“It means we’ll be staying all night at the palace,” someone protested. “Polishing the silver and mopping the floors.”
“Your duty is to the crown,” said Irmina harshly. “Anyone who objects will see themselves with a double shift and half pay for the rest of the month.” She scanned the girls, one thin eyebrow raised as if daring anyone else to complain. Then she let out a breath. “Now I know this is unexpected and will mean extra obligations for all, but if it is any consolation, the ball will be in honor of Her Highness, the Duchess Genevieve d’Orlanne—and it is to be... a masquerade.”
A masquerade in honor of the duchess? Cinderella’s attention reeled.
Had Duchess Genevieve changed her mind about suggesting a second ball to the king? She hadn’t said anything about a ball welcoming her to Aurelais—certainly not at such short notice. Then again, the king’s sister had been irritable and curt ever since the night before. Cinderella wondered what could have upset her.
“You look like you just ate a piece of bad cheese,” Louisa said, elbowing Cinderella in the side.
“I do?” Cinderella asked faintly.
“You ought to be relieved. As the duchess’s attendant, you don’t have to help with the cleaning, or the sewing, or the cooking. Only dressing your mistress to the nines, obliging her every whim and fancy, and helping her scour Valors for the perfect mask to go with her hair.”
It took Cinderella a moment to realize her friend was joking.
Louisa touched her shoulder. “I’ve heard the duchess can be difficult. Let me know if you need any help with anything.”
“She isn’t so bad,” Cinderella replied. When Louisa gave her an incredulous look, she insisted, “Really.”
“Before any of you get any ideas,” continued Madame Irmina, “understand that anyone who is found sneaking off into the ball will be discharged immediately.” Her gaze swept across the room. “I will not be as forgiving as I was the last time.”
“Aunt Spoilsport,” Louisa muttered. She turned to Cinderella, whispering, “Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to go.”
“I don’t plan on going.”
“What?”
Before Cinderella could reply, Irmina announced, “You are all dismissed.” Then she spun to face the two girls. “Except you, Cinderella. A word.”
Cinderella blinked, unsure of what she could possibly want.
“Ahem,” said Irmina, looking pointedly at Cinderella until she glanced down and realized her sash was crooked. Irmina waited until it was fixed before continuing, “You’ve lasted longer than I expected, and it appears Her Highness actually finds you a competent royal attendant. I have determined that you may stay—at least for the duration of Her Highness’s visit.”
“Oh, thank you!” Cinderella clasped her hands together and nearly hugged Louisa’s aunt. It wasn’t a permanent position, but it was a start. She’d continue to earn wages, and if she saved wisely, she might even be able to open a shop one day, like Louisa’s mother.
“Don’t thank me.” Madame Irmina didn’t smile, but she didn’t frown, either. That was a start, Cinderella supposed. “You do your job, and you don’t cause any mischief. Eyes to the ground and ears tuned to the bells, understood?”
As if on cue, the duchess’s call bell tolled, clattering loudly against the wall.
“Now, off with you. Make the duchess happy so she doesn’t give my girls any extra work before the masquerade.”
“I’ll try,” Cinderella promised, buoyed by Madame Irmina’s newfound trust in her.
Unfortunately, when Cinderella returned to the royal apartments it appeared the duchess was not in a better mood.
“There you are,” huffed Genevieve. “I thought I’d have to send a search party to get you.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Madame Irmina called us for a staff meeting.”
“I didn’t ask for an explanation. Only that you be prompt.”
Cinderella’s shoulders fell. Whatever rapport she had established with the Duchess of Orlanne seemed long forgotten; for whatever reason, the king’s sister was preoccupied by something that greatly vexed her.
“It’s getting late, and there is much for you to do before tomorrow.”
“Will you need a gown fitted, ma’am?” Cinderella asked as she tidied up the spread of teacups and empty plates scattered around Genevieve’s sitting room.
“A gown? Whatever for?”
