A Dream Not Imagined Read online

  “Look in the attic for Mother’s brooch from great-aunt Marie,” she ordered when Ellie stepped into the room.

  Ellie nodded and ran for the attic. The nagging thought rang through her head: I still have no dress. Though there’d been a whole length of soft blue satin left, Ellie had had no time to transform it into a ball gown.

  Tears pricked at her eyes. I can quickly adjust one of Adelaide’s old gowns to fit me, she assured herself. Then she slipped through her room into the attic.

  Wooden boxes, fancy chests, and ornate trunks filled the dusty area.

  Ellie opened the first one and found a great number of jewelry and hair accessories that Lady Abbington had stored away so as to fit newer things into her jewelry chest downstairs. The pearl and yellow-jeweled brooch was sitting on top, wrapped in a silken cloth.

  Ellie snatched it up and shut the chest. But in that moment she noticed a chest way in the back of the attic was open. Surprised, she wove through the stacks of storage to close it. She stopped abruptly when she stood before the elegant chest.

  On top of an old, bulky sack, a pair of glistening shoes sat. They were smooth and clear, with tiny jewels sparkling along the whole rim of the shoe, and were inlaid with thick silver fabric. When Ellie touched the transparent shoes, she knew they were glass.

  “Glass slippers,” she breathed. “I wonder wherever they came from?”

  Glass slippers were the height of fashion, but usually only the most titled, wealthy women wore them—such as the queen herself.

  Ellie fingered the smooth glass tentatively before snatching her hand back.

  Beside the old sack and glass slippers, a stack of scrolls filled the rest of the chest. The elegantly-curving words of the first headline announced: Duke Davonley’s wife, Duchess Philippa, dies after many years of failing health.

  Ellie’s brow furrowed. “Duke and Duchess Davonley? Whoever are they?” She unrolled the next scroll carefully.

  Duchess Philippa misses Roulton ball due to frailty of health.

  The following heading read: Duke and Duchess Davonley heartbroken by yet another loss of child! Underneath, it explained: Young Davonley son dies day after birth. It has only been two months since Duke Davonley’s eldest child’s death.

  Ellie swallowed hard. “What horrific accounts to keep! I wonder why . . . ?” She unearthed the next scroll.

  Little Duchess Antoinette is killed in terrible fire that destroys the Davonley home and, also, most of the servants.

  Ellie pressed a hand to her mouth, shaking her head. “So that’s how the first child died.” The depressing headlines increasingly confused her. Why would Lord and Lady Abbington keep all these accounts up in their attic?

  Various other titles read: Duke and Duchess Davonley blessed with a daughter: young Duchess Antoinette. And, Duke Alexander Davonley weds Lady Philippa Carters. The last headline, earliest dated, stunned her momentarily: Duke Davonley shows an interest in Lady Geneva Archley. Things began to fall somewhat into place. “Why, my stepmother must have been in love with this duke at one time! But he married another.” Ellie sat back, stacking all the parchments back into the chest. The first one she had read was dated a year past.

  Ellie shook her head. Lady Geneva Archley had married Lord Franklin Irvings; and after his death, Lord Thomas Abbington. Yet she was still keeping accounts of her girlhood love, Duke Alexander Davonley?

  “Ellie!” came Dezmarie’s shriek from below. “Where are you?”

  Ellie hastily shut the chest and scurried out of the attic with the brooch in hand. She dressed Dezmarie’s hair, then finished readying Adelaide in her ivory-trimmed green gown. Finally, she dressed Lady Abbington’s hair and applied jewelry and make-up to all three of the women.

  The clock bonged six o’clock.

  “Dear me.” Dezmarie smirked. “We have to leave in less than an hour. You don’t appear ready, Ellie.”

  Ellie glanced down at her worn day-dress and blemished apron.

  “I suppose you’ll be forced to stay home,” Adelaide put in, looking half-remorseful and half-delighted.

  “Nonsense,” Lady Abbington said grimly, emerald earrings swinging from her ears. “She will merely have to hurry.”

  “But, Mother!” Dezmarie and Adelaide protested simultaneously.

  “Hush!” Lady Abbington commanded, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Will you be ready, Ellie?”

  Ellie looked into her stepmother’s eyes and then down, her heart beating frantically. “I don’t have a dress,” she said softly.

  “Well then, for goodness’ sakes, go find something of Adelaide’s that will suffice!” her stepmother exclaimed.

  Ellie dropped a curtsy and hustled out of the room.

  “Girls, I believe a light supper is prepared for us.” Lady Abbington’s voice carried down the corridor. “Let’s go eat before we depart.”

  Ellie grabbed an old pink dress from Adelaide’s wardrobe and ran lightly up the attic stairs. She whipped open the door of her room and shrieked with fear.

  “Don’t worry!”

  “It’s just us, Ellie!”

  Ellie stared at her two friends. “I nearly died of fright!” she whispered, pressing a hand to her chest. “What are you girls doing up here?”

  “Oh, Ellie, you get a chance to live the dream we all share!” Fiona said with a dramatic sigh, tears starting in the corners of her eyes. “We just couldn’t let you go to the ball without helping somehow.”

  Ellie faltered as she stepped into the room. “I’m sorry you both cannot come,” she said, feeling slightly ashamed.

  “Oh, posh!” Maisy cried. “We’re excited for you, Ellie! Now, what are you doing with that ugly pink rag?”

  “Disgusting, to be sure!” Fiona put in.

  “Th-this?” Ellie stammered, holding up Adelaide’s velvet and cambric, frilly gown. She stared at the fancy piece of clothing in befuddlement.

  “Positively ghastly!” Maisy confirmed, snatching the gown and tossing it out of the room.

  “Maisy!” Ellie cried. “I have to leave in less than an hour and that was to be my ball gown!” She brushed wisps of hair away from her blue eyes, becoming impatient.

  “Well, it’s not anymore!” Fiona proclaimed cheerfully.

  Ellie stared at the two young women, kerchiefs pulled snugly over their hair. Her chest heaved and she suddenly wondered if she was going to lose all control and burst into sobs. “Are you trying to sabotage my efforts to attend the ball?” she asked, a catch to her voice. They wouldn’t do that, would they?

  Fiona’s eyes widened in horror. “No!”

  Maisy’s mouth had dropped open in the same instant. She scurried to the bed. “No, no! Do calm down, Ellie! We made this for you!” She swept something off the bed.

  It was Ellie’s turn to freeze in shock.

  A shimmery gown of beautiful blue satin danced in Maisy’s grasp. It had light-blue, puffy sleeves that darkened in color and narrowed to fit snugly from elbow to wrist. Dancing halfway down the darker blue, full main skirt of the gown, a light-blue overskirt contrasted exquisitely. Pearl buttons dotted the back of the bodice, and lace accented the neckline and peeked from beneath the hem.

  A sob and sigh entwined escaped Ellie’s lips and she pressed both hands to her mouth. “Oh . . . oh . . .”

  “You’ll be the belle of the ball,” Fiona said a little shyly.

  “Come now,” Maisy said briskly, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Let’s get you into a corset and see how the dress fits.”

  “Thank you,” Ellie whispered, still hardly able to believe what she was seeing. “H-how did you get the material?”

  “We knew you kept it in your room,” Fiona said, “and asked a scullery maid from here to deliver it to us.”

  “And she did?” Ellie asked in amazement.

  Both girls nodded.

  “Perhaps she didn’t know it was to be a gown for you,” Maisy suggested. “Anyway, are all those peacocks ready?”

 
“Maisy!” Ellie giggled. “Hush, they will hear you!”

  Laughing quietly, they proceeded to dress Ellie and twist up her sunny-blonde tresses into an elegant up-do, with a few curls dangling across her shoulders and down her back. Pearl drops of a dusky blue color adorned her ear lobes and a blue choker studded with the same jewels graced her neck. Lastly, a thin circlet was placed amidst her hair, its pearl drop falling to touch her forehead, and little white gloves fitted over her hands.

  “Where did you get all of these things?” Ellie breathed, at a loss.

  “Oh, you know,” Maisy said mysteriously.

  “Maisy! You didn’t steal them?” Ellie cried, horrified.

  “No.” Fiona giggled. “We found them in the attic where we serve.”

  “Oh.” Ellie stood before the looking glass, beyond pleased and too full to speak more.

  Maisy and Fiona stood back to survey their work.

  “You look like an angel,” Fiona sighed.

  “The prince will be awe-struck, certainly,” Maisy added in with a satisfied nod.

  Will he? Ellie couldn’t suppress the excitement bubbling up inside her.

  Perhaps it was happening. Perhaps her deepest dream was about to come true.

  She thanked her friends several more times as they pushed her toward the door, urging her to join the rest of the Abbingtons. But after they left, she slipped into the attic and put the glass slippers in the hidden pockets on the skirt of her gown, for she realized she had no suitable shoes.

  Then she hurried out and descended the staircase, watching the hem of her gown float around her like a rippling waterfall. She felt beautiful. A smile touched her lips and her heart fluttered with the excitement from within.

  Lady Abbington, Dezmarie, and Adelaide watched her from the foot of the stairs. Dezmarie’s haughty eyes were angry, her mouth pinched. Adelaide was staring, her jaw slackened.

  “You look like your mother,” Lady Abbington said, her voice sounding oddly strangled.

  “My mother?” Ellie repeated in surprise. They rarely spoke of Martha Abbington.

  “Martha . . .” Lady Abbington said, biting her lip. “She was known for her blonde hair, I believe. We’d best cover that hair of yours a little.”

  Ellie reached the bottom stair and touched the blonde curl dangling over her shoulder. “Why?”

  “We wouldn’t want anyone to recognize Martha in you,” Lady Abbington said, looking upset. “Why, it would be a disgrace! People may remember passing Martha, a peasant, in the streets, and if they see her in you . . .” Lady Abbington shuddered, a pained expression passing over her face. “It simply cannot happen.”

  Why does it matter? Why must I be a disgrace if I look like my mother? Ellie kept her mouth closed, trying to hide her hurt. But she felt a damper drop over her excitement.

  Lady Abbington took a blue lace net from a maid and pulled it securely over Ellie’s pinned-up hair. It didn’t hide very much, yet wouldn’t be as noticeable as a bright-blonde head amidst the crowd.

  “There.” Lady Abbington motioned another maid forward. “A little make-up, if you would.”

  Ellie stood obediently as the maid applied generous amounts of make-up until Lady Abbington was satisfied. Then she lowered her hand, brushing her blue skirt to the side as she did.

  Dezmarie shrieked. “Where are your shoes, Ellie?”

  Let them accept this now . . . Ellie looked from her stocking-clad feet to the clock, and back.

  “Our shoes are too big for Ellie; it simply won’t do,” Dezmarie said with a triumphant toss of her head.

  Adelaide brightened.

  Ellie bit her lip, trying not to scowl. I won’t let them stop me! They have no reason to hate me so! “Please, wait.” She pulled the glass slippers from her pocket hesitantly, holding her breath.

  “Where did you get those?” Lady Abbington cried sharply, her face paling.

  “Please, m’lady,” Ellie said quickly, pleadingly. “I saw them in the attic this morning. I tried them on and they are a perfect fit.”

  “Glass slippers!” Adelaide gasped.

  Dezmarie crossed her arms over her chest and huffed like an angry horse.

  “Very well,” Lady Abbington said, though she still looked a bit shaken. “Lord Abbington is waiting outside. Let’s be off.”

  Ellie slipped her feet into the glass shoes and hurried outside after her stepmother and stepsisters.

  Lord Abbington handed them all into the Abbington family carriage except for Ellie, who stood in the darkening evening at a loss for what to do.

  “Ellie!” Dezmarie and Adelaide shouted, and at the same time Lady Abbington cried, “Thomas, really!”

  In the last instant, one of the footmen, looking extremely confused, hurriedly assisted Ellie into the carriage.

  I shall be fine . . . Ellie assured herself silently, clasping her trembling hands together. She tried to think about the ball and Prince Charles instead of her deliberately-rude family.

  Dezmarie and Lady Abbington held their gazes aloft, refusing to look at Ellie, while Adelaide was gracious enough to send her a concerned look once and awhile. Lord Abbington remained indifferently ignorant.

  Most gracious Lord, Ellie prayed silently, her eyelids fluttering closed. If You would just allow Prince Charles to find me amongst the crowd . . . She drew in a breath, feeling slightly woozy. After being a maid her entire life, she could hardly believe she was truly going to a royal ball this very eve.

  The trip passed silently. After a time, their coachman directed the carriage horses into the palace courtyard, which was already filled with carriages.

  Ellie’s breath caught. “Can this be happening?”

  The royal gardens were lush and blooming, creating a heady aroma and beautiful scene. Dusk was falling and servants were beginning to light elegant lanterns set on tall posts, which cast dancing lights onto the magnificent royal castle. Men and women dressed in extravagant clothing migrated toward the double front doors, which were flung wide open with two formal servants standing at each side.

  “Come, we don’t want to be the last ones in,” Lady Abbington said, frowning and tugging at her earrings.

  “I thought we liked to be late, in order to have all eyes upon us,” Dezmarie put in, with one eyebrow arched.

  Lady Abbington shot her a glare, and she hushed.

  They all descended from the carriage with the help of the footmen.

  When Ellie’s feet touched the ground, she simply stood and stared in awe at her surroundings. Then, suddenly, she felt herself shoved to the side. She was forced to grab the large carriage wheel to break her fall, and was aghast to see dirt splotches on her gloved fingers and bits clinging to her skirt.

  “Oh dear, you must watch where you are going, Ellie,” Dezmarie said loftily, and then flounced toward the palace.

  “You did that on purpose,” Ellie said under her breath, frustration running hotly along her nerves. She tried to brush the brown spots from her white gloves, but worked to no avail. Tears threated.

  “Simply try to keep the bottoms of your gloves hidden,” Lady Abbington said stiffly, and marched after her daughter.

  Lord Abbington lurched to keep up and Adelaide and Ellie trailed after.

  Lady Abbington showed their invitation to the servants at the door, and they were admitted in. “Lord and Lady Thomas Abbington,” the servant announced in a carrying voice. “And their daughters: Dezmarie, Adelaide, and Ellie Abbington.”

  Ellie was momentarily blinded by the brightness of the inside of the castle. When her vision cleared, she trembled a little at all the rich, noble people staring at her. But her family swept right in, and so she hurried after them, taking in the beauties of the royal home.

  The floor was polished and gleaming; the windows were high and arching, with velvet drapes. Gilded tables were set along the walls, filled to brimming with every sort of refreshment and sweet imaginable. Elegant statues and bright paintings were tucked into corners and grac
ed the walls.

  Ellie felt she might faint from the thrill of it all. And not to mention, her constricting corset. I am certainly not used to wearing such things, she thought wryly.

  She noticed a tall, middle-aged man in a vibrant red velvet attire mingling amidst the crowd. He met her gaze then, and offered her a brief nod.

  “Duke Davonley!” someone called. “Your Grace, how good to see you!” And the man hurried away to them.

  Duke Davonley is here! Ellie thought, a gloved hand going up to touch her mouth. I wonder if Lady Abbington knows? She momentarily frowned at the man’s retreating back, angry at Lady Abbington for not forgetting the man when she was married. And even a little angry at the duke for breaking her stepmother’s heart.

  It must be terrible to love a man, only to have him leave you.

  In that moment, Ellie saw the Edingworth prince coming toward her, and her breath caught. Her corset suddenly became more constricting and the room felt ten times warmer than it had before. Oh no . . . I’m going to swoon, Ellie thought with panic.

  But she managed to recover halfway as the handsome prince bowed before her and clasped her hand, bringing it to his lips. “And who is this fair lady with golden hair and eyes as blue as the glistening seas?” he asked in a low voice, giving her his charming smile.

  “Y-your Highness.” Lord Abbington gave a stilted bow, his face looking more than a little ill-at-ease. “This is my daughter, Ellie Abbington.”

  Lady Abbington, Dezmarie, and Adelaide looked on, seemingly stunned.

  Ellie sank into a curtsy and murmured, “Your Highness.” She cast her gaze to the floor, hardly able to look at the royal young man without blushing.

  “May I have this dance, Miss Abbington?” Prince Charles asked, still holding her gloved hand.

  Ellie simply nodded, her mind whirling too rapidly for her to think of anything to say. Oh gracious! It’s happening . . . The prince . . . She suppressed the rest of her thoughts quickly.

  Then, without further ado, the prince gave a regal nod to her family and swept Ellie onto the ballroom floor, as a waltz was just beginning.

  Dreams can come true! The ridiculous thought popped into Ellie’s mind and stayed there as Prince Charles swung her gracefully about the ballroom. Swirls of bright-colored clothing blurred past her vision, but she never really noticed any of the people wearing them. All she could think about was the man in front of her. The prince is dancing with me! Me! A maid! A blissful smile touched her lips.