“Hand those here,” she said, taking the books. The duchess barely glanced at them. She pushed them to the side of her desk and collapsed onto the brocade daybed in her parlor.
“What is wrong with this dog?” she demanded.
Hastily setting aside the book, Cinderella asked, “What do you mean, Your Highness?”
“I bring him here, out of the gutters into one of the grandest apartments in the palace, but all he does is stare mournfully at the door. I do not understand him at all.”
“Where is he now?” As soon as Cinderella asked, Bruno started scratching against the bedroom door.
Genevieve opened it, and he practically leapt into Cinderella’s arms.
Forgetting her present company, Cinderella embraced him, stroking his fur and tickling his ears.
“Ahem.”
The duchess was watching them with a stern expression. Quickly rising again, Cinderella nudged Bruno toward the duchess.
Genevieve rubbed one of his floppy ears, and after his hesitation eased, Bruno luxuriated in the attention. She drew back her hand. “When was the last time he had a bath?”
Before Cinderella could reply, the duchess fluttered her fingers at her. “No, don’t tell me. I’d rather not know. I don’t see any fleas, thankfully. See to it that he is washed tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Duchess Genevieve sighed, petting Bruno again. “You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a dog. I didn’t expect to find this mongrel so delightful, and yet he grows on you quite unexpectedly.”
It wasn’t the first time a smile had graced the duchess’s lips, but as before, her expression quickly became stern once again. “How did this creature come to you?”
“My father and I found him on the street outside our home,” Cinderella said. “I was nine, and my mother had just passed away.” Her throat tightened. “He looked lonely, like my papa and me, so we took him in.”
“Sometimes I wish George would get a dog,” Genevieve said with a harrumph. “Though I guess he’s got a pack of other animals nipping at his feet.”
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
“Oh, all the gentry and the lords on the council. The Grand Duke, especially. But a real dog would do him good. It would do Charles good, too.”
Cinderella inhaled at the mention of the prince. “Why is that?”
“His mother died when he was a young boy, too, of course,” mused the duchess. She cleared her throat, as if suddenly aware she was sharing too much. “And why the name Bruno?”
“My papa picked it. He said it meant ‘brown,’ like his coat. But also ‘protector.’ We didn’t mean to keep him at first. But he came to us looking so starved and sad that we took him in, and once he’d been fed, Papa and I couldn’t part with him.” Cinderella smiled at Bruno. “He’s been my sweetest companion ever since. And my most loyal protector.”
“I like dogs much more than people,” said the duchess. “For that very reason—they don’t let you down as much.” She sniffed. “I have six children, you know, but my husband died three years ago. He was a good, practical man, one who never grew up with a golden spoon in his mouth or with a crown dangling over his head. My children, on the other hand...” She shuddered.
“When Arthur died, he left the estate to me instead of our eldest son. Unheard of! My children love me, but they rarely visit anymore. They say I embarrass them by throwing away our wealth to charity and hobnobbing with poor intellectuals. So you see, even though I’m always surrounded by people, it is rather lonely sometimes.”
Cinderella understood, more than she could express. Her heart opened to the duchess, and she began to wonder why the duke disliked her so much. “Then why don’t you visit more?”
“Visit George?” Genevieve’s shoulders shook with mirth, but her expression grew quickly somber. “Perhaps I should have. Charles has been away at school, and I suppose I never forgave George for casting Arthur away from court. I can hold grudges for years, you see, and I left with a promise never to return.”
A promise never to return?Cinderella bit her lip to contain her curiosity. What did that mean?
“But now here I am, back again in the palace.” Genevieve cleared her throat. “Tell me, what does your father do?”
“My father passed away a long time ago,” Cinderella said softly.
“I see. You must miss your parents terribly.”
“Every day,” confessed Cinderella, swallowing the lump in her throat. It had been so long since she’d permitted herself to mourn her parents. While she had lived with her stepmother, Lady Tremaine kept her so busy that she hadn’t had much time to think about her father or her mother. But now she missed them more than ever.
