So This is Love

by Elizabeth Lim

  “I’m the reason she’s late,” Cinderella spoke up. “Please don’t punish her on my behalf.”

  No, Louisa mouthed, trying to wave her away. “Get back in the hall,” she whispered.

  But it was too late.

  Madame Irmina spun to face her. “And who are you?”

  “Cinderella, ma’am.”

  A deep frown set Irmina’s tight features. “There is no Cinderella among my girls.”

  “I brought her,” Louisa said. “We’ll be in need of more staff if there’s to be a new princess, and she’s a decent seamstress—”

  “And who are you to judge whether someone is a decent seamstress?” Madame Irmina said testily. “I make the decisions regarding the household, and we do not need another seamstress.”

  “She has no other place to go. I found her on the street.”

  “The street!” Irmina repeated with horror. “You cannot simply bring runaways into the palace. There is a long interview process. Not just anyone is fit to serve His Royal Majesty’s household. References must be made and inquired after.”

  “Please,” begged Cinderella. “I have nowhere else to go. I can cook and clean and sew—”

  “This is the palace.” Madame Irmina sniffed. “If we wanted just anyone who could cook and clean and sew, we would have asked for a wench from the local tavern.”

  “Have a heart, Aunt Irmina,” repeated Louisa.

  “That’s Madame to you,” Irmina snapped. “Rules are rules. She will have to go. There’s absolutely no room. And as for you, Louisa, it’s high time I had a word with you. If it weren’t for your mother—”

  Before she could finish, a bell clanged behind Madame Irmina and she stiffened. Cinderella glanced behind her, noticing once again the wall mounted with dozens of bells, all coded with different stripes of color. The one ringing was in the top row, labeled with a stripe of blue paint.

  All the servants immediately scrambled to form a long straight line in the reception room. Booted footsteps echoed down the hall, and a tall figure approached.

  “What is this din?” entered a new voice. Aristocratic and exasperated.

  Louisa nudged Cinderella to take a place beside her at the end of the line. Cinderella straightened and bent her head, copying everyone’s posture. But she peeked up at the last moment, curious what was going on and who this visitor might be.

  As soon as the door into the servants’ quarters opened, she let out a quiet gasp.

  It was the Grand Duke.

  She had only caught a glimpse of him during the ball, and again when he’d visited the chateau. His black hair was smoothly combed, a monocle hung on a golden chain from his coat pocket, and his blue epaulets bounced slightly as he walked.

  He looked tired. His eyes were bloodshot, mustache flat and uncombed.

  “That’s the Grand Duke,” Louisa whispered, assuming Cinderella didn’t know. “He’s the king’s closest confidant and adviser. Some say he’s become the most powerful man in Aurelais.”

  “Besides the king, of course?” Cinderella whispered back, but Louisa didn’t get a chance to reply.

  “Your Grace,” blustered Madame Irmina, “I was not expecting you.”

  The Grand Duke surveyed the line of female servants with a curled lip. “Disorder is the precursor of disgrace,” he said. “I expected more of you, Madame Irmina. Your girls seem to have forgotten their manners.”

  At once, all the young women in the room curtsied. The move did not seem to mollify the Grand Duke, however, for he simply sniffed in disdain.

  “He’s been in a foul mood ever since that mysterious princess vanished from the ball,” Louisa whispered.

  At the mention of the mysterious “princess,” Cinderella’s knees stiffened. “Why?”

  “The princess left a shoe at the ball. A glass slipper, so I hear. It’s all the prince has of her, so he sent the Grand Duke all over Aurelais to find her.” Louisa let out a quiet sigh. “It’s so terribly romantic. They say the prince will go to the ends of the earth to find her. All day and night the duke’s been searching, but no luck so far. Can’t be long now, though it is odd she hasn’t come forth herself. I know I would if I had a chance to marry the prince. I’ll bet the duke’s going to start the search again today.”

  “What happens if he doesn’t find her?” murmured Cinderella.

  “The king’s fickle.” Louisa leaned closer, lowering her voice. “On a good day, the duke might get away with a rap on his knuckles. But His Majesty’s been extra irritable lately, and he’s very keen on the prince finding a bride right away—says it’s a matter of national importance. So who knows?”

  That was news to Cinderella, though she supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. A ball that invited every eligible maiden to attend could only be intended for one purpose: to find the prince a wife. Was that the only reason he had danced with her—to please his father? She wondered what he had thought of it all.

  “Ahem,” said the Grand Duke loudly, the rebuke aimed at Louisa and Cinderella.

  Louisa’s cheeks burned, and she curtsied lower. Cinderella did the same.

  “I don’t recognize you,” said the duke, pausing in front of Cinderella.

  “She’s a trainee, Your Grace,” offered Louisa.

  “A trainee?” He inclined his chin at Madame Irmina. “Is this the new attendant you hired for the duchess?”

  “Oh,” Madame Irmina said, startled. “She dismissed the one I sent this morning already?”

  “Never try to comprehend Genevieve’s actions,” replied the Grand Duke. “The woman is all madness and no reason, just like her husband. A pity she, too, wasn’t banished from court.” He turned to Cinderella. “Come along now, you should already be upstairs.”

  “But I haven’t even—”

  “Ah!” The Grand Duke’s eyes widened, as if he were seeing her for the first time. He wrinkled his nose at her appearance. “Have we run out of gold? Someone see to it that she gets some proper clothes. I’ll never hear the end of it if I send a servant in rags to Genevieve.”

  “Louisa, come with me,” shouted Madame Irmina, pulling Cinderella into a private room. Inside was a wall of identical dressers. “It must be your lucky day, girl.”

  She pulled open one of the drawers and thrust a lavender sash and an apron into Cinderella’s arms. “Put this on after you’ve changed. I hope you’ve bathed recently. I suppose it doesn’t matter, since you won’t last long anyhow. Louisa! Get this girl an attendant’s dress. And don’t forget the wig.”

  Cinderella raised an eyebrow. Wig?

  “Come on,” Louisa whispered, guiding her to the staff’s changing room as Madame Irmina returned to the Grand Duke.

  “I told you not to say anything,” Louisa said softly. “Now you’re going to be the duchess’s attendant.”

  “Madame Irmina was going to fire you.”

  “Aunt Irmina’s family,” Louisa explained. “She loves making threats, but she’s not as mean-hearted as she sounds. So long as you pretend to be afraid of her.”

  “I’ve had some practice with that,” muttered Cinderella, stifling unpleasant memories of Lady Tremaine. Madame Irmina didn’t seem half as bad as her stepmother.

  “Here,” said Louisa, after rummaging through the closet for a rose-colored dress with frills along the cuffs and collar. She scrunched up her face. “I know it’s hideous. I didn’t design it.”

  Cinderella slipped the new uniform over her head. “What’s this for?” she asked, touching the lavender sash.

  “The color tells us who you’re serving. In your case, the duchess. It’ll match her call bell on the wall.” Louisa pinned the sash at her side, then spun Cinderella toward the mirror. “One last thing.”

  Louisa rifled through the drawers again until she found a wig with white ringlets that looked like they’d seen better days.

  While Cinderella pinned the wig to her hair, Louisa hastily brushed its ivory curls. “It’s a little big for your head, but i
t’ll have to do for now. All attendants wear one. Come on, the duke is waiting.”

  “Ah, that’s much more tolerable,” he said, throwing a cursory glance over Cinderella when she returned. “Madame Irmina, this is not to happen again. My time is far too valuable to check on every girl we send to Genevieve.”

  “My deepest apologies, Your Grace.”

  “See to it that she’s promptly directed to the duchess’s chambers. I must be off.”

  “Eyes down, girl,” muttered Irmina, pushing Cinderella’s neck toward the ground. “When you’re with any person of importance, stay three paces behind at all times. Don’t speak unless spoken to, got it?”

  “Yes,” Cinderella murmured.

  From behind, the Grand Duke cleared his throat. “On second thought, you”—he pointed carelessly at Cinderella—“follow me. I’ll direct you to the duchess myself.”

  Keeping her head low, Cinderella tried to focus her gaze on the ground, but her eyes kept drifting up.

  This was the man who’d visited the chateau looking for her. All she had to do was ask him to let her try the glass slipper.

  Under his arm, the duke carried a thick scroll loosely bound by a satin ribbon. It looked like a list of addresses—presumably, residences that he had to visit today in search of the missing princess.

  In search of her.

  “Have you found her yet?” Cinderella asked, filling the heavy silence between them.

  Startled from his distraction, the duke scowled at her. Who knew whether it was because she had dared speak to him without first being given permission, or because she’d brought up an unpleasant topic, but she simply couldn’t help asking.

  “Who?”

  Cinderella inhaled, summoning her courage. “The girl with the glass slipper.”

  “Heavens, no. If I had, the council wouldn’t have canceled the meeting this morning, and I—” He stopped, his expression stony as he plodded ahead.

  Tell him, her heart urged her. Tell him you’re the girl who danced with the prince at the ball.

  Cinderella opened her mouth to try again, but the words came out as a question:

  “Can any girl try on the glass slipper?”

  “Every eligible maiden,” he said wearily, as if the phrase had been beaten into him.

  “So someone . . . someone like me?”

  The duke eyed her sharply. “No. You are a servant of the royal household. It would be impossible. Impossible. What will we have next, commoners serving on the Royal Council?”

  Stung, Cinderella drew back. More than anything, she wanted to tell him: I am the girl you’re looking for. You can call the search off.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. After all, she no longer had her glass slipper to prove it. She could practically hear him laughing at her. A pretty picture, young lady—imagine, a maid becoming a princess. Then he would dismiss her, and she’d never be able to enter the palace again.

  What was more—she couldn’t forget her fairy godmother’s uneasiness when she’d said, My magic is forbidden in Aurelais.

  Even if the Grand Duke did let her try the slipper, a man like him was bound to question how she had gotten her beautiful ball gown, her glass shoes, her fine coach and horses. What if the answer—magic—led to trouble for Lenore? That wouldn’t do. She couldn’t risk it.

  She’d have to wait and try to find the prince. Prince Charles would remember her, and then everything would fall into place.

  Or you could focus on creating a new life for yourself and Bruno, she reminded herself. Not some fantasy you’ve made up for yourself after one night dancing with a man you just met.

  She curtsied stiffly. “I apologize, Your Grace.”

  “Quite so. Quite so.” The duke removed his hat, fanning himself with it. When he spoke next, he sounded almost apologetic. “I have had a long day, young lady. Do not pester me further with such bizarre inquiries.”

  He waited for her to nod before going on. “Normally, such undignified questions posed to your superior would be most unwelcome. But curiosity happens to be a trait I need in you.”

  Cinderella must have looked confused, for he replied, “All will be explained as necessary.”

  He stopped in front of a gilded door so tall it touched the ceiling. Cinderella only now realized they had left the servants’ quarters: the carpets had turned a rich, deep burgundy embellished with silver tassels, the vaulted ceilings were painted with historic scenes of Aurelais’s first kings and queens, and the doors were furnished with gold-plated knobs.

  “Welcome back, Your Grace.” The guard on the right opened the door, and the duke strode inside his office.

  “Quickly, child,” said the duke. “I’m a busy man, and I have many matters of state to attend to this morning.”

  Cinderella hurried inside, standing awkwardly in front of the duke’s desk. Imposing portraits of him stared from every direction, with the odd effect of making his real self seem small.

  “Now, Duchess Genevieve is the king’s sister, and you have been tasked with the very important role of serving her.” The duke looked off to the side, making sure the door was closed. He lowered his voice. “I’d like you to keep an eye on her. Report to me everything about the duchess—what she eats for breakfast, what she says and does with her day. Everything.”

  Cinderella fought to keep her features expressionless. Why? she wanted to ask.

  “I will be away today in search of the missing maiden with the glass slipper, but I shall anticipate your report when I return. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Splendid. Now, off you go.” He rang one of the bells on his desk, and within seconds, an attendant attired in a sleek velvet coat and a wig of white curls sprang into the room.

  “Have my carriage readied,” commanded the duke, “and see to it that this young lady is dispatched to Her Highness’s quarters.”

  The duke’s attendant cast Cinderella a sidelong glance, one that plainly showed he did not envy her position. After a quick look up and down at her appearance, he sniffed just as Madame Irmina had; even he didn’t think she would last long here.

  Cinderella’s stomach sank. Somehow, she’d have to prove them all wrong.

  The palace was a labyrinth of hallways, but the duke’s attendant did not deign to give Cinderella a tour. For her part, she was so focused on trying to keep up that she almost didn’t notice when they arrived in front of the duchess’s chambers.

  “She’ll be expecting you,” was all her guide said before he swiftly deserted her.

  “Wait, do I—”

  The duke’s attendant had already turned the corner.

  “—knock?” Cinderella whirled to face the duchess’s massive doors, both sides flanked by unsmiling guards.

  “Do you suppose I go inside?” she asked them.

  No response.

  Report to me everything about the duchess, the Grand Duke had instructed.

  Cinderella bit her lip. That didn’t strike her as a typical task given to royal attendants.

  Gathering her courage, she took the gilded knocker and tapped softly. Then she clasped the knob and turned, entering the duchess’s apartments as quietly as she could.

  “That was fast,” rasped a voice, startling Cinderella. “I take it you’re my next victim?”

  Before her, the Duchess of Orlanne sat at her writing desk. A coil of salt-and-pepper hair gathered at her nape, punctuated by emerald and amethyst hairpins that matched her violet gown and its green trimming. Her face didn’t seem to match the refinery of her garments; it was like a quill, long and narrow, with gray eyes as sharp as polished nibs.

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace,” said Cinderella, bowing. “I did—”

  “I am sorry, Your Highness,” corrected the duchess. “I’m a member of the royal family, unlike Ferdinand.” She snapped her book closed and harrumphed. “They send me a girl who doesn’t even know how to address me properly. How like George. How absent-min
ded!”

  Venturing deeper into the sitting room, Cinderella was about to repeat her apology when the duchess grabbed the walking stick beside her desk and rose.

  “Stay off the rug,” the king’s sister barked. She wrinkled her nose at Cinderella, her sharp eyes taking in the cuts on her hands, the bruises on her temples hidden under her ill-fitting wig. “You smell dirty. Have you been out in the rain?”

  Heat rushed to Cinderella’s cheeks. “There was a storm last night, Your Highness, and I only—”

  “Stop.” The duchess raised a gloved hand. “I don’t want to hear any more. You are dismissed.”

  Cinderella bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Madame Irmina had warned her that she wouldn’t last in the palace. But even she must have expected her to last more than five minutes.

  “On your way out, you may tell whoever thought you fit to attend me to turn in their resignation as well.”

  “But, Your Highness—”

  “Out, I said. Can you not hear?” The duchess reached toward the nearest table, picking up a silver call bell and muttering, “Wait until I get my hands on George. Does he think this is some sort of practical joke? How dare his staff send me a servant who—”

  “Oh, you mustn’t blame Madame Irmina!” Cinderella cried.

  “What was that?”

  She drew a breath. “It wasn’t her fault. Or the king’s.”

  The duchess clamped the bell in her palm, suffocating its clang. “Of course it wasn’t my brother’s fault. Do you think he has time to oversee the hiring of servants? Ferdinand manages the royal retainers.”

  “Please don’t dismiss anyone because of me,” Cinderella said quietly. “I’ll leave now, so Madame Irmina can send you a new girl right away.” She gave a despondent curtsy, then turned for the door.

  “Wait. I’ve changed my mind.” The duchess pounded her walking stick on the ground, a cue Cinderella did not understand. “Well, don’t be a mouse. Come here and let me take a look at you.”

  Trying to hide her confusion and careful to avoid stepping on the carpets, Cinderella traced back toward the duchess.

  “Hmm,” said the king’s sister, considering. “Your dress is a size too large, and your wig—impossible! It’s practically slipping off your head.” The duchess let out a sigh. “I suppose your smell isn’t that offensive. See to it that you bathe tonight. Thoroughly, is that clear?”