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1. 

   christi Mancha on October 23, 2014 at 5:37 pm

   Here’s your Cinderella Story:

   I could feel the eyes of the gathered crowd bearing down upon me like medieval press torture. I knew those gathered wanted to see some sign of emotion from me—and my two young daughters. They stood, one on either side of me, silent and unmoving as the coffin containing the body of their father was lowered into the ground. There were no tears from my eyes, nor anyone’s as the gravediggers lowered the crate into the shallow grave. The frozen ground of winter did not yield easily to their shovels and after a couple days of work, it had become a race to get the body buried before the entire castle stunk with its rottenness.

   My husband had been a vicious and unfeeling man, fond of drink and cards. His confidence in his ability to win at cards far outdistanced his actual ability and many of the mourners were, in reality, his creditors. They had come, like vultures, circling the body of the dead, keeping a sharp eye open for what could be picked off in order to repay his debts.

   Our estate was not large or grand, but without the gambling habit would have been enough to sustain the farmers who worked the land and keep up in a few silks and seasons in Paris, if we economized. It would have been enough to leave both the girls with dowries large enough to secure husbands, humble though they would have been—second sons of second sons—despite their rather ugly features. Even I, with my mother’s fierce love, could see that my girls looked like their father. He was an ugly, twisted man, with ugly, twisted features, a large nose and heavy brows that gave him a glowering look no matter his mood.

   I, on the other hand, was beautiful, the beautiful youngest daughter of a very insignificant landowner with five girls born ahead of me. All the dowry money had gone on the first three girls. The rest of us were left to make whatever lives we could from either wit or looks. My father gladly turned me over for marriage when I was fourteen to this ugly man, thirty years my senior. It wasn’t that he had no affection for me at all, simply not enough resources to leave for the support of his three remaining daughters.

   My husband, Lord Gadoury, had come to notice me while I was in Paris visiting my wealthy aunt. My father’s sister, a beautiful woman herself, had secured a rich husband in her youth. Once he’d caught sight of me at a ball, I quickly became his obsession. I received invitations to go driving in his carriage and to sumptuous dinner parties. When he found all his advances repulsed, he went directly to my father, offering a generous sum for my hand.

   Our fourteen years of marriage had brought seven babies into the world. All five boys now rested in tiny graves near where their father now lay. Perhaps it was a mercy. I can’t imagine what sons brought up by such a man might become.

   When the priest finished his absolution and my daughters and I turned to leave the graveside, among the hungry faces in the crowd, waiting to descend upon me, my eyes happened across only one face, eyes filled with sorrow. It was the nobleman, Baron Beauchene, one of my husband’s oldest friends, though I could not tell why. Baron Beauchene, now a widower himself, with a young daughter, was a loyal and conscientious man. His wealth grew and as it did, so did the prosperity of every tenant that farmed his land.

   He and his wife had made a practice of visiting their tenants regularly, and she had often tended to the sick in their village. In fact, she had died of scarlet fever, which she had caught on just such a mission of mercy.

   The Baron’s eyes caught mine. I gave him the smallest of smiles, nothing flirtatious would do at such a moment. But I knew then that he would become my husband.

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     Chazda Albright on October 23, 2014 at 10:00 pm

     AWESOME!!! I totally love this! Thank you so much for tackling the Cinderella story. Love the characterization. 🙂 Chazda

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