Ever After (Unfinished Fairy Tales #3)(45)

Snow is descending when I get off the omnibus. I draw my cloak around my gown and put on my mittens. It’s May already, yet the abnormally cold winter hasn’t shown any sign of going away soon.

Mr. Wellesley is clearing away a pile of snow in front of The Bookworm.

“Good morning, Mr…Grandpa.” I greet him with a bright smile. “Need some help with the shovel?”

He responds with a grin but refuses to let me help him. “I’m not that old, lass. I need to stretch these limbs.”

We chat for a while—mostly harmless stuff like complaining about the weather. My wedding last year was in June. If the weather was like this, Edward couldn’t have scheduled the carriage ride around the city, or we’d be soaked from snow melting on our wedding clothes.

Then, when I decide it’s time to bring up the topic of learning more about Mr. Wellesley’s family, a lanky, green-eyed young man approaches the store, carrying a leather satchel.

It’s too late to duck out of sight. Liam has seen me.

“You?” He says in disbelief. “The girl who looks like the princess…oh. You’re related to the owner of the bookstore.”

I nod. I’m about to say something like, “Morning, Liam,” but I catch myself at the last second. He never told me his name at the Hungry Boar.

Liam extracts a large piece of paper from his satchel. It looks about the same size as the flyers Elle was putting up. “May I have your permission to attach this in your store, sir?”

Unable to contain my curiosity, I peep over Mr. Wellesley’s shoulder. The paper is also a flyer—printed on the top in bold, block letters are The Shocking Truth About Athelia’s Peers. A paragraph in smaller print depicts a meeting time at the Hungry Boar, along with the organizer’s name: Charlie Quinn, Leader of the Commoners’ Union for the Abolition of the Privilege of Peers, and the speaker: Liam Charingford.

“That’s me,” Liam says, pointing to his name.

Mr. Wellesley raises his eyebrows. “Looks like you have a pretty intriguing title for your speech, lad. I’m supposing the content isn’t favorable to the peers?”

Liam gives an enigmatic smile. “Come to the meeting, sir, and you’ll learn what I have to say.”

I also make a note of the date and time. “Is this meeting open to everyone?”

“Absolutely.” Liam stares at me. “Katherine…Wilson, is it? Do you truly have no relation to the princess?”

“None whatsoever.” Mr. Wellesley winks. “But if I had my say, she’s fit to be one.”

I send him a warning look—he shouldn’t hint at anything of me becoming the future princess. Unless Liam has already met Katriona Bradshaw (I highly doubt the possibility), he is under the delusion that the current princess on the throne is the same girl he met at Princess College.

Just at that moment, a small figure rushes into the store. The thin material of her clothes is too flimsy for the weather.

“Molly?” Mr. Wellesley and I say at the same time.

I set my hands on her shoulders, making her calm down. She’s trembling, the poor thing.

“What’s the matter, dear?”

She clutches my arm. “Nell…she…she lied to us! She ain’t home at all! Make her leave or the police’ll come!”

“Nell?” Mr. Wellesley looks concerned. “What’s she trying to do?”

Molly looks on the verge of breaking down. “She’s at a lord’s house—she’s taken Wilkie—she says she ain’t leaving till he pays up.”

I do my best to piece her fragments of speech together. “Molly, are you saying that Nell is demanding payment from a lord? Why does she believe she can make him pay?”

“‘Cause…’cause he’s the father, that’s why,” her voice chokes up. “But he’s sent a servant to tell her she’d best scat, or the police’ll take care of her. I tried to get her listen, but she won’ budge.”

Dang. “Why did she wait to ask him now?”

“We ran out o’ dough, and Wilkie won’ stop coughing, so she got the stupid notion in her head.” Molly wipes her face. “He won’ pay, I’m sure of it, but she ain’ givin’ up. If Nell gets herself in jail, we can’ afford to get her out.”

“All right then.” I don’t know what’s the right thing to do, but I can’t leave Molly alone. “Let’s go and get her. What’s the name of this lord?”



* * *



I can’t remember when was the last time I’ve been to the Fremonts’ house. Claire had sent me a few invitations after my marriage, but I declined most of the time, as I was busy helping Edward and didn’t relish attending parties and soirees. Seeing the mansion brings back memories of the first time I came here with Bianca. I had played croquet (terribly), ran into Edward, and tried to make him save Elle from the river.

“So Lord Fremont is the scumbag that knocked her up,” I say, trying to remember what he looked like. I don’t know Lord Fremont well—he is several years older than me, and already married when I met Claire. I’ve seen him a few times at parties and balls, but barely talked to him. I wonder if Claire knew her brother had impregnated a young girl who is little more than a child.