So This is Love

by Elizabeth Lim

  “I hope he doesn’t dislike dogs,” said Cinderella, not knowing whether to smile or frown.

  “Aren’t you the romantic?” Louisa laughed. She stabbed her needle into the pincushion and began folding the garment she’d just finished. “Fine, maybe not. But I don’t believe in love at first sight, do you?”

  “I think it happens.”

  “The king probably agrees with you. The seamstresses have a bet going on that the real point of this whole new rigmarole is finding the prince another bride.”

  Cinderella picked up a puddle of pink satin, fixing her stare a little too hard on its soft folds. “Doesn’t everyone think that?”

  Louisa shrugged. “Who can keep up with these royals? I certainly can’t. Last night, I didn’t arrive home until well after midnight, and even then I was up helping my mother sew until dawn.” She picked at one of her bandaged fingers. “She’s been flooded with dress requests for the masquerade.”

  “I could help,” suggested Cinderella, picking up a pair of light blue trousers from one of the baskets.

  “Don’t you have to assist the duchess?”

  “It’s early. She’s still asleep for now.”

  “All right, then take care of these.” Louisa practically tossed a pair of trousers at her. “It’s an urgent order. I’ll work on the duchess’s collar.”

  Cinderella claimed one of the three-legged stools in the corner and laid the pants on her lap. There was a note pinned to one of the legs that the left pocket needed to be mended.

  That would be easy enough. Cinderella reached for a needle and a spool of thread in a matching blue. As she tugged at the trouser pockets, a few handkerchiefs and an empty snuffbox fell out. Cinderella carefully put them aside and resumed her work only to find there were yet more hidden pockets in the trousers. One held an empty vial.

  “Whose are these?” she asked, turning them inside out.

  “I don’t know. They don’t usually tell us who the garments belong to, unless it’s a member of the royal family. Such pockets are commonplace enough.” Louisa grinned slyly. “Nobles need all sorts of hiding places for their fans and secret love letters.”

  “Secret love letters? You’re joking, aren’t you?”

  Louisa laughed. “What do you think the nobles do all day? They don’t have to toil for their wages like we do.”

  “The king works,” Cinderella reasoned, “and so does the Grand Duke.” If you call spying and scheming “work.”

  “True, but the rest of them busy themselves with balls and gossip.” Louisa sighed, staring longingly at the duchess’s gown. “And beautiful, beautiful dresses.”

  A strand of pearls had fallen off the trimming on one of the sleeves, and Louisa stroked her chin, studying how she should begin her work. “The lace on this alone costs a fortnight’s salary. Can you imagine owning a gown so beautiful?”

  She took the sleeves and tucked the dress under her chin, letting the skirt fall over her legs with a swoosh. Cinderella did the same, holding up the trousers and pretending to be a young lord.

  “Miss Louisa, would you do me the honor of a dance?” She bowed with a flourish, and Louisa curtsied; then the two girls danced to an imaginary waltz.

  “You know, you look a little like her.”

  Cinderella tilted her head. “Hmm?”

  “The runaway princess. Has anyone told you that? A couple of the girls from Blooms and Looms have mentioned it.”

  Cinderella’s mouth went instantly dry. Her throat constricted—could she trust Louisa with the truth? “Well, I . . . um, I—”

  Thankfully, at that instant, the door burst open and the two girls immediately rushed to the nearest chairs. In stormed Madame Irmina, heaping another basket of clothes by the ones already next to Louisa.

  “I see I was wrong about you,” Irmina said, frowning at Cinderella. “I reward you with a permanent position in the palace, and the first thing you do is stir up mischief with my niece! Disappointment always abounds when it comes to these new young hires.”

  “No, no, Madame Irmina,” said Cinderella. “I was just dropping off Her Highness’s gown—”

  “Then she was helping me with some of the mending. Truly, Aunt Irmina.”

  “I hope so,” Irmina replied, still frowning. “You girls better get back to work. There’s a ball tonight, and both your jobs are on the line.”

  When she left, Louisa erupted into laughter. “That was close. Did you see how cross she looked?” Louisa pretended to fan herself. “I think she isn’t happy unless she threatens at least one person’s job a day, old Aunt Spoilsport.”

  Cinderella smiled. “She’s not so bad. Compared to my stepmother, your aunt’s as gentle as a mouse.”

  At the memory, Cinderella’s amusement faded. She lowered her gaze so Louisa wouldn’t ask about her past and resumed work on the “urgent” trousers. Now that the pockets had been emptied, Cinderella quickly checked the material, especially the white stripes on the pant legs, for stains. As she finally began to sew, something rustled against her ankle.

  “What’s this?” she murmured to herself, removing several scraps of paper from yet another one of the hidden pockets. The papers had gone through the wash, smearing the ink, and while the writing was small and neat, it was barely legible. Cinderella glanced at the scraps to make sure they weren’t anything important, but the only words she could vaguely make out were concoction and pain. Not knowing what to do with them, she crumpled them into her pocket to throw away later.

  Louisa tilted her head at her. “You know, everyone says the duchess is such a terrible mistress, but you don’t seem to be that afraid of her.”

  “I’m not,” Cinderella admitted. “I’ve seen real cruelty, and the duchess is not even close. She can be difficult, but her heart is in the right place. Besides, she likes Bruno, and since adopting him, she’s been kind to me.”

  “Maybe, but I think there’s more to it than Bruno,” determined Louisa. “You just seem so cheerful, Cinderella—cheerful yet sad. I don’t know how to explain it, but I bet people find it difficult being angry with you. I wonder if that’s why the duchess likes you so much. Even Aunt Irmina does, even if she won’t admit it.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” said Cinderella dryly. The trousers were finished and she held them up, checking her handiwork. She had reason to be proud, and she moved on to the next garment. A rack of coats stood by one of the windows, and Cinderella wondered whether any of them might be the prince’s.

  What was he doing now, she wondered. Preparing for the ball—and a new bride?

  “You mentioned that most of the nobles busy themselves with gossip and balls,” she said, in as casual a tone as she could muster. “Is the prince like them?”

  “Prince Charles? Oh, no, no, he’s nothing like that.”

  “What . . . what do you know about him?”

  Louisa dipped her needle into the sleeve she was working on, then tied a finishing knot. “Not much. He’s been away at the Royal University for years. All I know is he wasn’t happy about the ball.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s all rumors, of course. But the king threw the ball the night the prince returned and invited every eligible maiden to attend. The prince didn’t have an inkling that it was happening until the night of, and everyone said he yawned during the introductions. I wouldn’t blame him—he must have been so tired from his journey home! A couple of the girls slipped out for half an hour to watch—they think he was about to leave entirely until he met the runaway princess.”

  Cinderella wished everyone would stop calling her a princess. “Did you see her?”

  “Only at a glance.” Louisa laughed. “My fingers were sore from all that sewing for the ball, so I left just as she arrived. I thought she was just a tardy noble. I could kick myself for missing all the fun.” She gave Cinderella sidelong glance. “But I’m going to stay longer this time.”

  “What about what your aunt said?”

  “
I’ll be careful, and I’m not the only one who’s sneaking out. After two parties in quick succession, who knows when the next one will be?” Louisa rifled through the basket Madame Irmina had left and fished out a dress. It wasn’t as sumptuous as the gown with the pearl trimming she’d danced with earlier, but the color matched her hazel eyes. “Look, the perfect gown just happened to land at my feet.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Cinderella breathed.

  Pressing the dress against herself, Louisa grinned. “You heard my aunt: this basket’s for next week. No one will miss it.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “If I tuck in the bodice a little, and add some lace to the sleeves . . . it’ll be just right for the ball. Will you come with me? It’ll be more fun if we go together.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t. I can’t risk it . . . I need this job.” Cinderella trained her gaze on the sleeve she was repairing. “I don’t have an aunt who’ll protect me if I get in trouble.”

  “Just for an hour?” Louisa pleaded. “Everyone’s invited, technically. Even us. Madame Irmina can’t fire us for that, no matter how much she wants to. She didn’t fire the girls who slipped out last time.”

  “But . . .”

  How could she tell Louisa that she was the mysterious princess? A part of her did want to go to the ball, even if the prince didn’t recognize her—just to spend time with her new friends.

  But a part of her also worried that her stepmother would be there.

  “My stepmother,” Cinderella finally admitted. “You asked if I had a home to go back to. I don’t, but I do have a family.” She stared at her hands. “My stepmother . . . she’ll be looking for me.”

  Sensing something was wrong, Louisa set down her work and sat beside Cinderella. “You sound afraid of her.”

  “She wasn’t good to me.” Cinderella swallowed, remembering. “My papa was lucky in his work and made a small fortune as a merchant. When he first married my stepmother, he helped her pay off her first husband’s debts. After he died, she took over the household, but she didn’t have any interest in taking over his business. Instead, she squandered the money on jewels for herself and dresses for her daughters. Times were difficult, and she had to dismiss most of the help. ‘Cinderella, we must all do our part,’ she told me. ‘My daughters are delicate creatures, but seeing as you are so strong, you must help with the housework for now.’

  “ ‘For now’ became ten years. Along with the housework, I did the sewing and the mending, the cleaning and the cooking . . . I even took care of the chickens and the cows.”

  “You were a servant for your family,” said Louisa with a little gasp.

  “It wasn’t so bad,” Cinderella began, but as soon as she said it, she realized that wasn’t true. It had been terrible; she’d just tried not to acknowledge it.

  “Not so bad?” Louisa said. “That sounds horrible.” She scooted her stool closer to Cinderella’s and lowered her voice. “So you ran away. What made you finally decide enough was enough?”

  Cinderella pursed her lips, an ache rising in her chest. The truth hurt. “She wanted to sell me.”

  “Sell you?” Louisa’s eyes bulged.

  “She hired a man to take me away from Aurelais.” Cinderella clutched her skirt, recalling the terrifying night and her harrowing escape. “Someplace so far I wouldn’t be able to come back.”

  Horror etched itself on Louisa’s face, and she squeezed Cinderella’s arm.

  “It’s all right,” said Cinderella, but her voice trembled as she spoke. “That’s how you found me on the road. . . . I jumped out of the coach and tumbled onto the street. It was raining hard, and Bruno and I didn’t have anywhere to go.”

  “You’re safe now,” promised Louisa. “You won’t ever have to go back.”

  Cinderella nodded mutely and started to reach for another garment to sew, but Louisa kept her hand on her arm.

  “I can’t promise tonight’s masquerade will erase what awful things your stepmother’s done to you, but it will be a start. Don’t let fear of my aunt be what’s keeping you from going to the ball. She acts tough because it’s her job, but she’s soft at heart.”

  “Really?”

  “If she catches us at the ball, we might get extra chores . . . but it’ll be worth it for a night to remember. She was young once, too, though it’s hard to imagine.”

  Cinderella chuckled. “Was she a troublemaker like you?”

  “Mama says she was worse! How she ended up in charge of Blooms and Looms is a miracle.” Louisa clasped her hands. “If you see your stepmother at the ball, tell me and we’ll leave right away. Friends watch over each other.”

  That made Cinderella smile. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a true human friend. It’d been years since she’d had someone her age she could talk to.

  It would be nice to go with Louisa. Cinderella pursed her lips, considering. And besides, while she was there, she could see what the Grand Duke was up to. Perhaps she could discover something useful for either the duchess or her godmother.

  “You know what?” she said slowly. “You’re right. I will go.”

  Louisa clapped her hands with delight. “Do you want to meet at sundown?”

  Her spirits buoyed, Cinderella smiled at her friend. “Yes.”

  “I’ll come to your room,” promised Louisa. “I have the perfect dress in mind for you.”

  Dusk fell swiftly, and as the rumbling of carriages arriving outside the ballroom pierced the palace’s usual calm—reaching even Cinderella’s ears as she outfitted the duchess in her royal accoutrements—she grew more and more anxious.

  “You keep looking out the window,” rebuked Genevieve. “Are diamonds falling from the sky, or is there some other reason I am unworthy of your attention?”

  “Neither, Your Highness,” Cinderella replied, chastened.

  With a frown, the duchess examined the chignon Cinderella had arranged. “Hmm. It’ll do. But good heavens, you certainly are distracted this evening. You’ve missed a button.” Genevieve lifted her chin so Cinderella could refasten the back of her collar. “You’re jumpy as a catfish, girl, and you’re not even the one being welcomed back to court!”

  Unable to deny it, Cinderella bit her lip.

  “What is it?” persisted the duchess. “Are you planning to sneak into the ball?”

  “Is it sneaking if all the eligible young ladies in the kingdom are invited?”

  Genevieve arched an elegant eyebrow and bent to stroke Bruno’s ears. “That was the last ball, Cindergirl. This one is expressly by invitation only. That way if any young lady decides to dash off, Charles will at least know her name.”

  As if he understood the duchess’s barbed remark, Bruno sank deeper into his cushioned bed. Cinderella wished she could do the same.

  “I was only going to go for an hour with a friend. I’ve never—”

  “No more.” Genevieve held up her fan, silencing Cinderella. “I do not want to be an accomplice in your illicit outing. I’m sure Madame Irmina has given you girls her fair warning about sneaking out to the ball.”

  “She has,” Cinderella said. A twinge of panic riddled her nerves. “Ma’am, I—”

  “I said I don’t want to hear it.” The duchess sprang from her seat, gliding toward a ribboned box that Cinderella had brought to her chambers earlier.

  “Open this,” she ordered Cinderella.

  Carefully undoing the ribbon, Cinderella lifted the box’s lid. Inside were three masks. The duchess removed two, holding them up.

  “I had these made for the masquerade, but the shopkeeper was overzealous and sent me too many. I only need one.” Genevieve laid the masks side by side on the table. The green one was decorated with peacock feathers accented with violet and indigo gems, and the white one resembled a swan; its feathers were opalescent, with a band of black velvet around the eyes.

  “They’re beautiful,” Cinderella said admiringly.

  “Take them. One for you and one for your friend.”

/>   Cinderella drew a sharp breath, surprised by the duchess’s offer. “I couldn’t.”

  “Take them, Cindergirl. That’s an order.” Genevieve pushed the masks into her hands. “If you’re going to break the rules, do it properly—and with style. Besides, they don’t go with my gown.”

  Cinderella brushed her fingers over the swan mask’s delicate feathers. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  “No need to thank me. Just make sure when you report to work tomorrow morning you have your head out of the clouds. Off you go. My nephew will be here to escort me to the ball any moment now.”

  At the mention of Prince Charles, Cinderella’s heart skipped a beat. Part of her wanted to encounter him again, and part of her dreaded it more than anything.

  “Yes, ma’am.” She curtsied. “I hope you have a grand time.”

  The clock struck eight as Cinderella hurried back to her room, where Louisa, already dressed for the ball, was waiting.

  “You look beautiful!” exclaimed Cinderella.

  “Keep your voice down,” whispered her friend, though she beamed at the compliment. “Aunt Irmina’s still upstairs.” Then Louisa twirled, showing off her olive-green gown and the gold trimming she’d added to its cuffs. “Wait until you see yours.”

  “I’ve got something, too. Look what the duchess gave us.” Cinderella opened the hatbox, and Louisa’s eyes widened.

  “They’re exquisite,” she breathed, picking up the swan mask. “This will go wonderfully with your dress.”

  Louisa stepped aside, lifting the pale pink gown draped over Cinderella’s changing screen. Its fluted sleeves shimmered with tiny crystals overlaid upon the gossamer silk, and the skirt, dappled with gentle threads of silver, seemed to dance off the candlelight against the wooden floor.