It must be love, p.1
It Must be Love, page 1
It Must be Love
an Entwined Tales novella, book two
Sandra Sookoo
Table of Contents
Title Page
It Must be Love (Entwined Tales, #2)
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
The End
Regency-era stories by Sandra Sookoo
Author Bio
Stay in Touch
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IT MUST BE LOVE © 2019 by Sandra Sookoo
Published by New Independence Books
ISBN-9781386870579
Contact Information:
sandrasookoo@yahoo.com
newindependencebooks@gmail.com
Visit me at www.sandrasookoo.com
Edited by: Angie Eads
Book Cover Design by David Sookoo
Couple: 3P6O3628-2| Period Images.com
Background: Passage to mysterious castle| Deposit Photos.com
Publishing History:
First Digital Edition, 2019
Dear Readers,
Writing, or rather rewriting, fairytales is a guilty pleasure of mine that I’m not able to indulge in very often, but when the chance comes around, I jump on it!
In this story, I’ve twisted aspects of Cinderella and Rapunzel, and put together a quaint little romance that plays nicely off the first in the series, It Must be Magic. I hope you love this novella as much as I adored writing it.
If you adore this story, take heart and know that I’ve planned to do two more next year!
Enjoy!
Sandra
Dedication
To Angie Eads, the woman who loved the first book in the series so much that she insisted I write a romance for Prince Charming.
Acknowledgements
Writing a book can be a solitary endeavor at times. And in others, it’s fun to ask for help. Thanks so much to the following people who shared with me their favorite version of the Cinderella story. I hope you enjoy mine!
Lisa Torres, Sue Brandes, Melody Brooke May, Mary Smith, Meghan Lyndsey Ann Edwards, Jill James, Theresa Echols Haack, Cheri Allan, Chasity Rose Bowman, Clair Brett, Kelly Snyder, Bryonna Nobles, Darragha Foster, Lori Quick, Cindi Cassarella, Paula Farrell, Janice Hitt Hampton, Roxane Twisdale, Shawn Dalton-Smith, Cindy Bartolotta, Cindy Drennan von Hentschel, Jenny Merchant, Beth Caudill, Margaret Murray-Evans, Corinna Vexborg, Joanna Moreno, Tana Hillman, Evelyn Duerr Ryan, Susan Kennedy, Debbie Jewell Grimes, Resa Haile, Jennifer Swift, Char Chaffin, Lilly Gayle, Cara Bristol, Betty Foye Mileti
Blurb
The most powerful force in the world is love.
Lady Christiana Tremaine lives in the kingdom of Vesance, but ever since her father remarried, her stepmother—Lady Tremaine—has stripped her of everything befitting her station, has reduced her to that of a maid, and forced her to answer to the slur of Cinderella. Though the life of drudgery is horrid, she carries hope circumstances will change, especially when she remembers dancing with the prince who stole her heart. A chance meeting with that same man strengthens her resolve to change... if she can survive that woman’s deadly machinations.
Alto August Henry Ferdinand Lansdowne, Prince Charming of Annanvale has been searching for the woman who sent his world upside down and ran from him at midnight leaving a glass slipper behind. Though he’s been cursed to shift into wolf form each night, he has faith that the woman he’s coming to love will overlook his affliction. When he finds her, they begin an unorthodox courtship and he falls ever deeper, but their romance is fraught with obstacles.
When Christiana is locked into a high tower by her stepmother and kept there by an enchantment, Henry is quick to come, but when Lady Tremaine gets wind of their plot to escape, she lies in wait for the noble prince and leaves Cinderella to an ugly fate, for she desires power above all else. But as long as there is love, there is hope. The beleaguered pair will need to fight hard for their happily ever after. With luck and a little magic, they just might win.
Chapter One
Lady Christiana Tremaine, only daughter to the Earl of Wittington, gritted her teeth as she moved through the music room.
On any other day, she adored music and even practiced it herself, for she’d learned the skill to the play the pianoforte years ago, before her mother had died and everything had changed. However, today, the horrible cacophony of sound that emanated from that much-abused instrument had a megrim brimming in her temples and an ache forming in her jaws from clenching her teeth so hard.
“Attempt to do better, girls,” instructed the countess in clipped tones. “Nothing is ever accomplished without effort or the drive to succeed. I refuse to allow you to fail, for no man of breeding or position will take either of you to wife if you only aspire to bumps on a log.”
Which is exactly what they look like on that bench. “Perhaps if the both of you weren’t fighting for mastery of the keyboard, you’d endeavor to play something resembling music,” Christiana said under her breath while she applied a feather duster to a curio shelf nearby.
“If I want you to advise my daughters, Cinderella, I shall ask.” Her stepmother, the current Countess of Wittington snapped —though she went against proper societal rules at times and allowed her friends and acquaintances to call her Lady Tremaine—and her thin lips turned downward in a frown.
“That is not my name.” She couldn’t quell the urge to argue. “But you know that, don’t you, Sybil?” she asked with narrowed eyes.
Since her father had married the woman two years ago, which was a short six months after Christiana’s mother had perished from a fever that had infected the village, Sybil had turned the manor house completely on its head. Due to her penny-pinching ways, she’d let go most of the servants, only keeping on the people who were vital for comfort. Worst of all, she’d refused to treat Christiana as a daughter of the house and instead had reduced her status to that of a maid-of-all-work as punishment. Easy to do since the earl was out of pocket more often than not on business.
So why did Sybil do such a thing? First, Christiana had better looks. Second, until she married, her stepsisters couldn’t wed, for that was tradition in the kingdom—the eldest child must marry before any others. Third, she was her father’s only heir, for he had yet to change his will, of this she was certain, for her father’s man-of-affairs was more like an uncle than an employee. For all of these reasons, the countess hated her; she couldn’t abide delays to her timeline of improving her station or position.
Truly, the woman was cold-hearted and possibly insane, but Christiana continued the struggle for power by calling her stepmother by her given name instead of her title, for then it made them equals. Respect begat respect.
The jarring noise from the pianoforte where her stepsisters sat beside each other on the padded bench ceased as both women bounced their gazes between her and the countess.
“Oh, I’m well aware what your name is, but since you are no longer a lady, I am not inclined to use it.” Sybil crossed her arms at her chest and glared. “My daughters are the only ones who matter in this household. You are nothing but a servant.” She swept her gaze up and down Christiana’s person. Hatred blazed in those green depths and her red hair streaked with silver gleamed in the sun that streamed through the windows. “Do not think to argue with me on this, or it will go worse for you.”
“How could it possibly do that?” She tightened her fingers around the wooden handle of the feather duster. “You refuse to address me as my father’s daughter, you won’t allow me to wear the clothing of my station, you have basically confined me to the manor and its grounds unless I’m with you, and finally, you make me work as a servant.”
“To teach you a lesson. You have too much pride and a ridiculous sense of honor.” Her stepmother’s attitude didn’t thaw. “Do not push me, Cinderella. You don’t wish to discover what I’m capable of.”
“Or rather what else you’re capable of?” she muttered beneath her breath.
Arabella, two years younger than Christiana’s nine and twenty years, snickered, while her sister Winifred, who was one year younger than her sister, tossed her black curls over one shoulder. “Not this argument again, Mother. Why don’t you banish her to the attics?”
“Because, my dearest, we must allow her some freedoms until such time as I have full control. We cannot risk her squawking of imagined slights in the village that might bring an inquiry.”
“Why won’t you let Cinderel la be a real sister to us, Mother?” Winifred asked with a frown that pulled down her pretty lips. “It would be great fun, and there’s precious little to do out here as it is so far from anywhere of consequence. She’s quite smart. We could practice dancing.”
“You are not to lower yourselves enough to befriend her, do you understand?” The order rang with undeniable authority. Animosity snapped in her eyes. “We are above her.”
Cold shivers lanced down Christiana’s spine. She wiped her free hand on the pinafore apron that covered an old, gray wool gown. “Meaning?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” Her smile held a wicked edge that sent fingers of fear around Christiana’s heart.
It was ridiculous to be as old as she was and treated as if she were a child... or a servant. Yet the training her mother had given her kept her from speaking her mind and rang in her head even now. Ladies never fight back. Ladies never raise their voices or say horrid words. Ladies find strength in enduring. Her father had also added words of advice in that same vein. Fighting and yelling only lowered oneself to a base level where the enemy dwelled. Find a different way to gain the upper hand.
Her chin quivered with an excess of emotion that willpower alone tamped. Dearest Father, I will survive this. “When my father comes home—”
Sybil waved a hand as if the protest didn’t matter. “I will deal with your father when he returns. Nothing will thwart my plans, and I have big dreams for myself and my girls.” She glanced out the window, where, beyond their property and two day’s ride to the north lay the kingdom of Annanvale.
“You wish for one of the girls to marry the prince.” Of course she did. There was no position higher in the land.
“Why not strive for the best?” She flicked an eyebrow upward. “None of those plans include you, Cinderella. You are an inconvenience, the forgotten legacy of your father.”
“This is unconscionable,” Christiana whispered. The woman needed stopping, but how?
“That all depends on your perspective.” Sybil narrowed her eyes. “One word out of you and no one will see you again, least of all your father. I shall tell him you ran off.”
“Empty threats. Eventually, the intimidation you’re so fond of will fail, for you hold no real power.” She renewed her grip on the feather duster and wished it was one of her beloved daggers, the daggers she trained with—a secret her stepmother knew nothing about and one she shared with her father only, for he maintained everyone—even a female—needed the skills to defend herself if danger threatened.
And there was much darkness that walked the earth.
The other woman closed the distance between them. The cloying scent of roses filled the space as she gripped Christiana’s chin in her bony fingers. “Remember this, girl, since you’re so bent on defiance. I have eyes and ears everywhere in the village, even beyond. My influence goes farther than you can possibly imagine, and some of my contacts are not noble. Mind your steps.” When she released Christiana’s chin, she gave her a shove.
Stumbling backward a few steps, she gasped. “Is that a threat?” What recourse did she have, for she had no pocket money and knew absolutely no one who could help?
Except the prince of Annanvale, her conscience reminded her. Heat crept into her cheeks as she remembered that glorious night two weeks ago when she’d worn a gown made by her fairy godmother and she’d danced until midnight with a man who could easily win her heart if they’d had more time. Another secret she kept from her stepmother, and one the other woman could never discover.
But she’d witnessed a horrible scene before she’d fled the garden that night, something not quite natural and all too magical, and if that knowledge were to fall into Sybil’s hands, the woman would use it for her own gain.
Stay quiet for his sake, and for an impossible dream of what might be.
“I cannot help how you chose to interpret a conversation. Perhaps that’s the first sign of a weak and diseased mind. I’d hate to see you carted off to an institution.” But her eyes gleamed as if that was exactly what she hoped would happen. “Weak, warped, and insane. Not exactly an ideal heiress.” Again, she waved a hand. “Your duties are finished for the next few hours until we have need of tea. I do not wish to see you until then.”
“We agree on something.” Christiana fled, not needing a second invitation. On her way out of the manor house, she chucked her feather duster into some shrubbery and she ran over the green grass as fast as her feet would take her.
By the time she stopped her flight, she was deep in the forests that surrounded her father’s property and separated the acreage from the village.
The exercise had done much to take the edge off her anger, but she still needed an outlet, so she lifted her face, looked at the sunlight filtering through the summer-full tree boughs, and uttered a scream of frustration. Once it was spent, she muttered, “I am going to kill that woman.”
A flutter of bird wings followed the disruption of sound.
With a tiny groan, Christiana crept deeper into the trees where a few brown sparrows watched her. “I’m sorry for my outburst.” For as long as she could remember, she had an affinity for wildlife and the animals therein. “If I made you afraid, please know that wasn’t my intention.” She held out a hand. “Forgive me?”
One of the birds removed itself from the branch. It landed upon her fingers, and the tiny scratch of its feet tickled her skin as it regarded her with an unblinking eye.
“Thank you. Every day I labor under quite a large amount of stress, but that is not an excuse to come into your domain and disturb the peace.” Hadn’t her father always taught her that each living being commands a different section of the forest and that they should be respected?
The bird chirped and then flew off to join its companions.
Christiana sighed. “What am I going to do?” she asked a rabbit that had hopped out from under some shrubbery. She stooped down and stroked her fingers along the silky soft fur, being sure to scratch between its ears. All the while, it wriggled its nose and regarded her with big brown eyes. “Much more time in her company and I cannot be held responsible for my actions.”
“If I didn’t know better, I would say you’re a woman on the verge of making the greatest mistake of her life.”
She startled at the sound of the masculine voice, but when she scrambled to her feet and turned to face the intruder, a gasp escaped her. “Your Highness.” With heat burning her cheeks, Christiana sank into a deep curtsy. What was the prince of Annanvale doing here and how had he found her?
I thought I had taken enough precautions so he’d never identify me that night at the ball.
“Please rise,” the man asked with a trace of embarrassment in his voice. He closed the distance between them and offered a gloved hand. “I refuse to stand on ceremony or convention with the woman who upended my world.”
“You remember who I am?” She slipped her fingers into his palm, and when he closed his around hers, tingles of awareness danced up her spine. “That was two weeks ago, and for only a couple of hours besides.”
“Of course I remember.” The prince was dressed in a green tunic over a loose, long-sleeved shirt of unbleached muslin that highlighted his tall, lean form. She recalled from being in his arms during the two sets they’d danced that he was well-muscled and strong. “You are all I’ve thought of these past two weeks.”
How intriguing, but perhaps he only said that due to flirting. “Why are you here?” It was the height of folly, him being on this land. If it was true and her stepmother had eyes everywhere, his life could be in danger.
“I have looked far and wide for you.” His brown leather leggings and brown leather boots no doubt helped him to blend in with the woodland surroundings, but she didn’t think he indulged in hunting. By far the most interesting aspect of seeing him far away from polite society was being able to look upon the noble lines of his face, those sensuous lips prone to grinning, and the sharp jaw shadowed with light brown stubble. What would it feel like rasping over her skin in sensitive places? “You enchanted me.”
