I Married Him for Love
Summary - I married him for love, he married me for money. Even though I never did get love, I still won.
Cinderella retelling from the step-mothers P.O.V. Follows the same plot line as 'Ever After' (except for the mother selling her). Please R&R!
I married for love … or so they say. He was handsome, charming, intelligent, and funny. How could I not? He was a merchant who was passing through. I was the daughter of the noble he was trading with. We had many chances to talk. He wooed me gently, taking me in his arms and cooing that he loved me. I fell for it every time.
It had been two years since my arranged marriage, so I was eager to marry again. My late husband had been hung for abuse of me and my two daughters. I was terrified, until he told me that there was nothing to be afraid of, and held me tight. I told him about how difficult it was to raise two daughters on my own, while he told me how difficult it was to raise his daughter without a mother.
My father approved of the relationship, and even gave him the ring to propose to me with. My father and I both knew that I was marrying below my class, but the prospect of me marrying at all and the thought of one less person to worry about made him agree. My mother was cold (as always) towards any joyfulness that I might ever have. My daughters were indifferent. On one hand, it meant getting away from their grandmother. On the other hand, they were nervous of their step-sister's approval, and not having the luxury they had become accustomed to.
He proposed. I accepted. We got married the next day. We both said I do. I was married to the man of my dreams. The next day, we would be leaving for his house in two of my finest carriages. I could not wait. During the ride, I had instructed my daughters on how to be polite, bringing up over 10 years of etiquette lessons. I wanted his daughter to have a good opinion of me.
I was surprised when we pulled up to a small manor. Was this his house? He must have been truly poverty-stricken when he met me. It was a good thing my dowry was so large. The carriage stopped, and my husband got out first. Wait, he said. I will greet my daughter, and then introduce you one by one. We all nodded, and stayed put. Sure enough, a bunch of servants came out, along with a girl who looked to be from the village … possibly a baker's daughter. I peered around the courtyard, trying to see if his daughter was coming. Before I could see anyone else, my husband swept up the peasant girl and hugged her. It was with dawning horror that I realized that this must be his daughter.
Her clothes looked as if they had been bought 20 years ago. Her hair was spun in a fashion that was at least 3 years out of date. She wore no jewelry or cosmetics, and her feet were bare. It was my immediate goal to make her presentable to my family. How could I show my mother this? My mother would only give me a scolding about what a lady ought to do in this sort of situation.
I was rather pleased when she was frightened by my cool and lady-like exterior. I immediately scolded myself. What kind of mother would I be to this girl if all I did was frightening her? Why, I would be just like my mother! Over the next few days I attempted to set an example, and while the girl was in awe of me, she did not improve in the slightest. I had her join in lessons with my girls, but still she failed to improve, though it was obvious she was trying.
It was in this time too, that I found that my husband and I were farther apart. At first I thought he would get over it … he hadn't seen his daughter in a long time. But after the first week, he still hadn't said one loving word to me. In fact, now that I thought about it, he hadn't said a nice word to me since our wedding night. Was he unhappy? How could I teach my girls to attract the eye of every man in the room, if I failed to attract the eye of even one? How could I ever call myself a lady again?
It took me awhile, but I finally realized the truth. He had never loved me. No one ever had. He had wooed the heir to a rich estate, nothing more. Now that I was his, I didn't count. I didn't matter anymore. Only his precious daughter ever did. He read her to sleep every night, while I lay cold and lonely in his bed, waiting for him to come. Sometimes, I would find him lying asleep in his daughter's room. Sometimes he was simply not to be found. He never read to me anymore. Never. I wanted to cry out to the girl, to scream at her and to warn her! He doesn't love you! It is all a trap! Reading is his scheme to make innocent girls fall for him! But I couldn't. I was a high class lady. I could never raise my voice except for at the servants.
In those days I tried to bond with her, but she was too in love with her father to spare me a second admiring glance. When he broke her heart, I would be there for her. When he told her that she had to marry some foreign duke, or work as a maiden in the castle, I would be there for her. I would defend her. It was at this time, that I relied upon the strength of my two daughters, who immediately noticed that I was stressed. I had to be strong for them. Yet it was they who were doing me a favor. I loved them more then ever. My step-daughter was simply oblivious.
The night before my husband was to go on some business deal or other, I could not sleep. I knew that he would lie with at least 10 other women. He would woo them, as he had me, with his charm, humor, grace, disposition, and intellect. He would woo them for sex, as he had me for money. That is all men truly ever think about, sex and money. The next morning, I spent more time then usual trying to cover up the dark circles under my eyes. I was a lady, and ladies always looked their best. I was a lady, I could tell no one of my problems.
Watching him leave, with everyone waving goodbye, I could not help but feel out of place. Didn't anyone else know what a horrible person he was? I tried to smile, but I fear it came out more of a grimace then anything else. I wanted to run to him and scream at him not to leave. To beg him to stay and never bed someone else again. To cling to him and tell him to take me with him. But I could not, for I was a lady.
When he started off, I could no longer stand the sight of his retreating back. I called to my girls to go inside and prepare for lessons. But my step-daughter would not. She claimed she had to meet him in their special place. I didn't care. I needed her with me, not with him, but she refused to come back.
I ran after her, my skirts getting in the way of my un-lady-like outburst. I ran and ran, until the heels of my shoes broke off. Then, as if in slow motion, I saw him fall. He fell, and didn't get up. I ran to where he was lying in the dirt. His daughter was already there. I went to him. Tears were streaming down my face. My skirts were spread every which way, but I didn't care. "I love you", he said, and my heart burst with happiness, until I saw that he hadn't even noticed I was there. He turned to me, and my heart grew hopeful. "Take care of her." Those were his last words. Nothing for me. There was never anything for me. The world was approaching, people were running to see the commotion, and I had to recompose myself. I was a lady wasn't I?
I looked at his daughter, and I could not find it within myself to hate her. She had flung herself over his dead body, and was sobbing uncontrollably. She could weep for him, for she was no lady. She could show her emotions, she could share her problems, she could look ugly, she could hate someone, she could change something, and she could solve world hunger! She was no lady. I suddenly felt a burning desire to keep it that way. I felt the urge to save her soul from what it would otherwise become.
It was from that day forward, that I treated her as no lady. She hated me yes, but I could not stop feeling as if I had done some good for her. I watched her grow into a vivacious young woman, and knew that no lady could ever have grown up so. Even my dark-haired daughter, who was a good soul, would never be as beautiful as her. I pretended to like my fair haired eldest daughter best, but in truth, it was the cinder girl I loved more. But what would it look like if I loved a servant? I was once again bound by my lady status.
At times I grew angry with her. She tried to hold onto being a lady and all of the privileges that came with that title. She saw me with the same envy I saw for her. She thought I hated her for her opinions, beauty, strength, and wisdom. This was never so. The day I saw her step forward as Queen of England, my heart broke. Even after all that had happened, she still had chosen a life of chains. She had no idea that she was entering a gilded cage.
She sentenced me to a life of working in the palace. She smirked at me, as if to tell me she had gotten me in the end. She didn't know that she had lost. She didn't know what evils men were, what evils all nobles were. I was no longer a lady. At least, not during the day. During the day, I was free to scream in frustration at the days tasks, I could weep of my plight, I could get drunk, I could laugh at everyone who thought that they had gotten me in the end. They thought I had cracked, and in a way I had. I had cracked the cage, and was subjected to the hardships of the world. None of them seemed to understand that I had won. Me! I, who had no gowns, or jewels, or cosmetics or love had won.
But my mother still haunted me at night.