Enchanted in Time (Enchanted After Thirty #1)

Chapter 7

7

A long, long time ago

M irabelle sat in the coach as it jerked along the country road. She was staring out the window while it jostled her back and forth. Across from her sat her mother, whose lips were pressed into thin lines. Since the moment they’d left their country estate, mother and daughter had not spoken a word.

Mirabelle had hidden her face behind a midnight-blue veil, and yet she felt naked, exposed, and, most of all, vulnerable. She did not want to go to this ball and risk becoming a laughingstock. She wanted to hide away in her room, preferably for the rest of her life. She was done with society and didn’t want to see anyone ever again. She had no need for them.

But her parents had been relentless. After she’d cried and pleaded her mother to concoct an excuse and politely decline, her father had entered the room. She didn’t have any idea how long it had been since the time she had seen him last—and then, suddenly, he was standing before her bed. He had looked straight at her, which had terrified Mirabelle more than his presence and harsh words.

“Mirabelle Madeleine Alice von Taustein! What we have here is an invitation from a king, and the von Taustein family has never and shall never refuse such an invitation. You shall go to this ball. That is my final word!” Having spoken, he had turned around and stalked out without even saying goodbye.

Mirabelle sighed. She had always loved her parents a great deal and had always been extremely certain of their love as well. But now that things had changed, she wondered if her exceptional beauty alone had been the reason she’d been so beloved. How all that had changed! Since her illness, her parents, the servants, and her friends all seemed to have no interest in visiting her—and Mirabelle would certainly never have forced them to.

Annabelle had tried her best to get Mirabelle to look forward to the ball. For her little sister’s sake, she had smiled while the seamstresses had pinned her midnight-blue, high-necked ball gown and adjusted the hem as she tried on her new lace gloves and the servants powdered her face. She’d been embarrassed by her mother’s insistence that the lady’s maids put makeup on her. She did not want them to handle her and recoil in disgust when they touched her skin with their fingers instead of a brush. And after seeing herself in the mirror for less than a second, it was clear that all the powder and cream would be of no help. No, they merely made her appearance worse, and her skin had itched and burned. Only once her mother confirmed that the makeup accomplished nothing was Mirabelle allowed to go wash it off with cold water. The burning and itching vanished, but the pain and the uncontrollable fear remained. If only there were a way to escape this obligation!

Her face free of makeup though covered with a gossamer midnight-blue lace veil, Mirabelle had climbed into the coach behind her mother and not said one word since. They had been riding for hours when the coachman turned onto a road that led into a dense forest. Alternating oak, beech, and fir trees played host to a flock of titmice as they piped their little song.

Mirabelle hardly noticed. Her thoughts were already focused on the royal ball she was about to attend. She caught herself imagining that a young man was whirling her around the hall as they danced and that she was laughing out loud as she used to do, and that he fell in love with that laughter. But a moment later, she remembered her hideous skin and buried that dream along with the other dreams and desires she would never dig back up again.

A life of absolute loneliness—that was what fate had condemned her to. Self-pity and regret would not be of any help. That was simply the way things were.

“We’ll be there soon!” Her mother’s strangely thin voice broke the heavy silence in the coach, and she motioned toward the scene outside the window.

Its oriels and towers adorned with angel figures, the stately building rose up there on a hill in a wooded valley. The white stone the palace was made of shone brighter than the sun that cast its summer rays upon the valley. Mirabelle was astounded. Never before had she seen a castle as awe-inspiring as this.

Coach after coach was lined up one after the other in the courtyard before the massive castle portal. A lump began to form in her throat at the thought that soon she would have to climb out and leave the protected confines of the cabin.

The coach appeared to go faster and faster, and a short while later, the horses were trotting across the stone bridge and into the castle courtyard. When the coachman halted and Mirabelle heard him climbing down from the box to open the door, a cold sweat broke out all over her body. Unable to move, she remained in her seat, though the coachman had already opened the door and was holding out his hand.

“Come, my darling.” It had been a long time since her mother had spoken to her so tenderly. But that frightened Mirabelle even more. A tremor ran up and down her limbs until her mother laid her hand on hers and smiled. “I shall remain by your side the entire time.”

The tears welled up in Mirabelle’s eyes. Grateful for the unexpected support, she nodded slightly and took the servant’s hand. She descended slowly from the coach, directly behind her mother, who immediately took her hand once more, and together they made their way to the castle portal.