The Surprising Enchantress Read online

  ...“Suit your purposes?” The sound of a chair scraped wood, followed by its topple on hard wood. Leastways, that’s how it sounded. Essie flinched at Alessandro’s fury. He’d kept his passionate nature well hidden.

  The Conte’s tone hardened. “Sí. You shall betroth yourself and soon. ’Tis your duty. Just an heir or two. If Lady Kendra does not appeal, perhaps Lady Esmeralda is more to your tastes?”

  The hair at Essie’s nape raised, along with chilled pricks over her skin, air constricted in her throat. Her eyes began their awkward fluttered fury. Dust stirred in the room, and the furniture coverings billowed in protest. She fought an imminent sneeze at the stirring dirt.

  “Lady Esmeralda? You have truly lost your faculties if your ambitions go so far as to bind me for life to a woman whose eyes flutter so furiously ’tis enough to create an avalanche in these Pyrenees Mountains?” Alessandro sniffed in disgust.

  The Surprising Enchantress

  copyright © 2022 by Kathy L Wheeler

  All Rights Reserved

  These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Kathy L Wheeler.

  Cover Art © Defiant Books

  Chisel Imprint

  Dear Reader,

  This is a difficult note for me to write. When I began writing in 2006, I was totally clueless! My cluelessness begins with having the series under a different name. I’ve also been very lucky with the friends I’ve made in the industry and the knowledge. Oh, my gosh, the knowledge! That being said, and my Cinderella Series being my first books, reading back through them was difficult. The cumbersome sentences, the errors. Ugh, the list goes on. However, with time comes wisdom and I’ve gone through—(at this stage)—all but The Price of Scorn: Cinderella’s Evil Stepmother. I’ve also recreated the covers to portray, the spirit of a fairy tale rather than a spicy romance. . Again, all but The Price of Scorn… I will also say, that while The Wronged Princess definitely is a retelling of the original Cinderella story, the rest of the series, veers into a twist, that in re-reading, made me laugh and made me cry. They really are fun. I hope you feel the same way. So please enjoy the re-edit versions under my actual name, Kathy L Wheeler.

  Happy Reading!

  Kathy L Wheeler

  Kathy L Wheeler

  Chisel Imprint Puyallup, WA

  Table of Contents

  The Surprising Enchantress

  book iii

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  The English Lily

  Book iv

  Chapter 1

  The Price of Scorn:

  Cinderella’s Evil Stepmother

  Chapter 1

  Other Books

  Books by

  About the Author

  Prologue

  “What on earth are we to do about Esmeralda, Faustine?” Queen Thomasine, mother to Prince Charming of Chalmers Kingdom, held out a freshly poured cup of tea for her twin, Cinderella’s infamous Fairy Godmother. “Two of our girls are now married and settled, but I feel we have failed poor Esmeralda. I fear her chances grow slimmer each passing the day with her ill-fated… ahem… eye affliction.” Thomasine’s last words ended on a loud whisper. “I cannot quell the apprehension of Lady Roche’s benign behavior. She has been much too quiet of late. She is planning something terrible, I fear.”

  Faustine accepted the steaming brew from Thomasine and blew a cooling breath over the rising steam. She braved a sip, choosing not to answer. She did not wish to talk of Esmeralda or the girls’ buffoon of a mother. There was plenty of time to marry off the silly chit. Faustine had more important issues on her mind.

  She studied Thomasine’s elegant coiffure. Gray streaks displayed an age that mirrored Faustine’s own. She drew in the fragrant oolong tea before finally answering. “Did you have a particular suitor in mind, my dear? She is a lovely young woman with her brilliant green eyes, and her hair is not so red as to deter any one eligible prospect. Perhaps she just hasn’t met her true love yet.”

  An indelicate snort sounded from Thomasine. “Is there nothing you can do to help the girl with her unfortunate eye-batting?”

  “It is something she, in time, must learn to control,” Faustine said absently. “You shall see.” She pressed her lips together. “My concerns regard her sister, Pricilla, my only son’s wife.”This is an old argument, Faustine. You shouldn’t fret so. Your son and his bride are still youthful. There is plenty of time for grandchildren. Why the girl is but three and twenty.”

  “How much longer am I to wait, I ask?” Her bitterness won out. “You could not possibly understand my frustration. After all, Edric is almost five and Arabella, three.”

  “Tsk, tsk, Faustine. You know that I am most willing to share my grandchildren with you. As I said, it will happen in time. And they are happy, no?” Mischievous mirth twinkled in Thomasine’s eyes, furthering Faustine’s irritation.

  “Yes, yes.” Faustine threw out a hand, fingers brushing the air. “I suppose it’s quite ungrateful for me to ask for more than my son’s happiness.” She gasped as a terrifying thought occurred to her. “You... you don’t think she... Pricilla... is... is unable...” Life or death, Faustine could not complete the heinous thought aloud.

  “It’s a possibility, of course,” Thomasine ssaid. “But I feel inclined to point out the problem may not lay with your son’s wife.”

  Faustine gaped. “Dear heavens! Bite your tongue!” Her cup clattered to the table. “Do not dare to suggest such a thing. I would rather contemplate poor Esmeralda’s eye-fluttering than consider such an unseemly topic.” Faustine shivered at the mere thought of such a catastrophe.

  “I agree, darling. With my husband’s passing and our coming out of mourning, there is much on which to concentrate.” Thomasine brushed away a stray tear, squeezing Faustine’s heart. “Preparations for the Coronation Ceremony are well under way. We’ve not much time as it is.”

  “I suppose you are right. But, honestly, Thomasine, no child in five years?” A shudder racked Faustine’s body. She clasped her silver wand much like a child’s security blanket. The ill-repaired apparatus Cinderella had stepped on and broken several years prior, threatened to give way completely under the assault. Faustine forced her grip to loosen but squeezed her eyes shut in a silent appeal.

  Thomasine was right. Concentrating on Esmeralda’s unfortunate eye-affliction was a needed distraction. Dwelling on Thomasine’s unfortunate choice of words would drive her mad. Prophetic words, Faustine prayed, were not true.

  Chapter 1

  “You know not of what you speak. You are an insolent son,” Conte Marcus Pasquale de Lecce bit out.

  “Then perhaps you should enlighten me, sir.” Visconte Alessandro de Lecce watched his father pace the near bare chamber like a caged lion. Aless knew he and the Conte resembled one another greatly in the set of their eyes and the harsh angle of their cheekbones. But the past few years had aged his father at an alarming rate, shown by his thinning hair and the deeply creased lines etched in his forehead. A constant worry seemed to have settled over his father of late.

  Aless snuck a glance at his timepiece for the third time. For three-quarters of an hour he’d been at odds with his father in a deserted wing of Chalmers castle. A strange location, his father had requested, for an interview. Aless was starting to fret for his father’s mental faculties.

  The Conte stopped, contemplating him for a long moment, mouth agape as though he might speak. But no, Papa clamped it shut and resumed his pace. Aless rubbed his temples to stave off an aching head. Dio! The man treated him as though he were the same age as Prince Charming and Princess Cinderella’s young heir.

  Without warning, the Conte stopped again. The abrupt stance raised the hair on Aless’s nape. Wary, he watched, knowing things with his father rarely dispelled so easily. “Sit,” his father commanded.
br />   Foreboding trickled through Alessandro, but he obliged, moving to an opulent, though faded, wing-backed chair, slowly lowering his large frame. He stifled a sneeze for all the dust he disturbed.

  The Conte stood before him, broad hands twisting. “I am not quite sure how to tell you this.”

  “Mayhap you should just say, and save all the dramatics.” Aless drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair impatient for the interview’s conclusion.

  “We are Spagnolo.”

  “Sí, on Madre’s side. ’Tis no secret we are of Spanish descent.” A sense of relief assailed him, and he shot his father an amused glance. But the Conte did not respond in return, instead he compressed his lips firmly together walking the length of the room. Alessandro let out a sigh.

  “What is it, Padre?

  “’Tis long past time you did your duty and married. Nobility, Royalty. We’ve a duty to our heritage.” He flung out a broad hand. “We must begin building our legacy. The plans are almost in place.”

  Alessandro narrowed his eyes on the Conte. “Plans? Nobility? We are here for Prince Charming’s coronation as king. What are you up to?”

  *****

  “Edric, my little prince, we are missing out on family time. You know your mother will be wondering where we have disappeared,” Esmeralda chided her little charge. Edric was a gale of energy. A mass of dark curls and eyes were a perfect match of Cinde’s rich browns and his father’s outrageous charm.

  The little progeny already had the aptitude for turning the saddest eyes on even the least gullible victim, charming them silly. His Auntie Cill came to mind as his toughest critic. Essie had seen the little thespian in action. Quite impressive he was, not to mention entertaining to observe, winding Cill round his chubby, pinky finger. Of Esmeralda’s two sisters, Cinderella and Pricilla, Pricilla was, by far, the more difficult to succumb to such tactics.

  “Aunt Sessie, I would pray hide an’ seek, if you please,” Edric begged.

  “The word is ‘play,’ Edric, and we are late. We must hurry if we are to visit with the family before you and Bella are banished to the nursery for the evening.” Essie kept her voice firm. One must maintain an image of control, regardless of the reality.

  Edric was a master, evidenced by his fuller, bottom lip poking out in petulance. He heaved in a deep breath, set to scream his displeasure with his Aunt Sessie’s unyielding words.

  But Essie was not one of Edric’s victims like his Aunt Cill. “Edric, I suggest you quell the impulse. Young princes do not bellow their tendencies to screaming, most especially, one of your maturity,” she informed him blandly. Hands clasped before her, she presented a model of patience. That was imperative.

  Edric stopped, seeming to consider her words. But when he handed her a brilliant smile she realized it was too late to rethink her stratagem. “I hide, Aunt Sessie, you seek.”

  The cheeky urchin whipped round and darted down a dimly lit corridor before she could blink.

  “Edric,” Essie called after him, stomping her foot. “Don’t you dare!” But the ball of force had already disappeared. Essie lifted her skirts and bolted after him. The softly lit sconces intensified the depths of shadows as most of the chambers down this wing were dark and deserted. She poked her head through the first open door. “Edric, come out,” she called softly. How did one handle a misbehaving heir? Oh, she would blast the little scamp.

  Silence.

  Essie continued down the hallway. “Edric?” She angled her head, listening for the slightest sound. No Edric, only the murmurings of muted Italian—heated Italian. It sounded as if Alessandro de Lecce and his father were in a stormy row. She had an embarrassing ardor for the Conte de Lecce’s elder son, Alessandro. They first made their appearance several years prior when Prince Charming was looking for his “mysterious princess.”

  With Alessandro de Lecce’s dark hair and eyes, strong jaw and immaculate manners, Essie found him irresistible, though she’d noticed a certain broodiness about him of late that hadn’t been apparent in previous years. He certainly couldn’t have been involved with the Prussian—Austrian Wars. They’d ended ages ago. Of course, she’d never understood matters of war. She shook her head. No time to worry over that right now. She had to find Edric.

  Besides, her little blinking problem hadn’t abated in the least. Like the time Prince Charming’s shoe slipped onto her dainty foot. Quite unexpectedly she found herself betrothed to the future king. Why, the dust storm in her nervous state rivaled that of the Far Eastern desserts.

  Something in the de Lecces’ tones drew her attention, and she inched forward. Why they would be in such a deserted portion of the castle was beyond her. She pulled up, shaking her head, then quickened her step. It would not do to be discovered eavesdropping. Still, if the little monster did not show soon she would likely be forced to seek their assistance. She grimaced.

  Wouldn’t that be just her luck for the Visconte Alessandro de Lecce to witness—her incompetence of handling a rambunctious four-year-old. Her nerves simply could not take it. She was wont to send the Conte’s elder son sprawling on his nicely shaped arse when her uncontrollable eye-batting kicked up at the stress of just imagining such a plight.

  Essie blinked back a sudden sting of tears. Her mother was right. She was completely unmarriageable with this idiotic affliction; and to someone of Alessandro de Lecce’s pedigree, she was all but doomed to a court-appointed husband. Aggravated at the turn of her already obsessive insecurities, she shoved them away, knowing such introspection would only fester. She had a larger problem, looming at the moment.

  Essie paused at the next chamber, her irritation escalating with each step. Nothing. Jaw clenched, she decided Prince Edric needed to be curbed with a demon. And she was the only one at hand. In a tone that would have served her well had she’d chosen to tread the boards she sang-song, “Humph, I suppose our little prince has made his way back, leaving me to find my way all alone.” She ended on a dramatic sigh and a silent promise to blast the little imp.

  Just as Essie ducked her way out, the first muffled giggle touched her ears. “Alas, ’tis a long trek,” she said.

  Silence. She scuffed her soft-soled shoes on the floor, pretending to walk away.

  “I’m here, Aunt Sessie,” Edric called.

  She sighed. It was difficult to be angry with that tiny, high voice. “Where?”

  “You must find me—’member? I hide and you seek.” He giggled again.

  Essie located a taper near the door and slipped back into the hallway to light it from a wall sconce. Lifting the candle overhead, she found herself in an old drawing room with sparse furnishings. Draped cloths and thickly layered dust covered every exposed surface. She moved deeper into the room and skirted several massive pieces before spotting Edric’s highly polished black shoe, poking beneath a white sheet over a settee. It was practically a beacon.

  She leaned down to grasp Edric’s foot when Alessandro’s words bounded down the hall so loudly they should have served as warning to pirates as far as the Mediterranean Sea.

  “What are you talking about Nobility, Royalty, Marriage?” Alessandro sounded… furious.

  “Sí. I vow Lady Kendra Frazier is perfect for you.”

  Essie’s stomach dropped. She could practically envision the Conte rubbing his hands together, warming to the topic. The signs of panic started at the tips of her toes, working their way up through her blood stream. Her knees shook and was soon followed by a tingling sensation in her fingers.

  The Conte was trying to marry Alessandro off to that nitwit, Kendra Frazier? Why, she was naught but a prissy—

  “I shall not marry Lady Kendra, Padre,” Alessandro said more quietly.

  Essie let out a held breath. It echoed in the chamber. Premonition angst rippled through her though along with the strongest wish to cover her ears. Yet, she stood frozen in that bizarre world of morbid curiosity.

  “No?” The Conte sounded amused now.

  Obviously, Alessandro’s steely resolve failed to penetrate.