Five Glass Slippers: A Collection of Cinderella Stories Read online

  Duchess Germaine returned her daughter’s smile. “One of last year’s dresses will do nicely for me. I am not being evaluated for the prince’s bride!”

  Neither am I, thought Drusilla behind her smile. Nor anyone else’s bride, for that matter. “But think, Mother,” she replied brightly, “of all the nobility who will be there! You don’t want to be the only one in last season’s dress, do you?”

  Anastasia added her voice. “Oh, do get a new dress with us, Mother. It would be such fun! And here’s a silk that would look perfect with your complexion.” She held up a pale peach fabric.

  The Duchess laughed. “Goodness, child, I am much too old to wear that shade! But I think—yes, I shall have a new dress.” She indicated a sophisticated silver. “If you please, Mrs. Montgomery. And while we’re here, I shall order one for Arella—this blue matches her eyes so well. Perhaps she has changed her mind and would like a new dress after all. We’ll surprise her.”

  Drusilla tapped gently on the half-open door then poked her head through. “Arella?” she called.

  “Come in,” replied her stepsister’s gentle voice. Arella looked up from where she sat on a low stool surrounded by dull pink silk. One fluffy gray kitten napped on a chair near her while another pawed a spool of thread on the floor. “Did you need something?”

  “No,” Drusilla answered. She picked up the sleeping kitten and sat down. The little furry bundle curled up in her lap and fell immediately back to sleep. “I just came to see how you were getting along.”

  “Oh,” Arella responded, focusing on her work. “Quite well, thank you. Did you have a nice outing?”

  “It was very nice. Bustles are still in style, but sleeves have changed considerably. Apparently long sleeves are horrid now.” Drusilla smiled at her stepsister. “Not that it makes any difference to you.”

  “Not much,” admitted Arella. “I’ve never liked bustles. But I never liked those long sleeves, either. They got in the way.”

  “Did you need any help? A thread-snipper? Errand-runner? Someone to amuse you?” Drusilla asked cheerfully, stroking the drowsy kitten.

  Arella smiled but shook her head. “No, thank you. I have everything I need here, and there really isn’t much to do.”

  Drusilla watched her stepsister’s nimble fingers move deftly though the layers of fabric. “Is that one of your mother’s dresses?” she inquired, more to make conversation than anything else.

  “Yes,” Arella replied. “I think it’s lovely.”

  “It is,” agreed Drusilla, admiring what she could see of the gown draped over Arella’s lap. The first Duchess of Abendroth must have been a woman of no mean taste; each of her dresses was costly and impeccably designed. This one, though simply cut, was no different. “What are you doing to it?”

  “I’m just adding a little ruffle to the bottom. And I’ll make a sash.”

  “No bustle?” Drusilla teased.

  “No bustle,” Arella answered. Considering a moment, she added doubtfully, “Do you think Stepmother will approve?”

  Approve? Or understand? Drusilla thought. She paused before replying. “I think she wants you to feel comfortable.” Their eyes met—Arella’s blue, lovely, innocent; Drusilla’s hazel, kindly, wise.

  Arella nodded. “Do you think it will stand out if I don’t?”

  “You, my dear sister, stand out wherever you go and however you dress. So wear what you want.”

  Arella sighed. “I wish it were a masquerade,” she said. “Costumes are much more interesting.”

  “You forget the purpose of this ball,” Drusilla replied with a small laugh. “I believe the prince is trying to find a beautiful girl to make his wife. Masks would scarcely help him in that endeavor.”

  Arella made a face. “It’s silly that I have to go then. I wouldn’t marry him even if he wanted me to.”

  “You haven’t met him,” Drusilla said, arching a brow. “Perhaps he will sweep you off your feet with charm.”

  “He won’t.”

  “If you say so.”

  A silence lingered in the room for some moments. Realizing there was nothing more to be had from her quiet stepsister, Drusilla rose. “I suppose I’ll give Sleepy his chair back, then.” She replaced the kitten on the chair, planted a quick kiss on Arella’s head, and left the room.

  Arella watched Drusilla go. And she thought, No prince will sweep me off my feet. No one can.

  Seated in his mother’s sitting room, Prince Frederick listened half-heartedly to the queen reading the list of eligible females who would be attending his royal ball. He had finished his education and was about to celebrate his twentieth birthday. Therefore, according to precedent, he must marry. And his bride would be found among the noble young ladies dancing in the castle two weeks from now.

  “Princess Miranda—a good match, but not exceptional. Her father’s kingdom is too small to be a useful ally. Alice, daughter of the Duke of Stelstek—sickly constitution. Amala de Perperand’s family isn’t old money. Oh, the daughter of the Emperor of Verdemons! She would be an excellent choice.”

  The prince listened to the seemingly endless list of names and descriptions, but none struck his fancy. The ridiculous thought crossed his mind that this process was like buying a horse. Except, unlike a horse, the woman he chose would stay with him for the rest of his life. The woman he chose would have the power to make him happy or miserable. The power to make his reign—his entire kingdom, even—strong or weak.

  He sighed.

  Queen Thalia looked up from her lists and raised her delicate eyebrows. “I am not wearying you, son?” Her voice, cultured and melodious, held the faintest hint of reprimand.

  “Of course not, Mother,” Frederick quickly reassured her. “I was just wondering what my life will be like if I pick the wrong one.” He drummed his fingers nervously on his leg.

  “Don’t pick the wrong one, then,” his mother replied calmly.

  Frederick half smiled but without amusement. “Out of so many? How will I know?”

  “My son, when you marry, you take not only a bride but also a queen. Make sure she is worthy to be queen.” Queen Thalia returned her gaze to her lists, ready to pick up where she had been interrupted. “Lady Anna von Dalber, reputed to be very pretty. Elissa Galott, daughter of the Earl of Middlefield . . .”

  Frederick found this advice scarcely helpful, but his mother was not a woman one questioned twice. Apparently she believed this information ought to be enough for him.

  A woman worthy of being queen. He tightened his jaw. Challenge it may be, but Frederick had never been known to back down from a challenge. He would find her.

  2

  The night of the ball rapidly approached—not rapidly enough for Anastasia, too rapidly for Arella. When the day itself arrived, Arella felt her stomach knotting itself tighter and tighter as the hours ticked by. If only there were some way she could excuse herself, some way to sneak out to the stables or the garden and vanish! But she knew that was impossible.

  Early in the afternoon the hairdresser set about primping the four women. Anastasia’s excitement could not be contained. This was her first ball—and what a first ball! The duchess smiled at her exuberant chatter. “I’m afraid no other ball will ever compare to this, child,” she said with chuckle. “Every experience you have from now on will seem dull.”

  Anastasia was certain this couldn’t be true. Different, perhaps, but never dull. And even if it were true, so be it! Any amount of future dullness would be worth the wonder of tonight. Would the prince dance with every girl there?

  “Heavens, no!” her mother assured her, much to Anastasia’s disappointment. “He doesn’t have enough time to pay attention to everyone. You will be introduced to him, however, and there will be plenty of other young nobles to pay attention to you.”

  Quick to sorrow but quicker still to delight, Anastasia surveyed herself in the mirror, her dark eyes sparkling. Whether or not the prince danced with her, tonight would be the best ni
ght of her life.

  Arella was silent, though this was hardly unusual for her. As the hairdresser expertly piled her hair into a mass of golden curls, she fought back the panic rising in her heart. She knew, as Drusilla had told her, that she would dance with the prince tonight. She could not deny her own beauty. But how did one act when dancing with a prince? Or with any noble, for that matter? Though she had officially entered society last year, she had avoided attending as many balls as possible. Crowds made her feel awkward and shy. She lacked the polish her stepsisters had acquired.

  If only Anastasia had been the beautiful one, she thought with distress. She knows how to behave around princes. Arella set her jaw. Please, don’t let me be a disgrace to my family!

  Drusilla reached over and silently squeezed her sister’s hand. Arella took a deep breath. At least Drusilla would be with her throughout the night.

  “Arella,” the duchess called merrily, “How did your dress turn out?”

  “Very well, Stepmother. I have it in my dressing room,” the girl replied.

  “And you like it?” Duchess Germaine asked.

  “Yes, Stepmother.” After a moment she added, “It’s pink.”

  “Very good, child. And you’re sure you don’t regret not getting a new one?”

  “Yes, Stepmother.”

  “Wonderful. Run along then and get changed.” Duchess Germaine had hoped Arella would show some sign of disappointment; she had so looked forward to surprising her with a new gown! However, Arella seemed happy with her choice, so the duchess wouldn’t interfere.

  “No,” Arella moaned, standing aghast in the doorway.

  She had stopped short upon opening her door, shocked at the scene before her. Earlier she had painstakingly laid out her dress, smoothing away any wrinkles with a loving hand, smelling once more the scent of her mother. Then she had shut the door and left.

  She had forgotten that her kittens were in the room. Apparently they loved the scent of her mother, too.

  “Sleepy!” she cried. “Frisky! How could you?”

  One of the kittens scampered under a table to hide while the other lazily stretched, his claws catching on the smooth silk of her mother’s gown, which lay crumpled on the floor. Arella ran to the dress and picked it up. The kittens had gnawed the bow at the waist and run their claws down the skirt. Arella squeezed her eyes closed, wishing the scene away like a bad dream. But when she looked again, she saw the same thing. The dress was certainly not wearable—sash in disarray, one sleeve half off. “What do I do now?”

  From the room next door Drusilla heard her cries of chagrin and came over. “Arella? Is everything all right?”

  “No.” Arella turned to her, holding up the soiled gown. “I didn’t know cats ate dresses.”

  “Oh, Arella!” Drusilla exclaimed, entering the room. “Your mother’s gown! Is there anything we can do to fix it?”

  “No,” sighed Arella. “There isn’t enough time.”

  Drusilla hesitated a moment, uncertain what to do. Then she took the dress from her sister and grabbed her hand. “I know. It won’t be your mother’s dress, but it will have to do.” She led Arella down the hallway to the duchess’s room. Knocking, she called out, “Mother?”

  “Come in,” the duchess responded. Drusilla and Arella entered, bringing the torn gown in with them.

  “Arella’s dress,” Drusilla explained simply. “The kittens got it.”

  “Oh dear!” Duchess Germaine cried. “How dreadful!”

  “What shall I do?” Arella asked, her eyes brimming with anxiety.

  The duchess inspected the damaged gown. “Well, you certainly cannot wear this, can you?” She smiled, lifting a mysterious eyebrow. “But I may have something that will work.” From her wardrobe she produced the blue gown she had ordered. “I wondered if this would come in handy.”

  Arella accepted the dress, managing a small smile of gratitude. “Thank you, Stepmother.” The style was completely unlike the simpler frock she had wanted to wear, but it didn’t seem she had much choice now. She turned to head back to her dressing room.

  “One more thing, child,” the duchess called. “Here.” She handed Arella a shoebox. “The glass slippers I wore a long time ago when King Hendrick had his royal ball. By right, Drusilla should wear them—”

  “—but my feet are too big!” Drusilla smiled encouragingly at her stepsister. “You don’t mind wearing them for me, do you?”

  “No,” Arella returned. “I’m just sorry you can’t wear them.”

  Drusilla waved an indifferent hand. “It’s no matter. But enough chitchat—we have a ball to dress for!” She put an arm around her stepsister’s shoulders and guided her from the room.

  Her eyes prickling with tears she couldn’t quite suppress, Arella clutched the shoebox tightly in both hands. Despite the ruining of her mother’s dress and the dread she felt about the impending ball, she met Drusilla’s warm smile and managed a small smile of her own in return.

  Arella’s heart beat faster and faster as they alighted from the carriage and swept their way up the palace stairs. The knot in her stomach tightened, and she fought to keep her face calm. Yards of skirt rustled about her, and the dainty heels of her glass slippers made a delicate tapping as she walked. She looked like a princess—which she certainly neither was nor wished to be.

  They hesitated at the entrance to the ballroom. In due time the herald would announce them and they would go forward to meet the prince. Arella tried to control her heartbeat while they waited, watching the prince greet the numerous nobles. Stepmother promised I could leave at midnight. That’s not too long to bear.

  3

  Prince Frederick repressed a yawn as a line moved along. “Alice Laroche of Stelstek,” he heard the herald pronounce. Frederick bowed courteously over the hand of a young girl with a white face and lank hair.

  “I’m delighted to meet you,” he declared. It wasn’t a lie, exactly, just like wishing someone a good day wasn’t a lie even though one often didn’t really care how good the other’s day was. She tittered up at him, batting pale eyelashes. He forced himself to suppress a grimace. Did all these girls actually believe that tactic to be attractive? Alice moved on, throwing a flirtatious glance—or at least what she hoped was one—over her shoulder as she left.

  No. Definitely not Alice.

  “Duchess Germaine Abendroth, Miss Drusilla Bessette, Miss Arella Abendroth, and Miss Anastasia Bessette,” the herald droned. The duchess moved forward, her daughters following.

  And Frederick fought to keep himself from gaping as the loveliest girl he had ever seen approached.

  She met his gaze and started in nervous surprise. Is it even fair that one girl should possess so much beauty? he wondered.

  The four women curtsied deeply as they drew near, and he returned an even deeper bow. “Duchess, Miss Bessette, Miss Abendroth, Miss Anastasia—I am so very pleased you could come.” Especially you, his eyes said to Arella.

  She glanced at him before looking down modestly.

  No simpering. That’s new, he thought. “I trust I may have the pleasure of dancing with—each of you before the night is over?” It would hardly be courteous to single out only one. Especially when there was an older sister—or stepsister, apparently—involved.

  Anastasia’s eyes flew wide open in delight. I’m to dance with the prince! she thought jubilantly.

  Drusilla felt only shock. I can thank Arella’s beauty for this invitation, she realized. Glancing at Arella, she saw her stepsister’s face flooded with blushes. They looked becoming on her. The prince was obviously smitten already. Drusilla smiled to herself but felt worried. Could the prince charm Arella?

  Murmuring their “I would be honored”s, the family moved on. The duchess smiled proudly. All three of her daughters had elicited an invitation to dance with the prince himself. An accomplishment indeed!

  “I have to dance with him!” Arella whispered frantically to Drusilla behind her fan, out of earshot of
the prince. He continued to bow to young ladies and their parents but sent frequent glances in Arella’s direction.

  “Just what every other girl wishes to do,” Drusilla whispered back. Now was not the time to let Arella indulge in solitude. Like it or not, she would have to make herself agreeable.

  “Why can’t he dance with every other girl, then?” Arella whimpered.

  “Because you are the prettiest.”

  “I hate being the prettiest!”

  It was the most vehement speech Drusilla had ever heard her stepsister utter. “I’m afraid that isn’t for you to choose. Dance with him, agree with what he says, smile a little, and then it will be over. Surely you can manage that?”

  Arella bit her lip.

  “It will be just like dancing with any other young man,” Drusilla continued. “Don’t be nervous. Everything will turn out well.”

  Arella cast a dissatisfied glance at Drusilla. “I hate dancing with all of them, too!”

  Their conversation was interrupted when a friend of the duchess joined their party to visit.

  Drusilla sighed. Please, Arella, just behave.

  The evening dragged on forever, Frederick thought. At least the part of the evening until he could dance with Arella.

  First he had suffered through all those formal introductions, and now he must dance through a list of noble ladies at his mother’s behest. The daughter of the Emperor of Verdemons, for example; it would hardly do to ignore her.

  Just dance with her and a few more, and then I’ll be able to speak to the beautiful Arella. Frederick sneaked another glance her way. She stood beside her sister, the picture of elegance and grace. As far as he had been able to tell, she hadn’t looked his way once.

  But a little shyness isn’t necessarily a bad thing, he reflected as Amala de Perperand boldly fluttered past him, eyelashes batting for all they were worth. In fact, I think I like that in a woman.