“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 wereconcoctionandpain. 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?”
