CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

HANSEN SWUNG THE DOOR wide and stepped into the small storeroom. Ella was quick to follow. The light from the stable windows allowed her to watch him remove an old crate of some kind to reveal a very pretty gold-and-mahogany box about the size of a loaf of bread, with scrolls and etchings all over it. Her father’s box! She had forgotten it existed until that moment.

“This is for you, Miss,” Hansen said as he pulled it out. “I would wait until all is clear before you take it up to the house—unless you would prefer to open it out here. Then I would be happy to remain until you bring down the key.”

She gasped. “The key! Yes, it belongs to my father’s box.”

“Aye. I had one of the footmen hide it in your closet years ago to keep it safe.”

“How did you come by this?”

“As I said, your father gave the box to me shortly before his death and said it was for you and no one else. He was very adamant that no one know about it. He asked me to hide it up tight in a place her ladyship would never think to look. And so I did, out here in the back of the stables. It has remained here waiting for you ever since.”

“Oh, Hansen, thank you!” Ella rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him. “I shall bring the key here. Wait for me.”

It only took a few minutes to make it back to the stables. By the time she returned, Hansen had cleared out a good section of the ground near the haystacks and was waiting for her there. It was quiet, with only one or two of the stable boys doing their chores, but they did not pay any attention to her.

She sat upon the ground near a large bundle of hay and pulled out the key from within her apron pocket.

Hansen set the box down gently for her and then tipped his hat. “I will be waiting over by the door to see that no one disturbs you.”

She smiled. “Thank you.” It took no time at all to place the intricate key into the lock and turn it. The pretty box swung open easily and inside there were several folded pieces of paper. She pulled out each one individually and examined them.

Most of them were the deeds to the house, the land, the cattle—all of those important documents that one would need to show proof. On each and every paper was her name—Eleanoria Rose Woodston.

She really did own the whole manor. There were also estimated values of each property, and the sums reached more than Ella ever would have imagined. She shook her head slightly and wiped away a few tears. He had remembered her.

He loved her—until the very end. Despite what she had been told, he loved her.

She found a note from him, explaining all.

Ella,

I love you, my daughter. I worry how you will be treated if I am to leave this earth before you have grown. Your stepmother means well, but she is vain and selfish at times. I am afraid for you, and so I have done the only thing I could think of to ensure that she treats you well. I have left it all for you so you may share and give out, as is your nature, to those I have left in your charge. Do take care of your stepmother and stepsisters. They will need much looking after once I am gone. I love you, my little Ella. I love you. Never stop riding—for it is an exceptional gift from above.

Now, my dear, within this box you shall find the deeds and property assessments of all the land and buildings, etcetera, that you now own. There is also another letter here explaining your mother’s stipend that was inherited from your grandmother and to be given to you on your wedding day. The accounting and all the necessary paperwork will be included in this box as well. You do own a large inheritance from both of your parents, but your mother’s most definitely far exceeds mine. Your stepmother has no idea of its existence; I never mentioned you were wealthy in your own right. You do not need to share that fact with anyone if you do not wish it.

Also, my dear, there will be tucked inside some love letters between your mother and me from back in our courting days. You may enjoy browsing through those as well. I have included your mother’s ring in addition to some other costly jewelry. You are welcome to do with it as you see fit.

I love you, my daughter. I love you. Never doubt this, for it is true.

Take care. Be kind. Be good. Be strong.

Until we meet again—

Love,

Papa

Ella slowly set down the letter and pushed the box away for a moment, her grief sharp all over again. Wiping at her tears, she pressed her lips together. What was she to do with such information? What did it really change within her? It did not bring her father or mother back—it just confirmed her father’s suspicions that his new wife would treat her cruelly. It was a gift given by a loving, caring father, but what did it matter if she had all the gold in the land? She would never be loved by those to whom she had tried so very hard to prove her worth. If she came out with this box and letters and waved them about, it would change nothing—they would only hate her more.

She brought her knees up to her chin and stared at the stark walls of the stable. The gentle neighs and snorts from the horses brought her back to her current world. It would seem everything was hers now. Anything she could grasp and clutch and draw toward her was now at her fingertips. The love of a king, her father’s wealth, her mother’s wealth, her home, her lands—it was all there, waiting for her to decide to take it up.

But could she?

She wrapped her arms around her legs and pulled them tighter toward her.

Could she handle the pressure of becoming a queen? Could she bear the load of being a wealthy landowner and having so many people under her charge? She had lived on so very little for so long, the thought of unimagined wealth startled her. In many ways she wished she could go back to being the little girl she once was and hide away, riding Sunshine for hours instead of facing reality.

What was she to do with her stepmother and stepsisters now? She needed to make several decisions, but did not feel up to the challenge of tackling even one of them. If she threw her family out of the home, then what? She would be no less cruel than they were—actually, she would be worse. But how long could she serve those who mocked her and treated her with such callousness now that she knew the truth?

She would shatter.

Her sharp tongue was too quick at times, and there would be no turning back. She would most likely say things she would regret for the rest of her life. Her nature was not to be cold and selfish; however, she knew she would need to come to grips with her own self-worth before she could dare to become an example for anyone else.

Ella Woodston would have to fight. She would have to stand up and take back what was rightfully hers and claim her lands and title once more. But she could not think of such things at the moment. She simply could not.

Too much, too soon, too fast.

She needed counsel; she needed advice.

She needed John—er, Anthony.

Yes.

Sitting up more fully, she called out to Hansen. When he came, she asked, “Could you send something for me?”

“Anything, Miss.”

“I would like to write a missive to the prince, something short—but I would like to do so secretly. Can you see that he receives it?”

“Yes. I will have one of the older stable boys run it up to the castle at once. Let me fetch you ink and the rest.”

“Thank you.” As he left, she placed her father’s papers neatly within the box, shut the lid, and locked it up tight. Dusting herself off, she made her way to the old storeroom and tucked it back underneath the crate. There it would stay until she was ready for it.

With a deep breath, she closed the storeroom door and began to sort her thoughts for the note she would write Anthony. By the time Hansen had rushed back with the writing tools, she was ready. Deciding simplest would be best, she merely wrote—

A—

I need you. Please come as soon as possible.

I will be waiting.

E