Hello to all of you, this story is my favorite, it's inspired in my favorite book "Te doy mi corazón de Julia Q." so here it is…. KLAROLINE 100% awww and is a cinderella, hope you enjoy my edit.
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BEHIND THE MASQUERADE
XIX CENTURY
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Prologue
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Everyone knew that Caroline Forbes was a bastard.
The servants all knew it. But they loved little Care bear, had loved her since she'd arrived at Petrova Park at the age of three, a small bundle wrapped in a too-big coat, left on the doorstep on a rainy July night. And because they loved her, they pretended that she was exactly what the sixth Earl of Petrova said she was—the orphaned daughter of an old friend. Never mind that Caroline's moss green eyes and dark blond hair matched the earl's precisely. Never mind that the shape of her face looked remarkably like that of the earl's recently deceased mother, or that her smile was an exact replica of the earl's sister's. No one wanted to hurt Carolin's feelings—or risk their livelihoods—by pointing that out.
The earl, one Bill Petrova, never discussed Caroline or her origins, but he must have known she was his bastard. No one knew what had been in the letter the housekeeper had fished from Caroline's pocket when she'd been discovered that rainy midnight; the earl had burned the missive mere seconds after reading it. He'd watched the paper shrivel and curl in the flames, then ordered a room made up for Caroline near the nursery. She'd remained there ever since. He called her Carolina, and she called him "my lord," and they saw each other a few times a year, whenever the earl returned home from London, which wasn't very often.
But perhaps most importantly, Caroline knew she was a bastard. She wasn't entirely certain how she knew it, just that she did, and probably had her entire life. She had few memories of her life before her arrival at Petrova Park, but she could remember a long coach journey across England, and she could remember her grandmother, coughing and wheezing and looking terribly thin, telling her she was going to live with her father. And most of all, she could remember standing on the doorstep in the rain, knowing that her grandmother was hiding in the bushes, waiting to see if Caroline was taken inside.
The earl had touched his fingers to the little girl's chin, tipped her face up to the light, and in that moment they both knew the truth.
Everyone knew Caroline was a bastard, and no one talked about it, and they were all quite happy with this arrangement.
Until the earl decided to marry.
Caroline had been quite pleased when she'd heard the news. The housekeeper had said that the butler had said that the earl's secretary had said that the earl planned to spend more time at Petrova Park now that he would be a family man. And while Caroline didn't exactly miss the earl when he was gone—it was hard to miss someone who didn't pay her much attention even when he was there—she rather thought she might miss him if she got to know him better, and if she got to know him better, maybe he wouldn't go away so often. Plus, the upstairs maid had said that the housekeeper had said that the neighbors' butler had said that the earl's intended wife already had two daughters, and they were near in age to Caroline.
After seven years alone in the nursery, Caroline was delighted. Unlike the other children in the district, she was never invited to local parties and events. No one actually came out and called her a bastard—to do so was tantamount to calling the earl, who had made one declaration that Caroline was his ward and then never revisited the subject, a liar.
But at the same time, the earl never made any great attempt to force Caroline's acceptance. And so at the age of ten, Caroline's best friends were maids and footmen, and her parents might as well have been the housekeeper and butler.
But now she was getting sisters for real.
Oh, she knew she could not call them her sisters. She knew that she would be introduced as Caroline Maria Forbes, the earl's ward, but they would feel like sisters. And that was what really mattered.
And so, one February afternoon, Caroline found herself waiting in the great hall along with the assembled servants, watching out the window for the earl's carriage to pull up the drive, carrying in it the new countess and her two daughters. And, of course, the earl.
"Do you think she'll like me?" Caroline whispered to Mrs. Jenna Sommers , the housekeeper. "The earl's wife, I mean."
"Of course she'll like you, dearling," Mrs. Sommers whispered back. But her eyes hadn't been as certain as her tone. The new countess might not take kindly to the presence of her husband's by- blow.
"And I'll take lessons with her daughters?"
"No point in having you take your lessons separately."
Caroline nodded thoughtfully, then started to squirm when she saw the carriage rolling up the drive.
"They're here!" she whispered.
Mrs. Sommers reached out to pat her on the head, but Caroline had already dashed off to the window, practically pressing her face up to the glass.
The earl stepped down first, then reached in and helped down two young girls. They were dressed in matching black coats. One wore a pink ribbon in her hair; the other yellow. Then, as the two girls stepped aside, the earl reached up to help one last person from the carriage.
Caroline's breath caught in her throat as she waited for the new countess to emerge. Her little fingers crossed and a single, "Please," whispered over her let her love me.
Maybe if the countess loved her, then the earl would love her as well, and maybe, even if he didn't actually call her daughter, he'd treat her as one, and they'd be a family truly.
As Caroline watched through the window, the new countess stepped down from the carriage, her every movement so graceful and pure that Caroline was reminded of the delicate lark that occasionally came to splash in the birdbath in the garden. Even the countess's hat was adorned by a long feather, its turquoise plume glittering in the hard winter sun.
"She's beautiful," Caroline whispered. She darted a quick look back at Mrs. Sommers to gauge her reaction, but the housekeeper was standing at strict attention, eyes straight ahead, waiting for the earl to bring his new family inside for introductions.
Caroline gulped, not exactly certain where she was meant to stand. Everyone else seemed to have a designated place. The servants were lined up according to rank, from the butler right down to the lowliest scullery maid. Even the dogs were sitting dutifully in the corner, their leads held tight by the Keeper of the Hounds.
But Caroline was rootless. If she were truly the daughter of the house, she'd be standing with her governess, awaiting the new countess. If she were truly the earl's ward, she'd be in much the same place. But Miss Young had caught a head cold and refused to leave the nursery and come downstairs. None of the servants believed for a second that the governess was truly ill. She'd been fine the night before, but no one blamed her for the deception. Caroline was, after all, the earl's bastard, and no one wanted to be the one to offer potential insult to the new countess by introducing her to her husband's by-blow.
And the countess would have to be blind, stupid, or both not to realize in an instant that Caroline was something more than the earl's ward.
Suddenly overcome with shyness, Caroline shrank into a corner as two footmen threw open the front doors with a flourish. The two girls entered first, then stepped to the side as the earl led the countess in. The earl introduced the countess and her daughters to the butler, and the butler introduced them to the servants.
And Caroline waited.
The butler presented the footmen, the chef, the housekeeper, the grooms.
And Caroline waited.
He presented the kitchen maids, the upstairs maids, the scullery maids.
And Caroline waited.
And then finally the butler—Rumsey was his name— presented the lowliest of the lowest of maids, a scullery girl named Dulcie who had been hired a mere week earlier. The earl nodded and murmured his thanks, and Caroline was still waiting, completely unsure of what to do.
So she cleared her throat and stepped forward, a nervous smile on her face. She didn't spend much time with the earl, but she was trotted out before him whenever he visited Petrova Park, and he always gave her a few minutes of his time, asking about her lessons before shooing her back up to the nursery.
Surely he'd still want to know how her studies were progressing, even now that he'd married. Surely he'd want to know that she'd mastered the science of multiplying fractions, and that Miss Young had recently declared her French accent, "perfection."
But he was busy saying something to the countess's daughters, and he didn't hear her. Caroline cleared her throat again, this time more loudly, and said, "My lord?" in a voice that came out a bit more squeaky than she'd intended.
The earl turned around. "Ah, Carolina," he murmured, "I didn't realize you were in the hall." Caroline beamed. He hadn't been ignoring her, after all.
"And who might this be?" the countess asked, stepping forward to get a better look.
"My ward," the earl replied. "Miss Caroline Forbes."
The countess speared Caroline with an assessing look, then her eyes narrowed.
And narrowed.
And narrowed some more.
"I see," she said.
And everyone in the room knew instantly that she did see.
"Camille," the countess said, turning to her two girls, "Elena, come with me."
The girls moved immediately to their mother's side. Caroline hazarded a smile in their direction. The smaller one, Elena smiled back, but the older one Camille, whose hair was the color of spun gold, took her cue from her mother, pointed her nose in the air, and looked firmly away.
Caroline gulped and smiled again at the friendly girl, but this time the little girl chewed on her lower lip in indecision, then cast her eyes toward the floor.
The countess turned her back on Caroline and said to the earl, "I assume you have had rooms prepared for Camille and Elena."
He nodded. "Near the nursery. Right next to Caroline."
There was a long silence, and then the countess must have decided that certain battles should not be conducted before the servants, because all she said was, "I would like to go upstairs now."
And she left, taking the earl and her daughters along with her.
Caroline watched the new family walk up the stairs, and then, as they disappeared onto the landing, she turned to Mrs. Jenna Sommers and asked, "Do you think I should go up to help? I could show the girls the nursery."
Mrs. Sommers shook her head. "They looked tired," she lied. "I'm sure they'll be needing a nap." Caroline frowned. She'd been told that Camille was eleven and Elena was ten. Surely that was a bit old for taking naps.
Mrs. Sommers patted her on the back.
"Why don't you come with me? I could use a bit of company, and Cook told me that she just made a fresh batch of shortbread. I think it's still warm."
Caroline nodded and followed her out of the hall. She'd have plenty of time that evening to get to know the two girls. She'd show them the nursery, and then they'd become friends, and before long they'd be as sisters.
Caroline smiled. It would be glorious to have sisters.
As it happened Caroline did not encounter Camille and Elena — or the earl and countess, for that matter — until the next day. When Caroline entered the nursery to take her supper, she noticed that the table had been set for two, not four, and Miss April Young (who had miraculously recovered from her ailment) said that the new countess had told her that Camille and Elena were too tired from their travels to eat that evening.
But the girls had to have their lessons, and so the next morning they arrived in the nursery, trailing the countess by one step each. Caroline had been working at her lessons for an hour already, and she looked up from her arithmetic with great interest. She didn't smile at the girls this time. Somehow it seemed best not to.
"Miss Young," the countess said.
Miss Young bobbed a curtsy, murmuring, "My lady." "The earl tells me you will teach my daughters."
"I will do my best, my lady."
The countess motioned to the older girl, the one with golden hair and cornflower eyes. She looked, Camille thought, as pretty as the porcelain doll the earl had sent up from London for her seventh birthday.
"This," the countess said, "is Camille. She is eleven. And this"—she then motioned to the other girl, who had not taken her eyes off of her shoes—"is Elena. She is ten."
Caroline looked at Elena with great interest. Unlike her mother and sister, her hair and eyes were quite dark, and her cheeks were a bit pudgy.
"Caroline is also ten," Miss Young replied.
The countess's lips thinned. "I would like you to show the girls around the house and garden." Miss Young nodded. "Very well. Caroline, put your slate down. We can return to arithmetic—"
"Just my girls," the countess interrupted, her voice somehow hot and cold at the same time. "I will speak with Caroline alone."
Caroline gulped and tried to bring her eyes to the countess's, but she only made it as far as her chin. As Miss Young ushered Camille and Elena out of the room she stood up, awaiting further direction from her father's new wife.
"I know who you are," the countess said the moment the door clicked shut.
"M-my lady?"
"You're his bastard, and don't try to deny it."
Caroline said nothing. It was the truth, of course, but no one had ever said it aloud. At least not to her face.
The countess grabbed her chin and squeezed and pulled until Caroline was forced to look her in the eye. "You listen to me," she said in a menacing voice. "You might live here at Petrova Park, and you might share lessons with my daughters, but you are nothing but a bastard, and that is all you will ever be. Don't you ever, ever make the mistake of thinking you are as good as the rest of us."
Caroline let out a little moan. The countess's fingernails were biting into the underside of her chin.
"My husband," the countess continued, "feels some sort of misguided duty to you. It's admirable of him to see to his mistakes, but it is an insult to me to have you in my home—fed, clothed, and educated as if you were his real daughter."
But she was his real daughter. And it had been her home much longer than the countess's.
Abruptly, the countess let go of her chin. "I don't want to see you," she hissed. "You are never to speak to me, and you shall endeavor never to be in my company. Furthermore, you are not to speak to Camille and Elena except during lessons. They are the daughters of the house now, and should not have to associate with the likes of you. Do you have any questions?"
Caroline shook her head.
"Good."
And with that, she swept out of the room, leaving Caroline with wobbly legs and a quivering lip.
And an awful lot of tears.
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In time, Caroline learned a bit more about her precarious position in the house. The servants always knew everything, and it all reached Caroline's ears eventually.
The countess, whose given name was Carol, had insisted that very first day that Caroline must be removed from the house. The earl had refused. Carol didn't have to love Caroline, he'd said coolly. She didn't even have to like her. But she had to put up with her. He had owned up to his responsibility to the girl for seven years, and he wasn't going to stop now.
Camille and Elena took their cues from Carol and treated Caroline with hostility and disdain, although Elena's heart clearly wasn't into torture and cruelty in the way Camille's was. Camille liked nothing better than to pinch and twist the skin on the back of Caroline's hand when Miss Young wasn't looking. Caroline never said anything; she rather doubted that Miss Young would have the courage to reprimand Camille (who would surely run to Carol with a false tale), and if anyone noticed that Caroline's hands were perpetually black-and-blue, no one ever said so.
Elena showed her the occasional kindness, although more often than not she just sighed, and said, "My mummy says I'm not to be nice to you."
As for the earl, he never intervened.
Caroline's life continued in this vein for four years, until the earl surprised everyone by clutching his hand to his chest while taking tea in the rose garden, letting out one ragged gasp, and falling face first to the stone cobbles.
He never regained consciousness.
Everyone was quite shocked. The earl was only forty years old. Who could have known that his heart would give out at such a young age? No one was more stunned than Carol, who had been trying quite desperately since her wedding night to conceive the all-important heir.
"I might be with child!" she hastened to tell the earl's solicitors. "You can't give the title over to some distant cousin. I could very well be with child."
But she wasn't with child, and when the earl's will was read one month later (the solicitors had wanted to be sure to give the countess enough time to know for sure if she was pregnant) Carol was forced to sit next to the new earl, a rather dissolute young man who was more often drunk than not.
Most of the earl's wishes were standard fare. He left bequests to loyal servants. He settled funds on Camille, Elena, and even Caroline, ensuring that all three girls would have respectable dowries.
And then the solicitor reached Carol's name.
To my wife, Carol Petrova, Countess of Petrova, I leave a yearly income of two thousand pounds—
"That's all?" Carol cried out.
—unless she agrees to shelter and care for my ward, Miss Caroline Maria Forbes, until the latter reaches the age of twenty, in which case her yearly income shall be trebled to six thousand pounds.
"I don't want her," Carol whispered.
"You don't have to take her," the solicitor reminded her. "You can—"
"Live on a measly two thousand a year?" she snapped. "I don't think so."
The solicitor, who lived on considerably less than two thousand a year, said nothing. The new earl, who'd been drinking steadily throughout the meeting, just shrugged. Carol stood.
"What is your decision?" the solicitor asked.
"I'll take her," she said in a low voice.
"Shall I find the girl and tell her?"
Carol shook her head. "I'll tell her myself."
But when Carol found Caroline, she left out a few important facts...
and now...
Chapter 1
This year's most sought-after invitation must surely be that of the Mikaelson's masquerade ball, to be held Monday next. Indeed, one cannot take two steps without being forced to listen to some society mama speculating on who will attend, and perhaps more importantly, who will wear what.
Neither of the aforementioned topics, however, are nearly as interesting as that of the two unmarried Mikaelson's brothers, Niklaus and Kol. (Before anyone points out that there is a third unmarried Mikaelson brother, let This Author assure you that she is fully aware of the existence of Henryc Mikaelson. He is, however, fourteen years of age, and therefore not pertinent to this particular column, which concerns, as This Author's columns often do, that most sacred of sports: husband-hunting.)
Although the Misters Mikaelsons are just that—merely Misters—they are still considered two of the prime catches of the season. It is a well-known fact that both are possessed of respectable fortunes, and it does not require perfect sight to know that they also possess, as do all eight of the Mikaelsons offspring, the Mikaelsons good looks.
Will some fortunate young lady use the mystery of a masquerade night to snare one of the eligible bachelors?
This Author isn't even going to attempt to speculate.
LADY WHISTLEDOWN'S SOCIETY PAPERS, 31 MAY 1815
"Caroline! Carolineeeeeeeeeeee!"
As screeches went, it was enough to shatter glass. Or at least an eardrum.
"Coming, Camille! I'm coming!" Caroline hitched up the hem of her coarse woolen skirts and hurried up the stairs, slipping on the fourth step and only just barely managing to grab the banister before landing on her bottom. She should have remembered that the stairs would be slick; she'd helped the downstairs maid wax them just that morning.
Skidding to a halt in the doorway to Camille's bedroom and still catching her breath, Caroline said, "Yes?"
"My tea is cold."
What Caroline wanted to say was, "It was warm when I brought it an hour ago, you lazy fiend." What she did say was, "I'll get you another pot."
Camille sniffed. "See that you do."
Caroline stretched her lips into what the nearly blind might call a smile and picked up the tea service. "Shall I leave the biscuits?" she asked.
Camille gave her pretty head a shake. "I want fresh ones."
Shoulders slightly stooped from the weight of the overloaded tea service, Caroline exited the room, careful not to start grumbling until she'd safely reached the hall. Camille was forever ordering tea, then not bothering to drink it until an hour passed. By then, of course, it was cold, so she had to order a fresh pot.
Which meant Caroline was forever running up and down the stairs, up and down, up and down.
Sometimes it seemed that was all she did with her life.
Up and down, up and down.
And of course the mending, the pressing, the hairdressing, the shoe polishing, the darning, the bed making...
"Caroline!" Caroline turned around to see Elena heading toward her.
"Caroline, I've been meaning to ask you, do you think this color is becoming on me?"
Caroline assessed Elena's mermaid costume. The cut wasn't quite right for Elena, who had never lost all of her baby fat, but the color did indeed bring out the best in her complexion. "It is a lovely shade of green," Caroline replied quite honestly. "It makes your cheeks very rosy."
"Oh, good. I'm so glad you like it. You do have such a knack for picking out my clothing." Elena smiled as she reached out and plucked a sugared biscuit from the tray. "Mother has been an absolute bear all week about the masquerade ball, and I know I shall never hear the end of it if I do not look my best. Or"—Elena's face twisted into a grimace—"if she thinks I do not look my best. She is determined that one of us snare one of the remaining Mikaelsons brothers, you know."
"I know."
"And to make matters worse, that Whistledown woman has been writing about them again. It only"—Elena finished chewing and paused while she swallowed—"whets her appetite."
"Was the column very good this morning?" Caroline asked, shifting the tray to rest on her hip. "I haven't had a chance to read it yet."
"Oh, the usual stuff," Elena said with a wave of her hand. "Really, it can be quite humdrum, you know."
Caroline tried to smile and failed. She'd like nothing more than to live a day of Elena's humdrum life. Well, perhaps she wouldn't want Carol for a mother, but she wouldn't mind a life of parties, routs, and musicales.
"Let's see," Elena mused. "There was a review of Lady Worth's recent ball, a bit about Viscount Guelph, who seems rather smitten with some girl from Scotland, and then a longish piece on the upcoming Mikaelsons masquerade."
Caroline sighed. She'd been reading about the upcoming masquerade for weeks, and even though she was nothing but a lady's maid (and occasionally a housemaid as well, whenever Carol decided she wasn't working hard enough) she couldn't help but wish that she could attend the ball.
"I for one will be thrilled if that Guelph viscount gets himself engaged," Elena remarked, reaching for another biscuit. "It will mean one fewer bachelor for Mother to go on and on about as a potential husband. It's not as if I have any hope of attracting his attention anyway." She took a bite of the biscuit; it crunched loudly in her mouth. "I do hope Lady Whistledown is right about him."
"She probably is," Caroline answered. She had been reading Lady Whistledown's Society Papers since it had debuted in 1813, and the gossip columnist was almost always correct when it came to matters of the Marriage Mart.
Not, of course, that Caroline had ever had the chance to see the Marriage Mart for herself. But if one read Whistledown often enough, one could almost feel a part of London Society without actually attending any balls.
In fact, reading Whistledown was really Caroline's one true enjoyable pastime. She'd already read all of the novels in the library, and as neither Carol, Camille, nor Elena was particularly enamored of reading, Caroline couldn't look forward to a new book entering the house.
But Whistledown was great fun. No one actually knew the columnist's true identity. When the single-sheet newspaper had debuted two years earlier, speculation had been rampant. Even now, whenever Lady Whistledown reported a particularly juicy bit of gossip, people starting talking and guessing anew, wondering who on earth was able to report with such speed and accuracy.
And for Caroline, Whistledown was a tantalizing glimpse into the world that might have been hers, had her parents actually made their union legal. She would have been an earl's daughter, not an earl's bastard; her name Petrova instead of Forbes.
Just once, she'd like to be the one stepping into the coach and attending the ball.
Instead, she was the one dressing others for their nights on the town, cinching Elena's corset or dressing Camille's hair or polishing a pair of Carol's shoes.
But she could not—or at least should not—complain. She might have to serve as maid to Carol and her daughters, but at least she had a home. Which was more than most girls in her position had.
When her father had died, he'd left her nothing. Well, nothing but a roof over her head. His will had ensured that she could not be turned out until she was twenty. There was no way that Carol would forfeit four thousand pounds a year by giving Caroline the boot.
But that four thousand pounds was Carol's, not Carolines's, and Caroline hadn't ever seen a penny of it. Gone were the fine clothes she'd used to wear, replaced by the coarse wool of the servants. And she ate what the rest of the maids ate—whatever Carol, Camille and Elena chose to leave behind.
Caroline's twentieth birthday, however, had come and gone almost a year earlier, and here she was, still living at Petrova House, still waiting on Carol hand and foot. For some unknown reason—probably because she didn't want to train (or pay) a new maid—Carol had allowed Caroline to remain in her household.
And Caroline had stayed. If Carol was the devil she knew, then the rest of the world was the devil she didn't. And Caroline had no idea which would be worse.
"Isn't that tray getting heavy?"
Caroline blinked her way out of her reverie and focused on Elena, who was reaching for the last biscuit on the tray. Drat. She'd been hoping to snitch it for herself. "Yes," she murmured. "Yes, it is quite. I should really be getting to the kitchen with it."
Elena smiled. "I won't keep you any longer, but when you're done with that, could you press my pink gown? I'm going to wear it tonight. Oh, and I suppose the matching shoes should be readied as well. I got a bit of dirt on them last time I wore them, and you know how Mother is about shoes. Never mind that you can't even see them under my skirt. She'll notice the tiniest speck of dirt the instant I lift my hem to climb a step."
Carolinee nodded, mentally adding Elena's requests to her daily list of chores.
"I'll see you later, then!" Biting down on that last biscuit, Elena turned and disappeared into her bedchamber. And Caroline trudged down to the kitchen.
...
A few days later, Caroline was on her knees, pins clamped between her teeth as she made last- minute alterations on Carol's masquerade costume. The Queen Elizabeth gown had, of course, been delivered from the dressmaker as a perfect fit, but ACarol insisted that it was now a quarter inch too large in the waist.
"How is that?" Caroline asked, speaking through her teeth so the pins wouldn't fall. "Too tight." Caroline adjusted a few pins. "What about that?"
"Too loose."
Caroline rolled her eyes and pulled out a pin and stuck it back in precisely the same spot. "There. How does that feel?" Carol twisted this way and that, then finally declared, "It'll do."
Caroline smiled to herself as she stood to help Carol out of the gown.
"I'll need it done in an hour if we're to get to the ball on time," Carol said.
"Of course," Caroline murmured. She'd found it easiest just to say "of course" on a regular basis in conversations with Carol.
"This ball is very important," Carol said sharply. "Camille must make an advantageous match this year. The new earl—" She shuddered with distaste; she still considered the new earl an interloper, never mind that he was the old earl's closest living male relative. "Well, he has told me that this is the last year we may use Petrova's House in London. The nerve of the man. I am the dowager countess, after all, and Camille and Elena are the earl's daughters."
Stepdaughters, Caroline silently corrected.
"We have every right to use Petrova's House for the season. What he plans to do with the house, I'll never know."
"Perhaps he wishes to attend the season and look for a wife," Caroline suggested. "He'll be wanting an heir, I'm sure."
Carolscowled. "If Camille doesn't marry into money, I don't know what we'll do. It is so difficult to find a proper house to rent. And so expensive as well."
Caroline forbore to point out that at least Carol didn't have to pay for a lady's maid. In fact, until Caroline had turned twenty, she'd received four thousand pounds per year, just for having a lady's maid.
Carol snapped her fingers. "Don't forget that Camille will need her hair powdered." Camille was attending dressed as Marie Antoinette. Caroline had asked if she was planning to put a ring of faux blood around her neck. Camille had not been amused.
Carol pulled on her dressing gown, cinching the sash with swift, tight movements. "And Elena—" Her nose wrinkled. "Well, Elena will need your help in some manner or other, I'm sure."
"I'm always glad to help Elena," Caroline replied.
Carol narrowed her eyes as she tried to figure out if Caroline was being insolent. "Just see that you do," she finally said, her syllables clipped. She stalked off to the washroom.
Caroline saluted as the door closed behind her.
"Ah, there you are, Caroline," Camille said as she bustled into the room. "I need your help immediately."
"I'm afraid it'll have to wait until—"
"I said immediately!" Camille snapped.
Caroline squared her shoulders and gave Camille a steely look. "Your mother wants me to alter her gown."
"Just pull the pins out and tell her you pulled it in. She'll never notice the difference."
Caroline had been considering the very same thing, and she groaned. If she did as Camille asked, Camille would tattle on her the very next day, and then Carol would rant and rage for a week. Now she would definitely have to do the alteration.
"What do you need, Camille?"
"There is a tear at the hem of my costume. I have no idea how it happened."
"Perhaps when you tried it on—"
"Don't be impertinent!"
Caroline clamped her mouth shut. It was far more difficult to take orders from Camille than from Carol, probably because they'd once been equals, sharing the same schoolroom and governess.
"It must be repaired immediately," Camille said with an affected sniff.
Caroline sighed. "Just bring it in. I'll do it right after I finish with your mother's. I promise you'll have it in plenty of time."
"I won't be late for this ball," Camille warned. "If I am, I shall have your head on a platter."
"You won't be late," Caroline promised.
Camille made a rather huffy sound, then hurried out the door to retrieve her costume.
"Ooof!"
Caroline looked up to see Camille crashing into Elena, who was barreling through the door.
"Watch where you're going, Elena!" Camille snapped.
"You could watch where you're going, too," Elena pointed out.
"I was watching. It's impossible to get out of your way, you big oaf." Elena's cheeks stained red, and she stepped aside.
"Did you need something, Elena?" Caroline asked, as soon as Camille had disappeared.
Elena nodded. "Could you set aside a little extra time to dress my hair tonight? I found some green ribbons that look a little like seaweed."
Caroline let out a long breath. The dark green ribbons weren't likely to show up very well against Elena's dark hair, but she didn't have the heart to point that out. "I'll try, Elena, but I have to mend Camille's dress and alter your mother's."
"Oh." Elena looked crestfallen. It nearly broke Caroline's heart. Elena was the only person who was even halfway nice to her in Carol's household, save for the servants. "Don't worry," she assured her. "I'll make sure your hair is lovely no matter how much time we have."
"Oh, thank you, Caroline! I—"
"Haven't you gotten started on my gown yet?" Carol thundered as she returned from the washroom.
Caroline gulped. "I was talking with Camille and Elena. Camille tore her gown and—"
"Just get to work!" Carol spat.
"I will. Immediately." Caroline plopped down on the settee and turned the gown inside out so that she could take in the waist. "Faster than immediately," she muttered. "Faster than a hummingbird's wings. Faster than—"
"What are you chattering about?" Carol demanded.
"Nothing."
"Well, cease your prattle immediately. I find the sound of your voice particularly grating." Caroline ground her teeth together.
"Mama," Elena said, "Elena is going to dress my hair tonight like—"
"Of course she's going to dress your hair. Quit your dillydallying this minute and go put compresses on your eyes so they don't look so puffy."
Elena's face fell. "My eyes are puffy?"
Caroline shook her head on the off chance that Elena decided to look down at her.
"Your eyes are always puffy," Carol replied. "Don't you think so, Camille?"
Elena and Caroline both turned toward the door. Camille had just entered, carrying her Marie Antoinette gown. "Always," she agreed. "But a compress will help, I'm sure."
"You look stunning tonight," Carol told her older daughter. "And you haven't even started getting ready. That gold in your gown is an exquisite match to your hair."
Caroline shot a sympathetic look at the dark-haired Elena, who never received such compliments from her mother.
"You shall snare one of those Mikaelsons brothers," Carol continued. "I'm sure of it."
Camille looked down demurely. It was an expression she'd perfected, and Caroline had to admit it looked lovely on her. But then again, most everything looked lovely on Camille. Her golden hair and blue eyes were all the rage that year, and thanks to the generous dowry settled upon her by the late earl, it was widely assumed that she would make a brilliant match before the season was through.
Caroline glanced back over at Elena, who was staring at her mother with a sad, wistful expression.
"You look lovely, too, Elena," Caroline said impulsively.
Elena's eyes lit up. "Do you think so?"
"Absolutely. And your gown is terribly original. I'm sure there won't be any other mermaids."
"How would you know, Caroline?" Camille asked with a laugh. "It's not as if you've ever been out in society."
"I'm sure you'll have a lovely time, Elena," Caroline said pointedly, ignoring Camille's jibe. "I'm terribly jealous. I do wish I could go."
Caroline's little sigh and wish was met with absolute silence ... followed by the raucous laughter of both Carol and Camille. Even Elena giggled a bit.
"Oh, that's rich," Carol said, barely able to catch her breath. "Little Caroline at the Mikaelsons ball. They don't allow bastards out in society, you know."
"I didn't say I expected to go," Caroline said defensively, "just that I wish I could."
"Well, you shouldn't even bother doing that," Camille chimed in. "If you wish for things you can't possibly hope for, you're only going to be disappointed."
But Caroline didn't hear what she had to say, because in that moment, the oddest thing happened. As she was turning her head toward Camille, she caught sight of the housekeeper standing in the doorway. It was Mrs. Jenna Sommers, who had come up from Petrova's Park in the country when the town housekeeper had passed away. And when Caroline's eyes met hers, she winked.
Winked!
Caroline didn't think she'd ever seen Mrs. Sommers wink.
"Caroline! CAROLINE! Are you listening to me?"
Caroline turned a distracted eye toward Carol. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "You were saying?"
"I was saying," Carol said in a nasty voice, "that you had better get to work on my gown this instant. If we are late for the ball, you will answer for it tomorrow."
"Yes, of course," Caroline said quickly. She jabbed her needle into the fabric and started sewing but her mind was still on Mrs. Sommers.
A wink?
Why on earth would she wink?
Three hours later, Caroline was standing on the front steps of Petrova House, watching first Carol, then Camille, then Elena each take the footman's hand and climb up into the carriage. Caroline waved at Elena, who waved back, then watched the carriage roll down the street and disappear around the corner. It was barely six blocks to Mikaelsons House, where the masquerade was to be held, but Carol would have insisted upon the carriage if they'd lived right next door.
It was important to make a grand entrance, after all.
With a sigh, Caroline turned around and made her way back up the steps. At least Carol had, in the excitement of the moment, forgotten to leave her with a list of tasks to complete while she was gone. A free evening was a luxury indeed. Perhaps she'd reread a novel. Or maybe she could find today's edition of Whistledown. She'd thought she'd seen Camille take it into her room earlier that afternoon.
But as Caroline stepped through the front door of Petrova House, Mrs. Jenna Sommers materialized as if from nowhere and grabbed her arm. "There's no time to lose!" the housekeeper said.
Caroline looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "I beg your pardon?" Mrs. Sommers tugged at her elbow. "Come with me."
Caroline allowed herself to be led up the three flights of stairs to her room, a tiny little chamber tucked under the eaves. Mrs. Sommers was acting in a most peculiar manner, but Caroline humored her and followed along. The housekeeper had always treated her with exceptional kindness, even when it was clear that Carol disapproved.
"You'll need to get undressed," Mrs. Sommers said as she grasped the doorknob.
"What?"
"We really must rush."
"Mrs. Sommers, you..." Caroline's mouth fell open, and her words trailed off as she took in the scene in her bedroom. A steaming tub of water lay right in the center, and all three housemaids were bustling about. One was pouring a pitcher of water into the tub, another was fiddling with the lock on a rather mysterious-looking trunk, and the third was holding a towel and saying, "Hurry! Hurry!"
Caroline cast bewildered eyes at the lot of them. "What is going on?"
Mrs. Sommers turned to her and beamed. "You, Miss Caroline Maria Forbes, are going to the masquerade!"
One hour later, Caroline was transformed. The trunk had held dresses belonging to the late earl's mother. They were all fifty years out of date, but that was no matter. The ball was a masquerade; no one expected the gowns to be of the latest styles.
At the very bottom of the trunk they'd found an exquisite creation of shimmering silver, with a tight, pearl-encrusted bodice and the flared skirts that had been so popular during the previous century. Caroline felt like a princess just touching it. It was a bit musty from its years in the trunk, and one of the maids quickly took it outside to dab a bit of rosewater on the fabric and air it out.
She'd been bathed and perfumed, her hair had been dressed, and one of the housemaids had even applied a touch of rouge to her lips. "Don't tell Miss Camille," the maid had whispered. "I nicked it from her collection."
"Ooooh, look," Mrs. Sommers said. "I found matching gloves."
Caroline looked up to see the housekeeper holding up a pair of long, elbow-length gloves. "Look," she said, taking one from Mrs. Sommers and examining it. "The Petrova crest. And it's monogrammed. Right at the hem."
Mrs. Sommers turned over the one in her hand. "SLG. Sarah Louisa Petrova. Your grandmother."
Caroline looked at her in surprise. Mrs. Sommers had never referred to the earl as her father. No one at Petrova Park had ever verbally acknowledged Caroline's blood ties to the Petrova family.
"Well, she is your grandmother," Mrs. Sommers declared. "We've all danced around the issue long enough. It's a crime the way Camille and Elena are treated like daughters of the house, and you, the earl's true blood, must sweep and serve like a maid!"
The three housemaids nodded in agreement. "Just once," Mrs. Sommers said, "for just one night, you will be the belle of the ball." With a smile on her face, she slowly turned Caroline around until she was facing the mirror.
Caroline's breath caught. "Is that me?"
Mrs. Sommers nodded, her eyes suspiciously bright. "You look lovely, dearling," she whispered.
Caroline's hand moved slowly up to her hair. "Don't muss it!" one of the maids yelped.
"I won't," Caroline promised, her smile wobbling a bit as she fought back a tear. A touch of shimmery powder had been sprinkled onto her hair, so that she sparkled like a fairy princess. Her dark blond curls had been swept atop her head in a loose topknot, with one thick lock allowed to slide down the length of her neck. And her eyes, normally moss green, shone like emeralds.
Although Caroline suspected that might have had more to do with her unshed tears than anything else.
"Here is your mask," Mrs. Sommers said briskly. It was a demi-mask, the sort that tied at the back so that Caroline would not have to use one of her hands to hold it up. "Now all we need are shoes."
Caroline glanced ruefully at her serviceable and ugly work shoes that sat in the corner. "I have nothing suitable for such finery, I'm afraid."
The housemaid who had rouged Caroline's lips held up a pair of white slippers. "From Camille's closet," she said. Caroline slid her right foot into one of the slippers and just as quickly slid it back out. "It's much too big," she said, glancing up at Mrs. Sommers. "I'll never be able to walk in them."
Mrs. Sommers turned to the maid. "Fetch a pair from Elena's closet."
"Hers are even bigger," Caroline said. "I know. I've cleaned enough scuff marks from them."
Mrs. Sommers let out a long sigh. "There's nothing for it, then. We shall have to raid Carol's collection."
Caroline shuddered. The thought of walking anywhere in Carol's shoes was somewhat creepy. But it was either that or go without, and she didn't think that bare feet would be acceptable at a fancy London masquerade.
A few minutes later the maid returned with a pair of white satin slippers, stitched in silver and adorned with exquisite faux-diamond rosettes.
Caroline was still apprehensive about wearing Carol's shoes, but she slipped one of her feet in, anyway. It fit perfectly.
"And they match, too," one of the maids said, pointing to the silver stitching. "As if they were made for the dress."
"We don't have time for admiring shoes," Mrs. Jenna Sommers suddenly said. "Now listen to these instructions very carefully. The coachman has returned from taking the countess and her girls, and he will take you to Mikaelsons House. But he has to be waiting outside when they wish to depart, which means you must leave by midnight and not a second later. Do you understand?"
Caroline nodded and looked at the clock on the wall. It was a bit after nine, which meant she'd have more than two hours at the masquerade. "Thank you," she whispered. "Oh, thank you so much."
Mrs. Sommers dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. "You just have a good time, dearling. That's all the thanks I need."
Caroline looked again at the clock. Two hours.
Two hours that she'd have to make last a lifetime.
... tu be continue...
AN: awww do you like it? REVIEW! =) beautiful isn't it?