“I want to help you,” said Cinderella. “I want magic to return to Aurelais.”
Lenore shook her head sadly. “That would take a miracle.”
“You once told me miracles take a little time.”
“Perhaps not this one.”
Cinderella wouldn’t give up. “Why does the Grand Duke hate fairies so much? Why did the king exile you from Aurelais?”
“That is a story for another time, Cinderella.” Her godmother patted her shoulder and then, with a flick of her wand, began to vanish. “Focus on your own happiness. Find your own miracle.”
“But—” Cinderella started.
Lenore stopped her with a sad smile. Then the fairy godmother touched her forehead to Cinderella’s and disappeared.
The next morning, Cinderella couldn’t stop thinking about her conversation with Lenore. But, of course, duty called, and she knew the seamstresses would be busy preparing for the night’s masquerade, so she shuttled Duchess Genevieve’s gown to Louisa for last-minute alternations at an early hour.
When she entered the workroom, she stifled a gasp. There were fabrics strewn across the floor, mannequins half dressed, and ribbons tangled in knots, spiraling from their spindles. In the thick of it was Louisa, so harried she barely noticed Cinderella’s presence.
“Where is everyone?” Cinderella asked.
“You mean the other seamstresses?” Thread dangled from Louisa’s mouth, and her fingers were covered in thimbles. “They’re at fittings. Is that from the duchess?”
“She needs the collar repaired.” Cinderella passed her the gown. “Why are you the only one here?”
“I have to stay. All the lords need their uniforms pressed, and the ladies need their gowns hemmed and bodices cinched. It goes on and on.” Louisa rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m the most junior, so I’m stuck with the cleaning and the mending. At this rate, I’ll need eight pairs of hands to finish before the ball.”
Cinderella glanced at the array of lavish finery. Some of the dresses flaunted the high empire waists that had been the fashion during the earlier part of King George’s reign, but a good majority of the gowns sported natural waists and puffed sleeves, with chokers and headbands to match. The style looked familiar. . . .
“I see you’ve discovered ‘the mysterious princess effect,’ ” said Louisa dryly.
Cinderella spun to face her friend. “What?”
“Seems the girl with the glass slipper has set off a new trend.”
Heat rose to Cinderella’s cheeks. “You mean they’re trying to dress like her?”
“Yes, but I don’t think it’ll help the prince notice any of them.” Louisa rolled her eyes. “Not when he’s so hopelessly in love.”
The sarcasm in her tone made Cinderella blink. “Then why bother?”
“Why not?” Louisa shrugged. “They’re rich, so what’s another ball gown to them? A lottery ticket, a chance to win the prince’s heart. I almost can’t blame them—can it even be love if they’ve only met once? That’s stuff made of fairy tales—‘and they lived happily ever after.’ ” Batting her eyelashes, Louisa fanned herself with the sleeve she was working on, then pretended to faint in her chair. She bounced up. “Real life doesn’t happen that way. In real life, you learn that Prince Charles gets terrible onion breath after dinner every night, that he has hairy warts all over his back, or that he dislikes dogs.”
“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—”