“Spineless?” Cinderella echoed, heat rising to her cheeks. “Why do you think she’s spineless?”
“A girl who runs off on my nephew must be hiding something.”
“What if she didn’t know he was your nephew?” asked Cinderella carefully.
Genevieve lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “Even so. A potential princess of Aurelais cannot afford to have secrets. The court would eat her alive if she were anything less than perfect. Trust me, I would know. She must be a model of courage, grace, and virtue. A princess who runs off like that and refuses to come forth is not a paragon of any of the three.”
“I’m sure she had a good reason.”
“Believe what you wish,” said the duchess, withdrawing a deep emerald gown from her closet. “Have the collar mended before the masquerade. I don’t need a fitting—I’ve been wearing this dress since before you were born and it still fits.”
As she folded the gown into a small trunk, Cinderella hesitated. “Do you think the prince loves her?”
“I think he’s in love with the idea of her,” replied the duchess flippantly, her words echoing Cinderella’s fears. “If she were to return to the ball, I am certain he would propose marriage, but that’s only because George is forcing him to.”
Forcing him to? Cinderella’s ears began to ring uncontrollably, the words repeating over and over in her head. She sucked in a breath to calm herself. “What . . . what do you mean?”
“My brother is the one behind the royal proclamation—and the ball. George is in such a rush for Charles to find a wife that he vowed my nephew would wed the girl who fit the glass slipper. Honestly, from what I know about this girl, I don’t think that such a union would be good for Charles, or for Aurelais.”
Cinderella’s hands, clenching the sides of the trunk, shook, and she had to fight to keep her voice from trembling. “I see. Then let’s hope she doesn’t appear tomorrow.”
With the hastiest curtsy she could manage, Cinderella hurried out of the room, ignoring the duchess’s call, “Cindergirl, I wasn’t finished with you!”
Cinderella needed to breathe. Everything felt suddenly hot, and she desperately needed some fresh air, needed to clear her mind of what the duchess had told her.
Her heart ached with disappointment, and try as she might, she couldn’t reason it away the way she had whenever her stepmother hurt her. This was new, deeper than the sting of when Charles hadn’t recognized her in the palace.
To learn that the entire ball had been a ruse to find Charles a wife, that he had all but been forced to choose someone. No, that wasn’t the surprising part. That wasn’t the hurtful part.
What hurt was that Charles had picked her simply because he had to pick someone. And now, if there were another ball, he’d choose the next girl who caught his eye. Maybe she had taken their connection that night for granted . . . but had he never cared about her in the first place?
Of course, there was the fact that he hadn’t recognized her. Days later, the pain from seeing him spin away from her and disappear down the corridor, as if she were a perfect stranger, was still fresh.
Cinderella’s head throbbed, and she clutched the trunk holding the duchess’s dress tighter.
Did she care about him? She’d thought she did, but how many young men had she met while under her stepmother’s charge? None.
The prince was the first. He’d been so charming, listening to her attentively as if she were the most important person in the world and not a servant to be ordered about or treated with callous contempt. His easy smile and warm eyes had won her over, and now here she was, still thinking about him.
Maybe she was naive to expect he felt the same as she did—that they had shared something special. Truth be told, it would be foolish of him to marry someone he’d only met once. Besides, she knew nothing about being a princess. And she’d spent enough years under her stepmother’s pitiless eye; she didn’t need to spend the rest of her life under her entire country’s.
Cinderella stopped at one of the windows, pressing her hand against the cool glass.
Outside, the gardens beckoned. Bathed under the cloak of moonlight, they were breathtaking. The hedges rustled under the dim lamplight, swaying to an invisible symphony, and the marble pavilions shone white as pearls.
It was late enough that no one would be passing through now. Perhaps she could cut across and make a short detour before heading to her room. Being outside would help her think clearly again.
After a long breath, Cinderella pulled away from the window, making for the two doors leading outside to the gardens. She waited for the guard to open them, but he met her gaze with a penetrating glare.
When she tried to enter the doors, he stopped in front of her.
“What is your business here?”
Cinderella blinked, unsure why the guard had taken such a sharp tone with her. “I wanted to walk out into the gardens back to the servants’ quarters.”
The guard peered at her as if she’d uttered the most foolish thing he’d ever heard.
“Servants are not permitted to access the royal gardens, not without express permission.”
Cinderella took a step back. “So the entire garden is off-limits, even to the staff? But it’s even larger than the palace.”
“The palace is not yours to roam,” the guard admonished. “There are rules to respect. Traditions to honor.”
Cinderella raised her chin, but she knew it was no use arguing. Without another word, she turned away and continued to her quarters, her heart even heavier than before.
Being around nature had always lifted her spirits. She had grown up helping her mother tend the flowers in their garden, which had once been the pride and joy of the family estate. But after her stepmother had fired her father’s staff to save on expenses, the entire yard had fallen to disarray.
“Who has any use for a garden?” Lady Tremaine would say. “The flowers can’t be sold. Let them die.”
Cinderella had tried as long as she could to maintain the garden, rising before the sun to nurture her mother’s rosebushes and tulips. But one morning, she’d found the entire garden trampled by Lucifer.
Back then she’d blamed it on the cat. But now she knew better. Knowing how much her mother’s garden meant to her, Lady Tremaine must have let Lucifer loose on the flowers. By the time Cinderella discovered what he had done, the garden had been destroyed, and Lady Tremaine had ordered Cinderella to clean up the “dirt.” The very next day, her stepmother had a brick path laid over the area so that another garden might never grow there again.
The memory still stung, even after all these years, and Cinderella pushed it away. Her stepmother didn’t deserve another second of her time, not even in her thoughts.
Before long, she’d returned to her room. Setting aside the duchess’s gown, she sat on her bed to give her tired feet a short rest. Work in the palace wasn’t half as strenuous as it had been at home with her stepmother and stepsisters, yet Cinderella hadn’t been sleeping well.
There was so much she’d missed during her unhappy years with Lady Tremaine; now that she was free, there was so much she wanted to do. There was so much she could do. She wanted to see the world and to help others who might have felt as lonely and trapped as she had. She didn’t want to have to force herself to smile anymore just to bear each day; she wanted to find out what truly made her laugh, what truly made her happy. She wanted to get to the heart of things—to find the truth, instead of turn a blind eye.
She drew a deep breath then, wiping the tears from her cheeks, and got up from her bed. Duchess Genevieve must be wondering what had happened to her.
Cinderella faced her reflection in the mirror. “I’m not alone anymore. I have Louisa, the girls from the palace, even Duchess Genevieve . . .”
Then why am I still crying?
Because every time she dared hope for something, for some glimmer of happiness, it slipped her grasp, almost like stardust. Whenever she reveled in something of
her father and mother’s, Lady Tremaine sold it—or destroyed it. When the Grand Duke was searching for her to bring her to the palace, Lady Tremaine locked her in the tower. When she had finally dared hope someone might care for her, it turned out to be part of a larger ploy.
Could any happiness she found actually last beyond midnight?
As she splashed her face, trying to wash the redness from her eyes, a shadow flickered behind her. A warm light swelled from the darkness, so bright it illuminated her entire room.
Startled, Cinderella turned around, only to find her fairy godmother waiting behind her.
“Fairy Godmother!” she breathed, embracing the older woman.
“There, there.” Lenore stroked her hair. “I heard you crying, and I felt . . .” She revealed her wand. “It felt your sadness. Why the tears, my dear?”
“Nothing,” said Cinderella quickly. When Lenore raised an eyebrow, she sighed and explained, “I found out the ball was just a scheme for the prince to find a bride. And now there’s going to be another one.”
“Isn’t that wonderful news? You can see him again.”
She swallowed, a hard lump lodged in her throat. “No, I’m not allowed to go. Besides, I don’t want to. It’s just a silly ball, and I . . . I want to leave that part of my past behind me.”
“What makes you think it’s a silly ball?”
“I have a job in the palace,” Cinderella continued without answering. A touch of pride edged her voice as she said, “And I’m free of my stepmother to lead my own life. I wouldn’t want to run into her again.”
Lenore’s shoulders softened. “My child,” she murmured, “you needn’t fear her.”
“I know, but . . .” Cinderella pursed her lips. She didn’t want to talk about her stepmother anymore; she had so many questions for her fairy godmother. “I have another dream, too. One to help people. Like you.”
“Like me?”
“You told me that magic was forbidden, and when I went to the royal archives, the librarian said that everything to do with magic has been destroyed. Oh, Fairy Godmother, what happened all those years ago? What happened to magic . . . and to you?”
Lenore sighed, taking a moment to gather herself. Then she looked at Cinderella with a sad glimmer in her eyes. “When I was your age, there were many fairies in Aurelais. Good ones, mostly—we fairy godparents were once emissaries to the human world, using our magic to help keep the peace across kingdoms. But there were a few rotten fairies, ones that caused mischief with their curses and dark magic. Because of them, the people of Aurelais started mistrusting us as a whole. The situation became so dire that they began hunting us, and killing us.” The fairy godmother swallowed visibly, and Cinderella reached out to comfort her.
“I didn’t know,” she said.
“You couldn’t have. The king’s council has done its very best to wipe magic’s existence from the entire country. Most people have already forgotten what it was like.”
“Did everyone have a fairy godmother like you?”
“Not everyone,” she replied. “But your grandmother was good to me even when others began to hunt my kind. She sheltered me so I could stay in Aurelais, and when she gave birth to your mother, I swore to repay her kindness by watching over Gabrielle and becoming her godmother—a connection that is not forged lightly. Sadly, as things grew worse, I had no choice but to leave. When I finally gathered enough courage to return, Gabrielle was all grown up, with a daughter of her own.”
“Is it dangerous still? Should you be here? I don’t want you to get in trouble, Fairy Godmother.”
“Oh, child.” Lenore laughed sadly, not quite answering the question. “I owe your family so much. . . . What I regret most was not being here when your mother needed me.”
Cinderella held her breath as her fairy godmother went on.
“You meant everything to Gabrielle. After you were born, I thought she’d finally achieved her happily ever after. I’ll never forgive myself for that mistake. For thinking I could find some new goddaughters and godsons in other kingdoms, and they could replace your mother in my heart.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Cinderella said gently. “You were forced to leave.”
“I was a coward,” Lenore said. “I was afraid of losing my wand. It becomes like a part of you, magic. And we fairies had decided long ago to leave, or else risk losing our wands . . . or worse. So, we left. I left even before magic became illegal. Others were not quite so lucky, forced to leave their homes—their loved ones—with no plan in place. ”
Lenore removed her hood, letting it settle over her shoulders. “Years later, I sensed something was amiss with my Gabrielle. I borrowed enough magic to make a quick trip back to see her. And lo, upon my return I learned your mother had fallen gravely ill. I arrived the day your father took you away so you wouldn’t catch her sickness. I stayed with her as long as I could, but there was nothing I could do. And for the first time, I could understand why so many resent my magic.”
“Why?”
“Because magic can only aid someone’s fate, not change it.”
Cinderella’s chest tightened. “And my mother’s fate was to . . . to . . .”
“Yes, my child. I’m afraid so.” Lenore turned aside to wipe away the moisture from her eyes. “After Gabrielle passed away, I was so grief-stricken that I did not visit your father’s household for many years. I convinced myself it was just that—the inevitable sorrow that follows a loss—which explained the shroud of darkness emanating from your household. Too late, I learned that it was so much more. I blame myself now for the years you endured under that awful woman.”
Her stepmother.
Cinderella inhaled. She clenched her fists, anger stirring inside her when she thought of all the years she’d endured under Lady Tremaine’s cruelty. And all the years her fairy godmother must have endured because of the country’s twisted thoughts about magic.
“It was not your fault,” said Cinderella, taking her fairy godmother’s hands in her own. “You’ve already done more for me and my family than we could ever have asked for. I am in a better place now.”
“Yes,” said Lenore quietly. She shook her head. “But remember, happiness isn’t just a smile. You can’t force it to come true.”
The words made Cinderella’s heart ache. “I wish I’d realized that earlier.”
Lenore squeezed Cinderella’s hands. “Do what makes you happy, Cinderella. That is what I want for you. That was what I was hoping to help with when I first came to you. Go to this masquerade ball with your new friends, put on a pretty gown, and dance the night away. Sneak out into the royal gardens and drink tea under the moonlight. Get lost in the streets of Valors and spend some of your wages on something that’ll make you happy to look at every morning. Even the small joys are worth cherishing, and they will lead you to greater ones.”
“I want to help you,” said Cinderella. “I want magic to return to Aurelais.”
Lenore shook her head sadly. “That would take a miracle.”
“You once told me miracles take a little time.”
“Perhaps not this one.”
Cinderella wouldn’t give up. “Why does the Grand Duke hate fairies so much? Why did the king exile you from Aurelais?”
“That is a story for another time, Cinderella.” Her godmother patted her shoulder and then, with a flick of her wand, began to vanish. “Focus on your own happiness. Find your own miracle.”
“But—” Cinderella started.
Lenore stopped her with a sad smile. Then the fairy godmother touched her forehead to Cinderella’s and disappeared.
The next morning, Cinderella couldn’t stop thinking about her conversation with Lenore. But, of course, duty called, and she knew the seamstresses would be busy preparing for the night’s masquerade, so she shuttled Duchess Genevieve’s gown to Louisa for last-minute alternations at an early hour.
When she entered the workroom, she stifled a gasp. There were fabrics strewn across
the floor, mannequins half dressed, and ribbons tangled in knots, spiraling from their spindles. In the thick of it was Louisa, so harried she barely noticed Cinderella’s presence.
“Where is everyone?” Cinderella asked.
“You mean the other seamstresses?” Thread dangled from Louisa’s mouth, and her fingers were covered in thimbles. “They’re at fittings. Is that from the duchess?”
“She needs the collar repaired.” Cinderella passed her the gown. “Why are you the only one here?”
“I have to stay. All the lords need their uniforms pressed, and the ladies need their gowns hemmed and bodices cinched. It goes on and on.” Louisa rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m the most junior, so I’m stuck with the cleaning and the mending. At this rate, I’ll need eight pairs of hands to finish before the ball.”
Cinderella glanced at the array of lavish finery. Some of the dresses flaunted the high empire waists that had been the fashion during the earlier part of King George’s reign, but a good majority of the gowns sported natural waists and puffed sleeves, with chokers and headbands to match. The style looked familiar. . . .
“I see you’ve discovered ‘the mysterious princess effect,’ ” said Louisa dryly.
Cinderella spun to face her friend. “What?”
“Seems the girl with the glass slipper has set off a new trend.”
Heat rose to Cinderella’s cheeks. “You mean they’re trying to dress like her?”
“Yes, but I don’t think it’ll help the prince notice any of them.” Louisa rolled her eyes. “Not when he’s so hopelessly in love.”
The sarcasm in her tone made Cinderella blink. “Then why bother?”
“Why not?” Louisa shrugged. “They’re rich, so what’s another ball gown to them? A lottery ticket, a chance to win the prince’s heart. I almost can’t blame them—can it even be love if they’ve only met once? That’s stuff made of fairy tales—‘and they lived happily ever after.’ ” Batting her eyelashes, Louisa fanned herself with the sleeve she was working on, then pretended to faint in her chair. She bounced up. “Real life doesn’t happen that way. In real life, you learn that Prince Charles gets terrible onion breath after dinner every night, that he has hairy warts all over his back, or that he dislikes dogs.”
So This is Love Page 15
