed to make her knees go rather soft and her heart to beat a little erratically, and her thoughts to stray into entirely inappropriate avenues—but never into daydreams of marriage. No matter what Lady Bradbury said, Eleanor was no fool. Not only was Lord Lavenham so incredibly handsome, he was—well, he was a lord. A wealthy lord, with properties all over England, besides this little house in the Cotswolds, while she was merely a paid companion.
‘The most you could expect from a man of his stamp,’ Lady Bradbury continued, as though Eleanor hadn’t spoken, ‘is for him to spend an hour or two amusing himself with you while he is in the country and has nothing better to do. Or anyone to do it with. But then he would return to London, leaving you behind, and then where would you be?’
Eleanor had to bite her tongue on the retort that sprang to mind—that it was very unfair of Lady Bradbury to accuse Lord Lavenham of that kind of behaviour. He had never, not once, done any of the things that Lady Bradbury was implying he did. He had never, for example, ogled Eleanor through his quizzing glass, or made inappropriate comments, or tried to grab her, or kiss her on the back stairs. Or anywhere else. Nor
