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Chapter Text

He was looking for the girl to fit more than the shoe.  The tiny glass slipper was just the easiest piece of the puzzle to put in the proclamation.  Over and over he ran his fingers over the impossibly smooth slopes, felt the impossibly detailed flowers and leaves etched into the delicate glass, almost as if he were trying to summon the impossibly powerful genie of legend.  As his fingers played across the glass, he tried to recall every inch of the girl to whom it belonged.

Her eyes were blue, bluer than the summer sky, and they shone with stardust when she laughed.

Her laugh was pure as the morning dew, and like the dew, was both quiet and suddenly everywhere at once.

Her hair was the color of sunshine on a field of August corn, her skin was smooth as untouched snow.  Her gloves were white, the thin band around her neck was black.  Her dress- Charles didn’t know enough about ladies’ dresses to do it justice, but he knew it was like nothing he’d ever seen before.

House after house, girl after girl, he fixed his mind on his memory.  Most girls he knew to be wrong with only a glance and so he let himself retreat back into his memory while they breathlessly tried on the shoe.  A waste of time, when every minute spent placating fragile egos was another minute away from his love.

When at last he did find her, he could scarcely believe his eyes.  The hair matched first, though he almost missed it, tied back as it was behind an old handkerchief.  But everything else was wrong.  But then how did he know it was her?

From the moment she entered the room her eyes remained lowered to the floor.  She wore no gloves, and he could see from across the room that her hands were rough and red and cracked.  Her dress was little more than rough spun rags, short in the sleeves and torn at the hem.  Her neck was bare, and so were her feet.  She wiped them and her hands on a corner of her dirty apron before accepting the shoe from the Grand Duke.

But when she took the shoe, Charles saw her smile softly and admire its handiwork.  She ran her fingers over the flowers just as he had, and he saw her mind slip away into the same sweet memory.

He stepped forward and knelt before her, gently placing his hands over hers.

“Please, allow me.”

Her eyes met his, and he soared into the heights of the summer sky once more.

“It fits,” he said softly.

“You haven’t put it on yet.”

“I know it fits.  I think you do too.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“My name is Charles.”

“Mine is Eleanor.”

“Eleanor, will you marry me?”

Her eyes closed, her shoulders shuddered, and she slumped forward, catching her head in her hands.  For a terrible awful moment Charles felt himself fall out of the sky.

“I’m sorry—" they said at the same time.  She laughed through her hands, raised her head, and caught him again in eyes brimming with tears.

“Yes,” she said, still crying, still shaking.

He laughed in relief and pulled her close.

“Thank you,” he whispered in her ear, making her laugh again.

He stood, pulling her up with him, and noticed how small she was, how easily she fit beneath his arm.

“Your Grace,” he called, ignoring the lady and other daughters of the house.  “Let’s away.  Our search is over.”

Chapter Text

Mrs. Dunwoody was sure she had misheard, but the runner persisted.

“He specifically said the side door, he was quite insistent.”

“The side door is not the place for a royal bride to arrive at her new home.  Why, it wouldn’t fit a quarter of the staff.”

“That was the other thing.  His Grace said only yourself was to meet the carriage.”

“Curiouser and curiouser.”

In the end, Mrs. Dunwoody ran out of time to ponder the matter.  She re-polished her shoes, checked that her brooch was straight, and made her way to the small north entrance.

She didn’t have long to wait beneath the overhang.  The carriage clattered up with the curtains drawn.  The Grand Duke exited first.

“Thank you for meeting us, Mrs. Dunwoody.”

“Of course.  Though this is hardly the proper—”

“Yes, but you’ll see why.  I’m afraid I must enlist your help before she’s properly introduced.”

“I’m not sure how I—”

She stopped short as she watched Prince Charles help a girl in a dress not fit for the meanest of palace scullery wenches descend from the carriage.  Perhaps she’s a chambermaid, though Mrs. Dunwoody wildly, but no, there was no second lady in the carriage, and the Prince had eyes for no one but the girl.

“Good God,” breathed Mrs. Dunwoody.  “This isn’t a joke?”

“Sadly for us all, no, it is not.  You see why I need your help.”

“I don’t have a magic wand.”

The Grand Duke laughed hollowly.  “Perhaps she’ll let you borrow hers.”

“What?”

“Never mind.  Something she said on the way over.  A jest.  I think.  I hope.”

Mrs. Dunwoody tore her gaze from Prince Charles gesturing across the grounds, his other arm protectively around the girl’s shoulders, to the Grand Duke, whose face was pained and whose fingers twitched back and forth, apparently unconsciously.

“Are you quite all right, Your Grace?”

“Yes, of course.  Well, not really.  But here we are, aren’t we?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“His majesty will insist on seeing her as soon as possible, but he cannot meet her like this.  How long do you need to make her ready?”

“A bath and a dress to start.  I don’t suppose you can give me a month for a protocols seminar?”

“A bath and a dress will have to do for now.  I can promise him she’ll join him for tea?”

“Bathed and dressed, that’s all I promise.”

“You’re an angel, Mrs. Dunwoody.”

Together they intercepted the young couple and managed to pry the prince away from his intended for an update to the King and the promise of a reunion at teatime.  The girl hardly said a word and clung to Charles’ arm until the moment he left.  When they were alone, her gaze fell to the ground.

“Lady Eleanor?”  Mrs. Dunwoody made herself add the title, strange as it felt.

“Yes ma’am?”  The address was wrong, and still she didn’t look up.  Heavens, how did Charles ever think she would be a suitable princess?  Mrs. Dunwoody sighed and decided she had more immediate problems.

“Come, let’s get you in a bath and then I’ll see about finding you something to wear.”

One step at a time.  Making this girl a princess was not her job, at least not yet.  Perhaps the king would see the madness and persuade Charles to another choice.  Who knew what the future would bring?  It certainly wasn’t Mrs. Dunwoody’s job to interfere.

And yet, it occurred to Mrs. Dunwoody that the look she had seen on Charles’ face as he showed the girl the grounds was one that she had not seen him wear in a very long time.  It was a look he inherited from his father, a look that had been absent in the palace since the death of the queen, years ago.  Though the new girl may not have been, that look was most certainly a welcome sight.

Chapter Text

Favors and secrets were the currency of the court, so when Mrs. Dunwoody came knocking on her door for the first, Dame Margaret Bolger was quick to sniff out the second.

“Of course we can loan you a dress.  We are happy to be of service to the crown.  But, if you’ll pardon my asking, what sudden need has the crown of a gown that cannot be fulfilled by the royal tailors?”

“This need came upon us rather urgently, I’m afraid.”

“As urgently as the royal carriage sneaking up to the north gate without reception?”  Dame Bolger had to give Mrs. Dunwoody credit for not reacting.  The palace always did have the best staff.

“Yes, it is related to his highness’ return.”

“He’s found his bride then.”  Well, so much for Jane’s hopes.  Dame Bolger had always known her daughter’s chances were slim, even if she hadn’t been able to bring herself to drag Jane’s head down from the clouds.

“He’s found the girl with whom he danced at the ball.”

What an odd way to phrase it.  Mrs. Dunwoody was hiding something, but best not to push the housekeeper too far.

“Jane!” called Dame Bolger to the room beyond, “fetch your blue silk.  We have a royal mission to fulfill.”

Mrs. Dunwoody’s protests were easily dismissed, and so the trio soon found themselves in one of the smaller guest suites.  An odd choice for a future queen, to be sure.

Mrs. Dunwoody knocked on an inner door.

“Constance, how goes it?”

It was opened immediately.  Dame Bolger and her daughter caught a glimpse of wet blond hair and pale skin wrapped in a crisp white towel before blue eyes widened and the door swung to close, leaving just a crack.

“Oh!  I’m sorry, Mrs. Dunwoody, I thought you were alone.”

“Lady Eleanor, may I introduce Dame Margaret Bolger and her daughter Jane?”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.  How do you do?”  The words were right, but the girl behind the door was clearly mortified.

“How do you do, Lady Eleanor.”

Mrs. Dunwoody cut in before the pleasantries could continue.

“Lady Eleanor, where is Constance?”

“Oh, I told her I could manage on my own.  I’m sure she had more important things to attend to.”

Like starting the gossip mill on the Prince’s new paramour.  A pity, Dame Bolger had been looking forward to that pleasure for herself.

“Manage on your own?”

Of course Mrs. Dunwoody would fixate on the reassignment of her staff.

“Mrs. Dunwoody, perhaps Jane and I could keep Lady Eleanor company whilst you recall the maid?”

“I hate to trouble you any further-“

Hate to leave us alone with her out of your sight, you mean.  The trouble with good staff was always their insistence on being so damn responsible.

“It’s no trouble at all, I assure you.”

When Mrs. Dunwoody had left, Dame Bolger approached the door.

“Now, perhaps we can have a proper introduction.  Won’t you come out of there and we’ll all have a seat?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, they took my dress while I was bathing, all I could find was this towel…”

“Oh pish posh, we’re all ladies here.  It’s nothing we haven’t all seen in a thousand powder rooms before.  Don’t be shy.”

The girl emerged blushing.  She was beautiful, Dame Bolger had to give her that, even with wet hair and lacking a lick of powder, even wrapped in a towel and clearly uncomfortable.

“Lady Eleanor.”

“Please, Ella is fine.”

“Very well, Ella then.  I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.  Who is your family?”

The girl hesitated.

“My father passed away some years ago, and my mother before him.”

“My condolences.  I have been at court for some years, perhaps I knew them.”

“He was a merchant, I’m not sure that he often made it to court.”

For such a simple question, this was like pulling teeth. 

“What was his name?”

“Augustus Tremaine, ma’am.”

Augustus Tremaine.  Dame Bolger did remember him, barely.  He was a merchant, his head always out on the seas with his ships, incapable of holding a social conversation for more than five minutes at a time.  His wife had been his right hand in dealings at court, but she had passed scarcely a year into their marriage, in childbirth.  After that, he was scarcely heard from at court, though rumors of a shipwreck and ruin had made the rounds at one point.

But in more recent history...

“There was a Lady Tremaine at the prince’s ball, a tall woman in burgundy damask.”

“My stepmother.”

“She had two girls with her.  Neither quite matched your coloring, to my recollection.”  Neither coloring nor demeanor.  Dame Bolger had a vivid memory of the two shoving each other aside at the dessert table.  This girl looked like it had been years since she’d indulged in sweets.

“My stepsisters.”

“Why were you not with them?”  It could have been phrased more delicately, but at last Jane reminded them of her presence.

“My plans… changed at the last minute.”

“You intended to skip the ball?  Why, you must be the only girl in the kingdom.”

The girl’s blush, which had started to recede, returned in full force.

“Jane, dear, that’s enough.”

For now.  Before Dame Bolger could delve further, Mrs. Dunwoody returned with a shamefaced Constance, quickly bundling her back into the bathroom with Ella and the dress from Jane before ushering Dame Bolger and Jane out the way they had come.

“Mama, I don’t understand,” started Jane on their way back.  “Her?”

“Far be it from me to explain the prince’s heart.  But let me tell you, there’s a long way to go between fancy and wife, particularly for a future queen.”

“You think it won’t work out?”

“I think what I said.  And that this proposed match has complications.  The Tremaines have been absent from court for long enough that this girl is essentially a newcomer, a newcomer with a rather unfortunate stepfamily, and a newcomer apparently lacking so much as a tea gown.  This is not the strongest foundation upon which to build a future here.”

“Oh but do you remember her gown at the ball?  It made me want to float up into the clouds.”

“But who has a ballgown like that and then finds herself incapable of furnishing a tea gown not two days later?  Something’s amiss.”

“Well, whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of it.  You always do.”

Dame Bolger left Jane in their apartments, then went to seek out her bridge group for an afternoon of rumination and speculation.  Get to the bottom of it she most certainly would.

Chapter Text

King Reginald the Third was used to people being uncomfortable in his presence.  Usually he enjoyed their discomfort, finding it allowed him greater leverage.  After all, the power of the crown was not always quite as powerful as one could hope.  Unpredictability and just a hint of intimidation often went a long way in greasing the skids of governance.

This, however, was becoming a bit ridiculous.

The girl before him, his proposed daughter-in-law, his son’s first and only candidate for eventual queenship, sat perched on the edge of her seat, tensed tighter than a crossbow.  She held a cup of tea and its saucer in her lap, but had yet to drink.  Every so often her hands would shake, rattling the cheerful blue porcelain, and her eyes would dart down to her hands, then up to him – but not to his face, only ever to his hands, resting calmly on the arms of his chair – then back to her lap.

What was Charles thinking?

“So you wish to be queen.”

“No!”  A quick response, with too much surprise to be a lie.

“You do not wish to marry my son?”

“No, I do, truly I do.”

“You and half my kingdom.  But you do not wish to be queen?  You realize one does not come without the other.”

“I – yes, of course – that is, I suppose I hadn’t thought that far.”

For heaven’s sake.

“Marriage into this family is not to be undertaken lightly.  There are traditions, expectations, responsibilities.  My son’s bride must be a bulwark through winter’s storms, not just a pretty summer fancy.”

“Yes sir.”  It came out a whisper, and again the teacup rattled.

“The proper address is ‘your majesty’.”  Was that pushing too far?  It was something she should have known without thought.

“Yes your majesty.”

Something splashed into her teacup.  A tear.  Oh dear.

“Excuse me,” he said, rising.  “No, please, stay there, have a biscuit.  My joints aren’t what they used to be, I just need to stretch my legs.”  He waved her back into her seat and strode out onto the balcony.

Blast.  What was Charles thinking?

He wasn’t thinking, or he was thinking with his pants instead of his head.  She was pretty, he’d give her that, perhaps less adorned than most of the young women at court, but that wasn’t necessarily a point against her.

By almost every standard King Reginald could think of, she was lacking.  Lacking in confidence, lacking in credential, lacking in culturation, lacking in connection.  Lacking in appetite, lacking in ambition.

Was Charles playing a joke on him?  Was he trying to make some kind of point?  His son had been less than keen on the quest to find a bride, did he think offering up such an unsuitable choice would dissolve the project?  Rather cruel to string the girl along if he wasn’t sincere, and Charles had never shown an ounce of cruelty before.  Indeed, to Reginald’s view, for a first born royal heir, Charles had always been remarkably considerate of his fellow man.

Which left Charles putting forth this girl as a serious proposal.  Well, he could have words with Charles later.  In the meantime, the poor girl must be scared to death.  Blast.

Sighing loudly and taking care that his entrance was clamorous enough to give her ample warning, he reentered the salon.

“Let’s start over,” he said.  “The last few days have been rather trying for my son and me; you must excuse any rudeness on my part.  My son and my country are my heart and my life, and this matter concerns them both quite intimately.”

“Yes, your majesty.  I understand.”

“Do you?”

“My father died some years ago.  I never knew my mother.  I would have done anything to keep him safe.”

“My condolences.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

Well, she didn’t repeat mistakes.  Another point to her.

“Now, supposing you were to marry my son.  Would you resist coronation as queen?”

“No, your majesty.”

“Do you believe you would make a good queen?”

“I—I would try, your majesty.”

“How would you try?  What do you believe makes a good queen?”

Now she met his eyes, with an expression of anguish.  Reginald nearly laughed, but forced his face into impassivity.

“Surely—surely your majesty knows the qualities of a good queen better than me.  Teach me, and I shall learn.”

“A diplomatic answer, but not one of use to me.  Yes, I believe I know what makes a good queen, and I could articulate my thoughts on the matter to you.  I’m sure you could learn them, with time, and you may even find yourself capable of living one or two of them out.  But today, for this conversation, I would like to know your thoughts on the matter.”

Slowly, the girl in front of him took a sip of tea, then placed the cup and saucer on the low table at their knees.  When she spoke, her voice was soft but steady.

“A good queen… should know her people.  The people beyond court.  She should know them firsthand, not through reports or statistics or rumors.”

“Interesting.”

“Begging your pardon, your majesty, but you asked what I thought.”

“I did.  Forgive me.  Please continue.”

“Once she knows them, knows who they are, what they need, what their problems are, a good queen should help them, help those unable to help themselves.”

“Money doesn’t grow on trees.  The royal budget is carefully crafted—”

“Oh, I don’t mean just giving people money.  Sometimes just knowing you’re heard, knowing you’re seen—it can make all the difference in the world.”

Her face had livened, her voice was strong now.  She hadn’t even noticed she’d cut him off.

“Indeed.  Anything else?”

“Yes.  A good queen—well, all queens—are uniquely positioned at court.  A family should not be a formality.  Families… they can make or break a person.  A queen has a responsibility to her husband to help him keep a strong family, a stable family, a reliable family.  Even before children, there should be a relationship of safety and trust between the king and queen.  That relationship must come before any political causes a queen wishes to promote.”

“So you believe a queen should play a political role as well.”

“I believe we all must do what we can with what we have to improve the lives of those around us.  The royal family is unique in the magnitude of the power and resources at their disposal, but not in their mission.”

At this, King Reginald smiled openly.

“I have enjoyed our conversation.  You have a good heart, and more wits than you let on.”

Predictably, she blushed and averted her gaze.

“My dear, you must learn to take a compliment.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

He rose, and this time let her rise with him.

“You have my blessing to marry Charles.”

Her face broke out into the first smile he’d seen her wear, a beautiful smile.  So this is what Charles had seen.  He never should have doubted the boy.

“You will have tutors, and I expect them to report that you make exemplary progress.”

“Yes your majesty.  Thank you.”  She curtsied deeply, and well enough to put any lady at court to shame.  The smile persisted undaunted.

“Whatever you may hear as you begin to find your way here, know that you have my full support.  Do not hesitate to ask for anything you need.”

“Your majesty is very kind.  I won’t let you down.”

And somehow, as he left the room, King Reginald agreed.  For the first time in weeks, he felt at peace.

Chapter Text

At a young age she had learned – there is ice and there is fire.  Both are powerful, but if you choose wrong, you will fail.  By the time her first husband was laid to his final rest, Lady Tremaine had perfected the choosing and wielded both ice and fire with equal skill.

Her daughters had never learned, despite her best efforts.  They preened and simpered and cajoled their way into gifts and favors, but never stood a chance of grasping real power.  Such was the tragedy of a secure and stable childhood.  Perhaps she should have been slower to remarry, but Lady Tremaine had found herself unwilling to return to the life of disaffection and desolation for the sake of a mere lesson.

Now though, her daughters’ years of wide-eyed wheedling could be put to use.  The fact of their stepsister’s good fortune could not be disputed, even if the news was still slow to travel.  The first guard, at the outer palace gates, had held his ground until Lady Tremaine leaned forward from the shadows of the carriage, past Drizella’s feigned distress and crocodile tears.  This was an occasion for ice, and she let it radiate from every pore.

“Young man,” she began, “My name is Lady Isadora Maria Wilhelmina Tremaine.  I am the mother and sole guardian of your future queen.  You will step aside this instant, or I shall see to it personally that you live out the rest of your days in the furthest, coldest, most plague-ridden, godforsaken hellhole of an outpost our noble kingdom has to offer.  Now let us pass.”

And he did, with a low bow and panicked apologies.

It became easier the closer they got.  Rumors travelled more quickly on the inside, and by the time they entered the main foyer, Anastasia had barely uttered the name ‘Tremaine’ when a passing housemaid curtseyed and offered to escort them up to the bridal suite.  The suite was empty, but Lady Tremaine and her daughters made themselves at home.

While her daughters busied themselves poring over every inch of the suite, paying special attention to consuming a fully loaded tea tray, Lady Tremaine seated herself in one of the two elegant wing backed armchairs facing the fire.  The day was not cold, but cheery flames banished any hint of chill.

What a waste of wood.

By the time her stepdaughter arrived, Drizella and Anastasia lounged on the bed, giggling and tossing chocolates from a glass jar on the vanity into each others mouths.

“Cinderella!” cried Anastasia when the door opened.  Her jaw dropped as she regarded her stepsister, wearing a charming blue silk tea gown, hair washed and shining for the first time in years, even with a soft secret smile in her eyes.  For a moment.

Lady Tremaine watched as her stepdaughter’s expression morphed from peaceful elation to horror to fear.  She froze on the threshold, eyes flitting from her stepsisters to the chocolate smears on the bedding to the tea dishes strewn across the side table.  For a moment she cast around wildly, searching, until she finally found Lady Tremaine, still sitting calmly, cane in hand.

“Dearest Ella-“ she started, aware that this moment would set the tone for the years to come.

“No…” said Ella, shaking.  “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t be silly, of course we came.  We wouldn’t dream of letting you face all this on your own.  You are not prepared for this, we are here to help.”

“I don’t want your help.  I don’t want you here.”

“Nonsense.  We are your family.”

“No…”

“Yes.  Whether you like it or not.  As long as you have a place at court, so do we.”

Lady Tremaine saw her pause, struggling to find words.  Time to press forward.  She rose and approached her stepdaughter, close enough to concentrate Cinderella’s focus, but not enough to make the skittish girl flee.

“You know I’m right.  Don’t be foolish.  You are on the precipice of a grand new life, we will not interfere with your marriage.  It would be quite a scandal if His Royal Highness’ betrothed refused her only living family.”

She paused, saw the doubt taking root.

“Don’t be foolish,” she said again.  “We will all have what we want, what we deserve.  The last few years have been hard on us all, but this is a new chapter.  Do you understand?”

“What is it you want?”

“Nothing more than is our due as mother and sisters of the future queen.”  She stepped closer and took her stepdaughter’s hand, noticing the hint of cosmetic floral scent and trying to remember the last time she’d seen her stepdaughter’s nails free of dirt and ash.  “We are your family, and you are ours.  Your father made sure of that.  Do you dispute it?”

Tears welled up in the girls eyes at the mention of her father, as they always did.  So predictable.

“No,” she whispered.  “He did.  You are my family.”

“That’s right.”  Lady Tremaine squeezed her hand tightly, hoping it would be seen as a loving gesture, wondering if she’d overdone it when Ella blinked and turned away.  She knew that admission would be enough though.  The rest would fall into place in time.  “I’m glad you’ve seen reason.”

Dropping Ella’s hand, she stepped away, turning to her daughters, still sprawled on the bed but watching the exchange with bated breath.

“Girls!  Come, we mustn’t disturb your sister any longer.  I’m sure she has important things to attend to.”

They clambered off the bed wordlessly, licking their fingers free of chocolate, but miraculously retaining the good sense to stay silent.

“Good day, Ella.  Please know that you have our sincerest congratulations on your engagement.”

They left her fidgeting with the cuff of her gown, a childhood habit that never failed to irk Lady Tremaine.  A minor matter now though, surely life in the palace would soon improve the wench’s comportment.  Her ignorance and brutish nature were no longer Lady Tremaine’s responsibility.

Disappointed as her daughters had been, and as much as the sight of Cinderella in finery enraged her, Lady Tremaine understood that her stepdaughter’s marriage to the prince was the key to securing her own daughter’s marriages and her own comfort for the rest of her days.  The little manor house was in a state of disrepair, far too large to be managed by one half-trained girl and the estate’s finances had not boded well for their futures.  Now though, for the first time in years, Lady Tremaine saw clearly the path ahead.

Chapter Text

Lucia Gionetti let her cocktail glass dangle gracefully from a drooping white gloved hand.  The nerve of Charles, inviting her to this “family” dinner!  Ever since Papa had brought them to this godforsaken country, Lucia’s life had been one formal dinner, one croquet tournament, one fucking ball after another.  And for what?  Yes, Charles was perhaps the most gorgeous, charming, fuck it, the fairest bachelor in all the land, but now that eligible had been stricken from his unending list of attractive qualities, the fun was over.

She should have known the daughter of an ambassador would never stand a chance, but still, it stung.  Somehow, after all their years of friendship, all her years of secret (and not-so-secret) pining, all it got her was a VIP ticket to watch another woman steal her dream away.

Fuck that.

Except she couldn’t.  Somehow, even though she knew the game was over, when Charles sent word that he’d actually found the girl from the ball, and she was here, and so was her family, and they were all dining en famille tonight, and would Lucia please join them, as Charles’ dearest, darlingest (okay, maybe he hadn’t said those exact words) childhood friend, somehow Lucia couldn’t find it in her to make up an excuse and sit the damn thing out.  It wasn’t politics, it wasn’t out of obligation to her father, it was only her own stupid weakness that still, when Charles asked, Lucia always said yes.

And so here she stood, pretending to listen to Jane Bolger butcher a serenade on the pianoforte while Dame Bolger fanned herself self-importantly.  Lucia would have wondered why the Bolgers had even been invited, except that by now quite possibly only the deepest dungeon rats had yet to hear the story of how the Bolgers had loaned the mysterious new girl a dress that afternoon.

Amazing how the right dress could get you in anywhere nowadays.

After an eternity, the drawing room door burst open to the opening notes of the royal fanfare.

“Oh never mind that,” said King Richard, waving off the trumpeters as he ambled his way in.  “Plenty of time for that later, tonight is about family!”

Lucia set her cocktail glass down unobtrusively on the bookshelf behind her as she sank into a curtsy.  As she rose, she raised her head just in time to see the tall, thin, iron-haired woman on the king’s arm smooth her curled lips away from the ugliest of sneers.  Clearly this woman was enjoying her present proximity to power.

Beginner’s mistake.

Behind the king and his escort came two girls, whispering to each other and openly ogling the room.  As their full skirts swished by, giving Lucia only the most cursory of glances, Lucia was nearly bowled over by an overpowering wave of perfume.  Lucia recognized it as the default palace stock, used to supply the guest rooms, though self-respecting ladies of court with any sense (and coin) took pride in seeking out and purchasing their own unique scents.  Apparently these two hadn’t gotten the memo – by the smell of it they had probably bathed in the stuff.

Lucia would normally have done the neighborly thing and gone over to the girls to introduce herself and ever-so-subtly enlighten their olfactory sensibilities, but before she had decided on an appropriately incisive opening line, Charles entered, and with him the most confounding sight.

Clearly he was devoted to his new bride-to-be.  He gave her his full attention, one arm protectively securing her to his side and the other gesturing enthusiastically, a steady stream of one-sided conversation flowing, ever the silvertongue.

However, unlike most girls Lucia had seen him with, this one seemed somewhat less than completely captivated by his attentions.  She nodded along to his chatter as she clutched his arm, but her eyes darted everywhere, never resting anywhere for long, somehow trying to take in every detail without taking the time to examine anything.  Lucia watched her blush briefly upon seeing the Bolgers, now exchanging greetings with King Richard and the woman who Lucia realized now could only be this girl’s mother, though any family resemblance had yet to reveal itself, but before she was quite ready, Charles spotted her and steered to her side.

“Lucia!  I’m so glad you could make it tonight.  Darling, this is Lucia Gionetti, daughter of Ambassador Gionetti, and one of my oldest and dearest friends.  I do hope you two will become close.  Lucia, may I present my betrothed, Lady Eleanor Tremaine?”

“How do you do, Lady Eleanor.  It’s such an honor to meet you.”  Which wasn’t a lie, it was an honor, whether or not Lucia happened to want it.

“How do you do, Lady Lucia.  Please, call me Ella.”

“Lady Ella then.  And it is your mother, I presume, with his majesty?”

“My stepmother.”  Well, that explained the lack of family resemblance.  And it was subtle, but Lucia noticed her grip tighten on Charles’ arm.  “My mother passed when I was quite young.  My father remarried, but then he also passed.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.  How fortunate that your father had the foresight to provide you a new mother before his passing.”

“Yes, how fortunate indeed.”

Lucia knew she wasn’t imagining it, Ella’s voice had definitely tightened and her smile was forced.  How peculiar.

Charles must have also sensed it, because he jumped in to change the subject much too quickly.

“Luci, I was just telling Ella about the rose garden.  I wonder if you might be willing to show her through tomorrow afternoon?  A chance for you to get to know each other better.  Away from wandering eyes and ears?”

Lucia groans inside, but it’s Charles asking, so she hides her sigh and agrees.  Her eyes trail after the happy couple as they lead the way into the dining room.  Charles’ choice is beautiful, and even wears Jane’s borrowed gown well.  Any still photograph would tell an absolutely fairy tale story.

But in person…

In person something is off.  Lady Ella is nervous and on edge, and Lucia can’t think why.  For heavens’ sake, she’s captured Charles and is about to become a princess, what more could she possibly want?  Oh well, she thinks as she drains the last drops from her reclaimed cocktail.  That will be tonight’s puzzle.