She nodded to the stove and Andi helped herself to a heaping bowl of mush she supposed was porridge. With a little cream and a few strawberries Ann smuggled her from the garden, it was heavenly.
A faint pounding sounded through the house just as she finished breakfast. She froze and listened, like a frightened deer. The pounding came again, and this time she was positive it was from the front door. She launched herself out of her seat, knocking it over, and shot out of the kitchen, nearly careening into one of the other servants yelling, "I've got it!"
Andi yanked open the door, startling a young man in fancy livery bearing a crest matching the one on the fake invitation.
The stranger collected himself, straightened the short red jacket he wore and asked, "Is the lady of the house home?"
"Sorry," Andi replied a bit breathless. She took a deep breath, trying to slow down and calm her nerves. "That is, she’s still asleep. Can I give her a message?"
The young man handed over an envelope identical to the one Quinn gave her last night with a flourish. "Please see she receives this as soon as possible." With a sharp bow, he turned on his heel and was gone.
Andi whipped the envelope into the opposite pocket and spun around, triumphant at having intercepted it so smoothly. There at the bottom of the stairs, dazed, was Lady Wellington.
"Who was that?" Her eyes were unfocused and she put a hand against the wall, swaying slightly.
"He delivered this." Andi thrust her hand in her pocket and held out the invitation Quinn prepared the night before, praying Lady Wellington hadn't been standing there long.
She took the envelope in a limp hand and flipped it to the back where the king’s distinctive seal begged to be recognized. Bringing her other hand up to clutch the letter as if strangling it, her face paled.
With a wrench, she tore open the envelope and let the pieces flutter to the floor. Lady Wellington held the contents reverently in her hands as her eyes skipped quickly across the page. Her face lit up in a wild grin and it was a moment before she noticed Andi still standing there expectantly.
"You," she locked on Andi like a target, "bring up the breakfast trays. Now!" Without another glance, she skipped up the stairs as fast as her kitten heels would allow, all the while squealing, "Girls, up! You'll never believe what arrived this morning!"
Andi dashed back to the kitchen where she tore open the letter the footman had delivered.
Ann watched warily from across her dough. "Where did you—oh, I don't want to know, I do not want to know."
Andi ignored her and read the invitation out loud:
Queen Gisela
requests your presence at a feast in honor of her son,
Prince Wilhelm,
on the tenth day of September
at the Habsburg Palace.
Dinner at 8:00, dancing to follow.
Andi glanced up at Ann, who had stopped halfway through a smack on the dough. "What’s today?"
"They haven't hosted a feast in 50 years." Ann’s eyes hadn't moved from the invitation.
"Ann! What day is it?" Andi said.
Ann blinked. "Friday the tenth, I believe."
"Cyn-thi-a! Where-are-the-breakfast-trays?" Lady Wellington's shrill voice punched each word, her voice echoing down the stairs.
"I forgot!" Andi launched into action, trying to figure out how she was going to carry up three trays at once.
Ann thrust two trays in her hands and Quinn was suddenly standing in front of her with the third. She was dressed in an apron and cap, her long hair braided and tucked out of the way. Andi was half curious, half alarmed to see it now hung down to her knees.
“What—?" Andi began, but Quinn placed a finger to her lips and bumped her gently with her hip to get her going. She trailed Andi silently up the stairs, keeping her cap pulled low and her head down.
Andi reached Coriander's door first. Hushed voices drifted over the threshold, the tone secrets reside in. She paused and tried to listen. Quinn leaned in too.
"...don't see the point." Coriander's gruff tones floated out into the hall.
"We know that Cynthia always managed to weasel her way into the prince’s good graces when she was here. We both know that is not Cynthia." Lady Wellington's voice was barely a whisper.
"So you're saying we might have a real chance at the prince?" Portia chimed in.
"I'm saying she doesn't know anything and will have none of Cynthia's tricks up her sleeve." Lady Wellington's voice dripped with acid. "So you might be best employed making yourself presentable, if either of you have any inclination of someday being the queen."
Standing on the other side of the door, Quinn raised a silent eyebrow at Andi as if to say, "That's what they think."
A crash sounded and the door flung open. Portia catapulted down the hall toward her own room, mowing over Andi in her rush. She didn't even glance at the two girls. Andi stuck her head in Coriander's room to find her upending her wardrobe all over her bed.
She screamed abuse at her silk dresses and acres of accessories doing a very poor job of appearing acceptable. Lady Wellington watched impassively. Suddenly, it seemed, Coriander had no difficulty using her ankle.
"Breakfast?" Andi asked.
Lady Wellington gave her a bored look. "Aren't you a dear? Just set it there, you can bring Portia's to her room."
Andi wasn't quite sure how to take the civil tone. "What's going on?" she asked as Coriander hurtled articles of clothing around the room.
"Oh, we just received an invitation to... a fundraiser. Last minute nuisance, really. They're usually quite boring." Lady Wellington studied her reflection in the mirror, patting her hair. "But one must make an appearance at these things, you know. Cindy," her voice was honey coated now, "would you be a saint and help the girls get ready?"
Andi's gaze darted to the door, trying to plan her escape. "Sure," she said slowly.
Lady Wellington rose grandly to her feet like she wore a queen’s gown instead of a robe. She wrapped it around her more tightly and sashayed out of the room. "I'd better get ready too. Come see me in five minutes, I'm going to need someone to air out my gown."
Andi nodded dumbly. Lady Wellington drifted past Quinn, whose head was ducked so low all you could see was her cap. The evil stepmother didn’t even flick her eyes in Quinn’s direction.
"What was with them this morning?" Andi asked Quinn, making their way down the hallway at a slow crawl, holding a whispered conversation. "They slept in so late, and when they did get up, they were really groggy. It was like they were drugged."
"Oh, that,” Quinn said, shifting the tray in her arms. “Dylan may, or may not have, found some horse tranquilizers in the barn. And he may, or may not have, dissolved one in their wine last night."
Andi gaped, but her shock was quickly replaced by a grin that spread over her face to match Quinn’s broad smile. She got a case of the giggles so badly, it was several seconds before she could move at all.
The entire day was spent primping and polishing the three women upstairs for their night out. For Andi this meant countless hours of verbal abuse and infinite trips up and down the stairs, fetching odds and ends from all over the house. Andi sent Quinn down to her room to read over the book of fairy tales in preparation for that night. Quinn tried to protest, arguing she would be more help waiting on the demands of the wretched sisters upstairs, but Andi was firm.
"Unexpected fairy godmothers or mice talking along with the birds would complicate things.” She thrust the real invitation in her hand and gave her a friendly shove. “Go. Read."
Fortunately, one sister or the other sent her into town several times for a new pair of shoes, or a specific pair of gloves. These errands she passed off to Fredrick and Dylan.
Andi barreled into the barn where the boys were trying to stay out of the way. “Here,” she said, pushing a slip of paper at Dylan.
“What else could they possibly need?” Dylan asked, raising his eyebrows as he took the list from Andi. “Be
sides a membership to Weight Watchers and some major plastic surgery, that is.”
“Cyn-thi-a!”
Coriander’s shriek was faint, but the fact it could be heard in the barn was impressive.
“You can trade places with me at any time,” Andi said, turning on her heel.
Chapter 22
"You never know what might happen at these… fundraisers, after all."
Dylan followed the road that passed in front of the house and reached toward the shops.
“What’s on the list?” Fredrick asked, keeping pace beside him.
“Just one thing: silk stockings, size triple-X.” Dylan grinned at Fredrick. “No need to guess who those are for.”
Feet pounded behind them on the packed dirt road. Turning, Dylan found Quinn jogging to catch up.
“Mind if I tag along? I’m going to need a dress for tonight.” She looked them up and down. “And so are you.” She colored a little and wouldn’t meet Fredrick’s eyes. “A tux, I mean. You’ll both need a tux.”
Immediately interested in the fashion dilemma, Dylan pictured outlandish hats and wondered if could pull off wearing a monocle. Fredrick frowned and hunched his shoulders. He was probably dreading the process of getting fitted and having people staring at him.
The road they were on was the only one into the tiny town, starting at the train station and dead-ending at the market. The shops were tucked back in the fringes of the trees, often using a trunk as one wall, or an overhead branch to support a roof.
The first night they were there getting supplies for Andi, the place was deserted. It hadn’t been very late, and the shops were still open, but Dylan could count on one hand how many people they bumped into. The lone salespeople they encountered in each store were surly, bordering on lethargic, and the merchandise was in sorry shape, with layers of dust coating everything.
Now, the closer they got, the more they were jostled by throngs of people dashing back and forth with hat boxes, wrapped parcels, and dry cleaner bags.
Quinn veered suddenly away and headed for a small shop tucked off the main road. A second hand store had been built into the treetops with a hand-lettered sign in the window: The Dragon’s Horde. Standing in front of the large display window, arms crossed, head tilted back, she looked inside. Nodding once to herself, she waved the guys on and climbed the rope ladder, the only way up and inside.
“There’s the kind of girl you should be shopping with,” Dylan told Fredrick as Quinn shimmied up the tree. “One that can make a quick decision.” He clapped him on the back, and steered him farther into town. “Ready to buy some stockings?”
A line of gabbing women wound out of the door of the dress shop where Dylan had purchased gloves for Andi earlier in the day. Fredrick twitched nervously the entire time they were in the store on their first trip, and the mass of twittering women wasn’t likely to help him relax this time either.
“Why don’t you just—” Dylan turned to find Fredrick halfway across the street, his shoulders hunched, the back of his neck bright red. He was headed straight to After Midnight, a gentleman’s clothing shop. A life-size stuffed grizzly bear proudly wearing a tuxedo was on display by the front door. Whatever Fredrick’s misgivings about getting into a tux for tonight, it must have looked better than what Dylan was heading into.
After ducking into The Sweet Tooth for a bribe, Dylan crossed to the dress shop. He prodded his way through the crowd at the door under a half lit neon sign, Dress to Empress. He winked at the line of women who scowled at his passing. He looked around the cluster of women waiting to try and find Gretel, whose palatable loneliness made her the perfect candidate for Dylan’s charm on his last visit.
He almost ran smack into her, looking harried with a pair of pink heels dangling from two fingers and a flurry of hats taking up the rest of the space in her arms.
“Just the girl I was coming to see,” Dylan said, flashing her his biggest smile.
“Were the gloves not right?” Gretel asked, the adoration in her eyes dimming slightly.
“How could they not be? You picked them out.” Dylan swooped in and with one swift movement transferred the girl’s armload of women’s paraphernalia into the arms of a faceless mannequin wearing nothing but a pair of leopard skin boots. He slipped a small box into Gretel’s hands.
Her cheeks turned pink. “You shouldn’t have,” she said, lifting the lid.
“Someone needs to spoil you,” he replied, attempting to be bashful and failing miserably.
“My favorites,” she swooned, nibbling the edge of a chocolate. “How did you know?”
“Lucky guess,” Dylan said, putting his arm around her shoulders and gently turning her away from the line of angry women at the door.
Luck had nothing to do with it. She’d mentioned her sweet tooth on his last visit. He’d just gone next door and asked for her usual.
“She sent me back for a pair stockings,” Dylan said apologetically, handing her the slip of paper. Gretel clutched the paper and her chocolates, but didn’t look at either, instead choosing to grin dopily into Dylan’s eyes. “You know how sisters can be,” he said with a laugh and a shrug as he gently propelled her toward the stocking display. She nodded happily, oblivious to the mass of impatient women fuming around her.
Day had slipped into evening when Andi was summoned upstairs for "the finishing touches,” as Lady Wellington put it. Andi’s feet were tender to the touch and it was agony to place one foot in front of the other. She was so tired her eyes burned when she blinked.
Another hour of tightening corsets (did people still wear those?) arranging hair, fastening buttons, and sliding on shoes, then finally—finally—they bobbed down the stairs. Powdered and pinned within an inch of their lives, they all grasped their Louis Vuitton clutches and tripped out the door in Jimmy Choo heels.
Andi handed them into the open topped carriage retrofitted with running board lights.
"Cynthia, sweetness." Lady Wellington didn't look at her as she arranged her skirts on the leather seats. "You've worked so hard today getting your sisters ready, why don't you take the night off?"
Coriander gave Andi a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Andi took perverse pleasure in the smear of lipstick on Coriander’s front teeth. "You never know what might happen at these… fundraisers, after all."
Portia gave an unladylike snort and Lady Wellington tittered behind a gloved hand before rippling her fingers in Andi's direction. The driver snapped the reins and they disappeared into the night. Good riddance.
Quinn, dressed in a sleek red evening gown that reached to her ankles, appeared beside Andi before the carriage was even out of sight. A small bustle in the back of her dress bespoke Victorian times, but the top was strapless, and a silk sash in a twisted teardrop pattern slung horizontal from shoulder to hip. Her dark complexion and brown almond-shaped eyes were set off by traditional Indian jewelry that dipped from the part in her hair to right above her eyebrows.
She was striking. Her yards of hair were intricately braided and piled high on her head, crowned with a few dyed feathers.
Quinn twirled. "What do you think?"
"You look amazing,” Andi said as her took in her ensemble. "You may need to tone it down a bit, or the prince won't even see me.” Andi gave her a tired smile.
Quinn laughed and headed back to the house. "Come on Cinderella, let's get you dressed."
Chapter 23
“Should I be looking for a pumpkin to turn into a coach?"
"Quinn!" Andi called after her.
Turning, Quinn found Andi stumbling along in her wake.
"I don't know how I'm supposed to attend a ball tonight. I can barely walk."
"Feast," Quinn corrected, wrapping an arm around Andi and propelling her forward. "Although there will be dancing too."
Andi groaned.
"Don't you know how to dance?"
"Of course I know how to dance,” Andi snorted. “I'm simply not looking forward to doing it on two
swollen feet."
"Sorry. We'll let you sit down as much as possible. Maybe I can rummage up a few painkillers left over from Fredrick's ten-point landing.”
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see,” Quinn said, enjoying keeping Andi in the dark as long as possible.
They stepped through the kitchen door into the stillness of the courtyard, the tree standing sentinel in the center. Even Quinn could feel its life pulsing from yards away, like it breathed in and out. Andi tilted her head up to the branches as Quinn dragged her across the stunted grass. The last of the sunset filtered through the branches, causing the tree to glow.
The boys both wore tails and white bow ties. Tuxes probably hadn’t changed dramatically in the last 200 years. Quinn hid a smile and tried to ignore the blush she felt creeping up her neck at how well Fredrick's tall frame looked in the formal wear, even though he kept shifting his weight from side to side with nervous energy. In complete contrast, Dylan was clearly looking for attention with a top hat, gloves, and a pocket watch he pretended to frown at as the girls approached.
Quinn stole a look at Andi, and although the shorter girl narrowed her eyes at Dylan with a stern frown, she couldn’t completely control the smile playing around the corners of her lips that hinted at the fact he cleaned up pretty well. It would never do to let him know, though—they’d never hear the end of it.
Dylan offered Andi her cloak, which he had draped over one arm, and her grandmother's shoes that hung from his two fingers.
"You found them!" Andi stroked the soft fabric.
"I assumed that evil stepmother didn't wear them tonight because there is no way she would fit in them. You’re a midget,” Dylan said.
"Thank you,” she said wryly and turned her attention to Fredrick. "How did the stocking buying go, Fredrick?"
Quinn smiled at Andi’s need to needle him.
"We found out I look best in a medium, nude, with control top." Dylan snapped the watch shut. "Do you really think he went into a woman's underwear shop?" Dylan shook his head. "I went, of course."
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