A Dream Not Imagined Read online

  Rowen nodded, green eyes gentle.

  They stood in the opening of the alley talking until it was clear they both should be moving on.

  “Well, Ellie . . .” Rowen stepped back and suddenly seemed a little anxious. He took off his hat and flapped it against his knee. “There’s a dance festival down in the peasant’s area of the village soon, and, well”—he gave her an irresistible grin—“I was wondering if you would like to come with me?”

  For some reason the idea sent a thrill through Ellie’s being and her eyes widened in excitement. “Do you mean it?” she asked, forgetting to be ladylike, and her own timidity.

  Something passed over Rowen’s face; but his grin was wider in the next instant. “Why, certainly! I think it will cheer you up a lot, Ellie. The atmosphere is always welcoming and comfortable, and there are lots of apple tarts.”

  Ellie laughed, the sound ringing clear and sweet. My, but it seems so long since I’ve laughed! She nodded her head, blue eyes sparkling. “It does sound fun.”

  “Then will you come?”

  Feeling a little flushed once more, Ellie nodded. “Yes, I would love to.”

  “I’ll come by your family’s lands next Saturday after supper. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds wonderful,” Ellie answered a little shyly, smiling glowingly. “I will be waiting for you.”

  He put his hat back on his head and gave her a nod and a grin. “Until Saturday night then.” And he jogged off toward his waiting fellow servants.

  Ellie watched him go, a happy smile gracing her lips. She pulled the vibrant red material out of her basket and hugged it to her chest. Yes indeed, there was an occasion.

  Rowen was taking her to a peasant festival.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Ellie drew the thread through the red material, tugging lightly before poking the needle back in. She sat tucked in a corner of a small room unnoticed, while Lady Abbington, Dezmarie, and Adelaide chatted in the adjoining main sitting room with proper company.

  “Has Prince Charles made a decision yet? Has he been seeing anyone?” Dezmarie’s voice rose slightly from the other room.

  “Well, I’ve been hearing the same thing everywhere; he’s had multiple families over for supper, but never just one girl.” The neighbor spoke in a conspiring voice. “I simply don’t know what to think.”

  “It’s high time for him to take a wife,” Lady Abbington said, her voice dark and moody. “Has there been any other news?”

  “Dear me,” the neighbor tittered. “I did hear that Duke Davonley has been staying at the royal castle since the ball.”

  “What?” Lady Abbington’s voice was a little shrill.

  “Why, yes, Geneva,” the gossipy woman answered. “He lives quite a piece away, so I suppose it’s understandable for him to stay awhile.”

  “But it’s been weeks since the ball,” Lady Abbington protested, her voice still a little aghast.

  “Hmm, I suppose he felt like visiting the royal family for a time. What’s that to you, Geneva?” Interest perked the other woman’s voice.

  Her stepmother sputtered some replies, and Ellie tuned out. “I do hope he doesn’t see fit to visit here,” she muttered, still upset about Lady Abbington’s on-going obsession with this duke.

  “The poor man . . .” The neighbor’s obnoxious voice came from the other room again. “With that horrible fire killing little Antoinette and his infant son dying two months later, I thought he’d never recover. But then his wife succumbs to her fragile health.” The woman clucked her tongue. “But it’s been a year past since her death. One never knows, Duke Davonley may be looking for a new wife here.”

  Ellie stabbed the needle into her finger at this and bit back a sharp cry. She stood and left the room to find a rag. Some moments later, she had dabbed the blood from her finger and was up in her room, knotting the last stitch on her new, red dress.

  From downstairs, the clock faintly bonged seven o’clock.

  I must be ready to leave in less than an hour. Excitement bubbled up inside Ellie, the dilemma of the duke and her stepmother fleeing her mind. She set to braiding her long blonde hair. When she was finished, she wound it in a coil around her head with a few wispy curls about her ears. Slipping on a cream blouse with soft, billowing sleeves, she quickly buttoned it up the back.

  “Oh Ellie!” a voice called impatiently from downstairs.

  Ellie pulled her finished sleeveless red dress over the blouse and laced up the bodice ties on the front of the gown. The hem swept gently over the floor as she walked to stand before the looking glass, smiling at her reflection. The dress was fetching in a simple, refreshing sort of way.

  “Ellie?”

  Ellie hastily shoved on her brown day slippers and ran down the attic stairs.

  Dezmarie stared at the red dress for a moment. Then she smirked and said, “My, my, where are you off to?”

  “Begging your pardon, miss,” Ellie answered with a slight lift of her chin, “but it doesn’t really matter to you, now does it?”

  Dezmarie gasped a little. “Ellie! What is wrong with you? You’re the maid, not the mistress!” Deep red flamed over her cheeks.

  Ellie looked down, biting her lip to keep from spouting off more foolish things. “Of course, miss,” she agreed meekly. “Now, if you will, I have to leave soon.” She swept past, leaving an astonished stepsister in her wake.

  I’ll bear the consequences when I return, certainly, Ellie thought a little grimly. But tonight is a night I don’t want Dezmarie bothering me!

  Staying out of sight of the visitors, she slipped out of the Abbington castle and down the wide, smooth dirt entrance road. To her surprise, Rowen was already walking up the road toward her.

  He was dressed in a simple forest-green shirt and brown trousers that were rolled up to mid-calf. His hair was wind-blown and falling over his forehead, and his feet were bare.

  A little tingle of knowingness went through Ellie, and she wondered at it momentarily. But then she pushed it aside and smiled shyly at her escort.

  Rowen gave a gallant bow. “May I have the honor of bringing you to the festival, my dear lady?”

  Ellie laughed, a rosy pink spreading over her cheeks. She held her red skirt wide and performed an elegant curtsy. “Of course, most kind sir; I would be delighted.”

  Rowen smiled, pushing his hair away from his eyes. “You look very beautiful . . . Ellie.”

  Ellie’s blush deepened and she wondered if he was continuing his charade, or really meant it. “Thank you,” she whispered, taking his offered arm. “Do you always go barefoot to the dance festivals?”

  “Mostly,” Rowen answered cheerfully. “The dirt is soft and the dances long. I like it better without shoes.”

  Ellie nodded in understanding.

  They chatted about multiple things as they walked arm-in-arm down the dirt paths that led to the peasants’ section of the land.

  When they reached their destination, Ellie gazed at the rows of thatch-roofed homes, the yet to be lit bonfires spread over the large open area, and the many people walking about laughing and talking comfortably.

  She clasped her hands together against her chest. “It looks wonderful!” she half-sighed, half-exclaimed.

  Rowen smiled at her, seeming to enjoy her excitement. “Shall we, m’lady?”

  Ellie took his arm again and they descended the small hill to join the gathering of frolicking peasants.

  “Ellie! How good to see you!”

  Ellie turned, still clasping Rowen’s arm. “Lottie,” she said, pleasantly surprised.

  The old woman was dressed in a sweet, yellow dress today. She gave Ellie a tight hug. “Rowen.” She squeezed his arm, eyes twinkling cheerily, “so good of you to bring Ellie to our merry-making!”

  “It’s my pleasure,” Rowen returned. And after hugging the dear old woman, he tugged Ellie into a rousing dance.

  “But I don’t know the steps!” Ellie protested, laughing and pleading a
t the same time. She kicked off her shoes impulsively, letting her bare toes sink into the warm dirt.

  “It’s easy!” Rowen shouted over the music and noise, grasping her hands and swinging her around. His grin reached his twinkling green eyes. “Just dance, and turn to the next person when I let go of your hands.”

  “It better be easy!” Ellie cried back with a mock scowl. But her feet quickly began to echo the joyous beating of her heart, and she swung from person to person with ease and laughter.

  Yet her joy was always fullest when it was Rowen’s strong hands grasping hers and his green eyes laughing into hers.

  At last the fiddle stopped, and the bare feet pounding against the earth slowed.

  Ellie pressed a hand to her chest, laughing and gasping—trying to catch her breath. Wisps of hair brushed against her temples and neck, and she wiped a sheen of perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’ve never had so much fun in my life!”

  “I had an idea you would like it.” Rowen grinned as he wiped his sleeve over his face. “Need something to drink?”

  “Sounds lovely.”

  They made their way to the wooden tables stacked with food and drinks. Rowen handed her two cups filled with lemon water and piled a wooden plate with little berry cakes and two enormous apple tarts.

  Ellie laughed incredulously at him. “Are we really going to eat all those, Rowen?”

  “Why, of course!” he said with a boyish grin, pressing a hand to the small of her back to guide her through the noisy crowd. “This is only the beginning, Ellie. You’re going to eat more than you ever have.”

  Ellie burst into a fresh bout of laughter. “I do hope most of this eating happens after all the dances are done!”

  Rowen assured her that it would, and they sat down on a grassy knoll amidst the gathered people. Ellie handed him his drink, and he set the plate in between them. He urged her to try the apple tart first, which she found extremely delicious.

  “You have little feet,” he commented suddenly, munching on his third square sweet cake.

  Ellie quickly tucked her bare feet under the hem of her skirt, two pink spots appearing on her cheeks. “Rowen! Don’t you know it’s scandalous to say such things to a woman?”

  Rowen looked abashed for a half second, before he grinned mischievously and said, “Sorry. I couldn’t help noticing. Nothing to be ashamed of, of course. They’re like fairy feet.”

  Ellie smiled at the charming description, but still slightly mortified, said, “Do hush about that now, before someone hears you!”

  He laughed and handed her a berry cake. “Here, have another.”

  She joined his joviality, laughing through her blushes as she took the pastry.

  “Alright, alright, I’ll stop now,” he said apologetically. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “It wasn’t an insult.” Ellie lowered her lashes momentarily, and secretly treasured the moment in her heart.

  Rowen winked comfortably at her and she wondered at his ability to make her feel as if she had known him all her life. They talked amiably for a while before a lull came to their conversation.

  Ellie broke it by asking, “Where do all the sweets come from?”

  Rowen scooped up a bite of the subject they were speaking of. “The women in the village are always saving up bits of ingredients throughout the year for these festivals. And then my mother and some others bake them all.”

  “Does your mother live here?” Ellie questioned, hugging her knees against her chest.

  “My family does, yes,” Rowen replied. “I was fortunate enough to get a place working at the royal palace.”

  Ellie bit her lip, looking away as a faint pang hit her chest.

  “Well, the wage is good, anyway,” Rowen amended, giving her a small smile. He stood and offered a hand to her. “We can eat the last few cakes later. Shall we dance again?”

  Ellie clasped his hand and he helped her to her feet. “If I can manage with all this food in my stomach!”

  Rowen laughed at her teasing voice, and squeezed her hand before releasing it. “You can’t deny that those were the best apple tarts you’ve ever tasted, though.”

  Ellie grinned back. “You’re right.”

  They walked side by side through the maze of people, Rowen replying briefly to greetings being called out to him as they went.

  Little boys and girls ran around squealing, dressed in homespun garments and sporting bare feet, like almost everybody else. And their parents milled about, talking and dancing. Several young women cast Rowen flirtatious glances, but he ignored them, seeming content to just be by Ellie’s side.

  He cares about me like no person ever has, Ellie thought suddenly, glancing quickly up at the handsome man walking beside her. God, surely Rowen is as fine a man as You ever made. She flushed slightly at her thoughts; but still, her admiration of Rowen Jennings was growing steadily.

  Several little girls in plain brown dresses suddenly surrounded Ellie.

  “Oooh, what a purdy dress,” one of them said, shyly fingering the red material of Ellie’s skirt.

  Ellie smiled at her.

  “She looks like a princess!” another girl exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

  “She is a princess,” Rowen informed them, winking at the group.

  Several childish gasps were heard. “She is?”

  Ellie gave Rowen a quick look.

  “Oh yes.” He nodded, smiling at the girls. “Ellie is God’s princess.”

  One of the dirty-faced little pixies sighed longingly. “I want to be a princess. Could I be God’s princess too, Rowen?”

  “Why, most certainly!” Ellie answered for him, bending down to clasp the little girl’s pudgy hand, her heart melting.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Rowen agreed, kneeling beside the two. “If you ask Prince Jesus to live in your heart, you will be part of God’s family and thus, a princess.”

  The little ones listened to his words with awe and rapt attention.

  Prince Jesus, Ellie thought. He is my prince. Not the earthly Edingworth prince. The thought caused some unexplainable joy to blossom in her heart. In that precious moment, she knew she didn’t need anything more than her heavenly Prince, who was becoming steadily more real to her as she met people who loved Him.

  She looked up and realized the girls had scattered, and only Rowen remained crouching beside her.

  “So what thoughts are tumbling around in that head of yours?” he asked with a lopsided grin.

  Ellie flushed. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She tucked wisps of hair into the braid coiled around her head. “I suppose I was just pondering how God became more real to me after the . . . after what happened at the palace. I don’t know why. Perhaps because of Lottie’s words . . . or your kindness.” She glanced at Rowen before quickly looking away. “Seems God sent you two to help me through my own mistakes.”

  Rowen regarded her seriously. “God loves you, Ellie. If you seek, you will find Him.” After a moment, he went on, “I know you’ve gone through a terrible disappointment . . . I’m glad you chose healing instead of bitterness.”

  Ellie closed her eyes, briefly remembering Prince Charles’s brown eyes; first charming, then livid. “It still hurts sometimes,” she admitted softly. “But I suppose it helps me to see that God’s plan is truly what I want in the end; so I should stop trying to create my own.”

  Rowen started to speak but something suddenly caught his attention.

  A horseback rider surged mad-dash toward the small gathering. The huge black stallion skidded to a halt right before it would have plunged into the crowd.

  Ellie’s breath caught. “What’s going on?” She instinctively stepped closer to Rowen.

  He grasped her elbow, face wary. “I’m not certain.”

  The rider was in a knight’s apparel and he whipped out a scroll, letting it fall open for all to see. “I seek Ellie Abbington,” he shouted.

  His words echoed over the village.
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  Ellie struggled to swallow, her heart suddenly thudding in her ears. What had she done now?

  Rowen’s jaw tensed and he gave her a quick glance.

  Ellie lifted her hands slightly, shoulders raising in a shrug, stunned. “I have no idea what . . .” she murmured, cutting off abruptly.

  “Ellie Abbington, please show yourself. His Imperial Highness placed his seal on this scroll on behalf of a friend, requesting your presence as soon as possible.”

  Dear Lord, what is it . . . ? Ellie glanced briefly at the heavens. On behalf of a friend, the knight had said, so it must not be directly related to Prince Charles or the royal family.

  “I may use force, if I must.” The knight’s voice was starting to sound threatening.

  Ellie stepped forward, senses reeling. “I am Ellie Abbington,” she called out in a shaky voice.

  “Ellie.” Rowen moved up beside her protectively.

  The knight seemed to have heard her amidst the crowd, and urged his giant horse her way. “Stand aside,” he barked, forcing Rowen away from Ellie with the bulk of his horse.

  “Now wait a moment, sir,” Rowen began tersely, face set.

  “It’s alright,” Ellie heard herself speak as the knight pulled her onto the back of his horse. Her mind spun. “Thank you for the lovely evening, Rowen,” she managed.

  Rowen looked at her, his concern evident on his face in the flickering light of the bonfires. He stepped up. “Ellie, are you certain you will be alright?”

  “I’ve got the king’s seal,” the knight growled. “Now move!” He kicked his horse’s flanks, and Rowen barely jumped out of the way in time to avoid flying hooves.

  “I’ll come by tomorrow morning, Ellie!” he shouted after them.

  Ellie twisted in the saddle behind the knight. Her eyes locked with Rowen’s before he vanished due to distance and darkness.

  They reached the Abbington castle shortly. The knight swung Ellie down, and she stifled a groan, feeling a bit bruised from the harried, jolting ride.

  “They’re waiting inside, miss,” the knight said gruffly. Then he touched his hat and was gone in a flurry of pounding hooves.

  Ellie breathed quickly, but her feet stayed rooted to the ground. Who’s inside? She forced her trembling legs to work and moved into the house.