Anniversary

The next few days were spent in frantic preparations for the anniversary celebration.

Cinderella wished that she could have looked forward to it more. This was her anniversary, one year since she and Eugene were wed, she should have been able to look forward with joy and mounting anticipation to a celebration of their love and the new lives that would be brought forth from that love. Instead she was faced with using the occasion as a time for politicking for things that she ought to be able to take for granted at this point – yes, it had been her idea, but that didn't mean that a part of Cinderella didn't resent having to do it nonetheless – trying to get people who as a rule had not shown any inclination to like her on her side so that she could continue to call herself a princess, could continue to be Eugene's lawful equal wife, so that her children could inherit their grandfather's throne one day even though none of those things should have been up for discussion.

She tried to busy herself in the party preparations, but that was rather difficult when everyone around her seemed to consider it their job to take work off her and take it on themselves. Her ladies, passing members of the palace staff, even Eugene. They all meant well, and the fact that she got tired so much more easily now meant that it was probably for the best that nobody was relying on her to do an enormous amount of work, but it also meant that Cinderella was left with a much larger amount of time to dwell on her misgivings than she would have liked.

This had been her idea – or at least she had had it at the same time as Eugene had, and separately from him – and the fact that Eugene agreed that it was a good idea suggested that she hadn't been completely stupid about it, but all the same as the days ticked down towards the night of the party Cinderella could feel her fears and misgivings growing inside of her. It was all very well for everyone to tell her that she needed to convince people of the rightness of her cause, but how? These people hated her, or were at best indifferent to her situation. So many of them never seemed to miss an opportunity to humiliate her, to insult her, to mock her, to make her feel small and sad and lonely. Was that to be her fate at every social function? More specifically, was it to be her fate on her anniversary night? Was it just going to be another evening of being belittled and scorned? There were times when Cinderella didn't see how it could be anything else. Then she reminded herself that it was her job to make sure that it was not, and resolved – tried to resolve – to make a success of the evening ahead.

Fortunately, although Eugene didn't seem to feel that she was up to helping get ready for a party, he did seem to think that she was up to joining him in and before meetings of the council. Possibly because it didn't involve any standing up or going anywhere. Whatever his precise reasons, Cinderella was glad of the fact that she still had something to do beside brood for the next few days, since she would have gone out of her mind with nervousness otherwise.

The council meeting held the day after her return from the Summer Palace was her first time meeting the new ministers whom Lord Roux had appointed to the government. Different men, but of a very similar sort to those who had worked with Sieur Robert: sombrely dressed men in frock coats and tall hats with very little visible expression in their eyes. It was impossible for Cinderella to tell what they thought about her, or whether they supported her and Eugene or whether they agreed with the Duke of Cornouaille.

In any case, that was the not any of the matters which they were gathered to discuss (another thing for which Cinderella was thankful, as she had more than enough time to think about that).

Lord Roux coughed into one hand as Cinderella and Eugene took their seats. "Good afternoon your…highnesses. Will his majesty be joining us?"

Eugene looked noticeably uncomfortable for a moment. "No. He will not."

Lord Roux was silent for a moment. "I see. Very well then, perhaps we could begin with the Hispaniola situation."

"I believe that we will receive a response from the Normans as soon as the political situation has stabilised," Eugene said.

"And when will that be?" asked the Foreign Minister Lord St Cyr, who managed to at once be older than Lord Roux while at the same time looking more vigorous by far. "At present we seem to lurch from one crisis to the next."

Cinderella bowed her head a little. He didn't say that the procession of crises were her fault, but at the same time he didn't have to. She knew the truth without having to have it pointed out to her.

"This business of my cousin and his hopes is not a true crisis," Eugene declared, more in hope than in conviction – or so it seemed to Cinderella at least. "It is merely a notion of an ambitious man with no seriousness or substance behind it. No one can entertain it with any credibility."

Lord St Cyr looked incredibly sceptical about that, but said nothing. Cinderella wondered if he was entertaining the Duke's suggestion.

If he is, what could I do to change his mind?

He shuffled in his seat. "And yet, with the Normans realise this? We should begin making contingency plans in case this proposed deal comes to nothing."

Eugene sighed. "Such as, my lord? If we even raise the question of compensation we may get a stampede to take advantage of it. Let us give the issue more time."

"We don't have unlimited supplies of time."

"St Cyr, that will do," Lord Roux murmured.

St Cyr scowled in disgruntlement. "Very well then, not Hispaniola. May we talk of the war in Anjou, then? The Imperial forces have crossed the Loire, and driven the Angevins back in disarray."

"Bad news for the Angevins, to be sure, but of less concern to us," Eugene said. "We are neutral, and I see no reason why we should break with our neutrality now."

St Cyr leaned forward on the table. "Your highness, neutrality was a fine position when it seemed that the Angevins might prevail in their war, but it seems less so now that the fortunes of the field have turned against them. My information is that the Flemish are on the verge of collapse, and the banks of Albion are beginning to refuse any additional credit. They may not last much longer."

"Surely you're not suggesting that we should get involved in a war, my lord?" Cinderella asked. "It was not very long ago that we finished one war in which so many men perished or were injured, a war in which the Normans were of great assistance to us. If we fight again…surely you can't be suggesting that's what we ought to do?" She could not bear it if Eugene rode to war again, not now, not so soon. Watching him sail away had been bad enough before, but now? He could not leave her to deal with all of this, he couldn't leave their children to come into the world fatherless. Fatherless…oh, God, what if he rode away and never came back at all, like so many men had never returned from America? Wasn't it enough that they had won one war that they had to immediately go looking for others?

St Cyr looked at her, and Cinderella was surprised to see that his eyes were not unkind or without sympathy. "Princess, I am suggesting that it is not in the national interest that the Holy Roman Empire should come to completely dominate Gallia. It would not be good for us to have so powerful a neighbour, and it would not be good for Europe if the balance of power were to be so grievously upset. However, I am not advocating a military solution; certainly not at first resort. I would like the council's permission to seek a diplomatic solution, perhaps by means of a conference to settle the Burgundian Question hosted here in Armorique."

Eugene said, "Would either side agree to such a thing?"

"Probably not in the present state…seeming instability in this country," St Cyr said. "But if, as your highness says, it is merely a temporary state of affairs then it would be best if we began as soon as possible."

"I think that sounds like a splendid idea," Cinderella said. She didn't want any son of Armorique to have to go to war again so quickly, but if there was a way that they could help to end a terrible war without having to get involved themselves then shouldn't they take it? Didn't they have a moral obligation to take it?

If, as Lord St Cyr reminded them, they could get the country calmed down and put this issue of her status that was causing the uproar to bed once and for all.

Eugene agreed with her, and no one gainsaid them, and permission was given to the Foreign Minister to put out his feelers.

From then, the council meeting moved on to domestic policy, and Cinderella was gratified to see that there was no talk from Lord Roux or his ministers about expanding the workhouses. Rather, instead, Lord Roux produced a proposal for His Majesty's consideration for limiting the extent to which children could work in factories.

Cinderella placed her hands gently upon the paper in front of her as she studied the document that Lord Roux had produced. It limited the number of hours that children could be put to work – which was welcome enough – but it did little more than that.

"I thank you for this, my lord," she said softly. "It is clearly very well intentioned, but I'm not sure that it goes far enough."

"In what sense, your highness?" Lord Roux asked. "Would you like the hours to be reduced yet further?"

Preferably yes, to zero in some cases, Cinderella thought. She said. "Six years old seems very young to be allowed to work. Are you sure the limit should not be older?"

"Small hands are needed to reach into the machines," Lord Roux said. "Especially when those machines are still running."

Cinderella swallowed. Still running. She didn't want to think about how dangerous that was. She thought about some small child sticking his or her hands into the grinding gears of some belching machine, and in her imagination the child wore Philippe's face, or the faces that she imagined for her children in her daydreams. And in her dreams they cried out, they screamed in pain as their hands got caught in the monstrous machines.

She shuddered.

"Your highness?" Lord St Cyr asked. "Are you quite well?"

"Cinderella," Eugene murmured, reaching out to take her hand. "Are you alright? Is something wrong?"

The fact that children are used in such a way. Cinderella shook her head. "I'm alright, darling, thank you. Thank you for your concern Lord St Cyr. Lord Roux, I hope you're not suggesting that the risk to the children is outweighed by the need for profit?"

Lord Roux looked as though he might be suggesting that, but did not say so. Instead, he murmured. "Your highness, if these children are not at work then where will they go?"

"To school, perhaps," Cinderella suggested. She pursed her lips for a moment. "I wouldn't want you to think that I'm attacking you, my lord, I'm sorry that I've given that impression, I just think that we could go so much further, and perhaps we should."

"If you will, Lord Roux, perhaps you could leave this here with us," Eugene said. "That we can study it further, and in greater detail."

Lord Roux shrugged. "As your highnesses wish."

The meeting went on for a little longer, discussing various matters of less consequence or – frankly – interest, before breaking up. Eugene and Cinderella would have discussed the proposed Factory Law further, but Eugene had to go at that point in order to review a regiment of Fusiliers, and so Cinderella took the paper with her to discuss with her ladies-in-waiting.

"You don't think I was too harsh, do you?" Cinderella asked, as Eugene helped her climb the stairs up to her chambers. "Lord Roux seemed just a little put out."

"I don't think that you were harsh at all," Eugene said. "I think that you exercised your rights, and in a good cause what is more."

"You agree with me then," Cinderella said. "It's a good start, but it should go further?"

Eugene's brow furrowed. "I…I am very glad that there are no children here. It happens in some places, children apprenticed as servants for chimney sweeping and the like."

"I know," Cinderella said softly. "I was one of them."

Eugene looked at her. "When you…I didn't…so young?"

Cinderella nodded.

"Did they make you go up the chimney?" Eugene asked.

Cinderella nodded again. She closed her eyes, fighting back against the memories of that awful task that she had dreaded more than any other. The closeness of the walls of the chimney around her, the soot that made it so hard to breathe, the darkness all around her. She didn't want to remember any of it. Most of all she didn't want to remember the way she'd screamed in fright and panic and begged to be allowed to come down.

She didn't want to remember the way that her Stepmother had made her stay up there until the task was done no matter how much she screamed.

The day she had grown too big to climb up the chimney any more was one of the happiest days of her life, and wasn't that a terrible thing?

A terrible thing that children across the country still endured.

Eugene already had her hand in his, but his grip became firmer and more comforting. "As I said I'm very glad that we don't do that here. I think…I know that I don't spend as much time with Philippe as I should but when I do, when I see him playing with his toys or…to think that there are children his age crawling underneath great engines or through mines or up chimneys I feel…"

"I understand," Cinderella whispered. "In this, I think we are of one mind."

Eugene nodded. "We'll talk more when I get back, and see what we can do to make this good idea even better."

He escorted her up to her chamber, where Cinderella was received into the arms of her waiting ladies, while Eugene bid her farewell and set out for his inspection. Cinderella lost no time in filling in her ladies on what had transpired at the council meeting, with particular attention on the proposed factory law.

She didn't entirely get the reaction she was expecting.

"If I were you, your highness, I would get rid of this as quickly as possible," Christine said. "I'm not sure how, but kill it. Kill it now and stone dead too."

Cinderella's eyes widened. "Lady Christine…I don't understand. I really…I don't understand at all, surely you can see that this is a wonderful start that could be so much more. We should improve it, not destroy it. You can't be in favour of continuing to treat children like slaves, putting them in danger, keeping them trapped like this. Please, Lady Christine, please tell me that's not what you really think?" In some ways, she would rather find out that Christine was a secret enemy like Serena, someone who pretended to be kind but held Cinderella in contempt, than find out that someone that she liked and whose company that she enjoyed was both Cinderella's friend and capable of such callous cruelty towards a whole section of the population.

Surely she could not have misunderstood what I was about so completely?

Christine scowled for a moment. "No, of course not, I…I understand and I even sympathise, believe me, but…we must look at the larger picture here and direct our efforts first and foremost towards your preservation for the…we need to consider the-"

"I believe what Lady Christine is trying to say, if she could only find a way to say it that wouldn't make those involved sound appalling self-centred," Augustina declared with more than a touch of acid on her tongue. "Is that the kind of fat middle-class mill owners and industrialists who lauded your views on Free Trade will not appreciate your taking a strong stand against their abuse of their workforce. Doubtless Lady Christine fears they will turn on you in consequence."

Christine's face was red, whether with anger or embarrassment Cinderella could not be sure. "Yes. Yes, curse you. There will be many in the Liberal party who oppose this on the grounds of laissez faire economics and the freedom of the markets."

"The freedom of the markets?" Angelique repeated. "The freedom of the markets? What does a market need freedom for?"

"If it is in the best interests of everyone that juvenile workers should be treated better then the markets will see that it is so," Christine said. "So many will argue, anyway."

"You could compost a garden with that," Angelique declared derisively. "It stinks worse than any compost."

"Though I don't have Angelique's gift for a sparkling turn of phrase, I have to say that I more than half agree with her," Cinderella said softly. "I don't see how anyone can justify leaving things the way they are; I don't see how I can justify leaving things the way they are when I have the power to help change them."

"I am not saying 'do nothing' your highness," Christine said. "I am saying 'do nothing at this moment', when things are so finely balanced, when you need all the help and all the friends that you can get, you shouldn't do anything to upset the allies that you already have."

Cinderella clasped her hands together on her knee. "Do you really believe that they'd turn against me? All of them?"

"Not all of them," Christine said. "There are those who are in favour of these kind of welfare reforms, my uncle would not have proposed even this limited measure otherwise. But there will be those who oppose any interference with the freedom of commercial enterprise and, in so opposing, they may look to His Grace the Duke as a guarantor of their interests against your meddling."

Augustina leaned forward in her seat, rubbing the bridge of her nose with one hand. "One hates to say I told you so, but I did tell you when you decided to get involved in the Anti-Corn Law League, I did try to warn you that these people had no real concern for the wellbeing of the poor, only for their own profits."

"Yes, you did," Cinderella said quietly. "But whatever their motives I needed their help at the time."

"You still need their help."

"I hope to have their help," Cinderella said. "But I'm not going to sacrifice a good and worthy measure aiming to protect the lives and wellbeing of children in order to do it."

"Instead you're going to sacrifice your crown and your power to do good in the future in order to have the temporary self-satisfaction of doing the right thing now, no matter who it alienates?" Christine replied.

"I can't turn my back on people who need me, on children who need me," Cinderella said. One hand went to her swelling belly. "Not now, especially. My stepson is of an age when he could be working in a mill himself if he weren't so fortunate. Am I supposed to ignore that?"

"You're supposed to be sensible," Christine responded. "If you do this you could lose everything."

"I could lose everything whatever I do," Cinderella said, still speaking softly and gently. "At least…at least I will be able to tell my children that I did what I thought was right. I hope you can understand that, Lady Christine, and I hope that you'll be still be on my side in spite of my foolishness."

"It's not foolish at all," Angelique said. "If…the fact is that you are doing the right thing and there's no two ways about that, but if you do want a reason beyond that think of what the people will say if you kill this law. You might think you have good reasons but all they'll see is that you're turning away from them the moment it isn't in your interest to help them out. And I doubt they'll forgive it either."

"For what it's worth – although I think your mind is probably made up already – I think there will be many honest Conservatives sympathetic to this," Augustina said. "Many of us have often said that these people should start taking responsibility for their employees if they want to be seen as gentlemen. It might even persuade some who were…not best pleased with your attitude to the grain tariff to see you in a new light: as a true champion of the people and not just a liberal puppet."

"Will it balance out the allies that she'll lose?" Christine asked.

"Let's not pretend that this was ever going to be easy," Augustina said. "I don't think it increases the difficulty all that much."

"Lady Christine," Cinderella said. "As Augustina has guessed my mind is made up. I certainly won't kill this, and I will do what I can to see it strengthened."

Christine stared at her for a moment, and let out a slightly exasperated sigh. "In one move you both show why you ought to be the princess of Armorique and demonstrate why you might not stay that way. I am with you, your highness, until whatever end you lead us to."

"Thank you," Cinderella said. She yawned. "And now…I'm afraid that I'm feeling a little tired, would you all mind excusing me for a little while?"

"Of course not," Marinette said, as she rose from her seat. "Send for us at once if you need us."

Cinderella smiled. "I will thank you."

The ladies curtsied, and took their leave. All except Angelique, who lingered in the sitting room door looking uncertain.

"Yes, Angelique?" Cinderella asked. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I…" Angelique hesitated. "You really are doing the right thing. Political considerations aside, how this affects the fight aside…you really are doing the right thing. The truth is…the truth is I'm sorry if this makes life more difficult for you, but…if you'd done as Christine suggested I'm not sure if I could have…the people wouldn't be the only ones seeing you in a new light."

Cinderella smiled faintly. "Did you ever really think that I would do such a thing?"

Angelique snorted. "No, not really, but that doesn't mean you don't deserve praise even if it is in your nature. Those places…they need sorting out."

"Did you ever work in one?"

"No," Angelique said. "No, not me. In the workhouse we worked for the workhouse, and then…but Jean did, when he was younger. He doesn't like to talk about it, that's how I know it must have been bad. You can ask him about, or try to, but…you're doing the right thing."

"I'm glad you think so."

"And don't worry, we'll get through the rest together, even if does get a little harder."

Cinderella chuckled. "I'm sure we will," she said. "Together."

Of the King, Cinderella saw practically nothing in the few days that preceded the anniversary party. He didn't come down to dine with Eugene and herself, for which Cinderella was honestly grateful; she wasn't sure if she could have sat down at his left hand after what had happened last time. Even though it wasn't his fault, even though Grace and her hold over him was gone...she wasn't sure if she could have done it. His Majesty stayed in his room, eating alone, and though Cinderella could see that Eugene was pained by this arrangement he didn't press her to do anything about it, or comment on it at all. She couldn't express how grateful she was to him for that.

Sometimes she would catch a glimpse of His Majesty here or there, and it would seem as though he was watching her, or he might want to speak with her, but either he would falter at the last moment and retreat back into hiding or Cinderella would avoid him before he could come near. It might be cruel of her, perhaps even cowardly, but she was afraid and she couldn't just forgive. She couldn't say how grateful she was that everyone seemed to understand that.

It was only on the day of her anniversary that His Majesty seemed to finally gather the nerve to speak to her. Cinderella was in the library with Angelique, reading up on factories and any current laws - there were not many - pertaining to the conditions there. Work like that was not only necessary but a great help for taking Cinderella's mind off of tonight's party and the worst that might happen there.

Some of the descriptions of conditions in these mills and factories were harrowing, and the ones that were not were disturbing. Such things went on there, such things the owners got away with. Cinderella hadn't asked Jean about his own experiences - she didn't want to bring up any memories that he would rather keep buried within his head, or intrude unnecessarily into his privacy - but if he had witnessed things such as he was reading, of children maimed or killed, crushed to death or losing hands and arms as they cleaned machines while the machines while the machines were still in motion; it was a miracle that he was yet so good and kind.

So engrossed in her reading was she that Cinderella was surprised by a cough drawing her attention. She looked up, and a gasp escaped her lips as she saw the King standing in the doorway watching her.

"May I have a word with you, my dear?" he asked tremulously. "Please?"

Cinderella shut her book with greater force than she intended. She looked around. There was another door to the right of her. Cinderella began to get up. "I'm sorry, your majesty, but I have to go-"

"You were in no hurry to leave until I arrived," the King said. "Can you not give me one moment."

"I'm afraid not, your majesty," Cinderella said, the words spilling out of her mouth. She picked up the folds of her dress in her hands and took a step towards the door. "If you'll excuse me I really must-"

"Wait just one moment blast you!" His Majesty snapped as he strode towards her. Cinderella flinched at his tone.

Angelique sidestepped into place between the two of them, with her own body barring the King's progress.

"With respect, your majesty," Angelique said, not unkindly but at the same time with an unyielding firmness. "Your voice will carry from that distance, I think."

The King stared at her. "You cannot think I mean to hurt her."

Angelique was silent for half a moment. "No, your majesty, I don't think that. But I also think that doesn't matter; you don't need to mean to hurt the princess to scare her."

His Majesty flinched from her words. "Cinderella," he said, speaking over Angelique's head, his tone beseeching. "Please, I...what I did was terrible, no doubt, but...I was not myself. It was my hand but it was not my intent. Can't you find it in your tender heart to forgive me? Can we not return to how we were before?"

"There is nothing to forgive, your majesty," Cinderella said softly. "As you say you were not yourself, and I know that. But you hit me, and you frightened me, and I can't...I'm afraid my heart cannot forget that. Not yet, anyway."

"When?" the King demanded. "When can we be a family once more?"

Cinderella looked at him a moment, and then looked away. "I'm not sure if we can ever go back to the way we were, your majesty. I...I loved you like a father but...I don't know."

The King bowed his head. "You have cause to hate me, no doubt."

"I don't hate you, your majesty," Cinderella whispered. "I'm just afraid of you."

His Majesty waved away the distinction as though it was without difference. "I...for what I did and said I am truly sorry, my dear. For whatever it may be worth...you remain as dear as a daughter to me." He turned away, but looked back at Cinderella over his shoulder. "Is there any way that you could at least stand to be in the same room as me?"

Cinderella clasped the folds of her gown tighter. "I...I don't know, your majesty. I...I...I will try."

The King was silent a while. "Thank you, Cinderella. That is all that I can ask. Now, I won't disturb you any further." He walked away, and closed the door behind him.

Cinderella closed her eyes, plunging herself into darkness. In the dark, she felt someone take her head.

"You didn't need to do that," Angelique said. "You didn't need to promise him anything."

Cinderella opened her eyes. Angelique stood in front of her, holding Cinderella's hand.

Cinderella sighed. "Yes, I think I did. The way things are is hurting Eugene, and besides there is the council to consider. His Majesty is the King he should attend, he needs to. If I can't be in the same room as him then I will have to give up my place...and I don't want to do that."

"All the same," Angelique murmured. "You shouldn't feel as though you have to forgive him, or pretend it didn't happen or get over it. No one can ask that of you, nobody has the right."

"I forgave my stepsisters even though I knew, or should have known, that they hated me," Cinderella said. "How can I do less for someone who loves me?"

"That was your choice, it wasn't forced on you," Angelique said. "It may not have been a wise choice, but it was yours."

Cinderella nodded. "And so is this."

Angelique paused for a moment. "Yes. I suppose it is, isn't it?"

The night arrived. The night of their anniversary. One year ago today Cinderella and Eugene had both been at the Summer Palace for the start of their honeymoon. One year ago today she had just become a princess. And now she was about to fight to stay that way.

Cinderella held out one opera-gloved arm as Duchamp clasped a diamond bracelet around it, the latest in a stack of diamond and sapphire bracelets climbing upwards from her right wrist. Diamonds on the right, pearls on the left, sapphires on both. Around her neck it was a similar story: diamonds, sapphires and pearls all. She had forsaken the wedding necklace that she would have loved to wear - she made do with wearing the diamond bracelet Eugene had given her before the wedding instead - because it didn't seem quite regal enough for the occasion. Instead she wore four strings of pearls looping around her neck and plunging downwards from it towards the high waistline, then a diamond choker clasped around her throat with a gleaming sapphire set in the centre of it. More sapphires dangled from her ears.

As Cinderella murmured her thanks over the bracelet, Duchamp was already reaching for the diamond tiara sitting on the dressing table, lifting it up like a bishop to place it upon Cinderella's head.

There was a knock at the door. "Your highness?"

Cinderella looked around, shuffling on the stool so that she was half-facing the door. "Yes, Jean?"

"The..." Jean cleared his throat. "The Duchess of Cornouaille is outside, asking to see you."

Cinderella was silent for a moment. The Duchess of Cornouaille, the wife of the man who was trying to take her marriage away from her, was outside asking to see her. She glanced up at Duchamp, but the latter looked as confused as Cinderella felt. What did she want? Why was she here?

Do I want to see her?

There was no easy answer to that, or rather the easy answer to that was no, but at the same time Cinderella couldn't help but think that she probably ought to see her. There might be a good reason why the Duchess was here, perhaps even a helpful one.

And if it turns out that she only wants to gloat or insult me or threaten me or anything like that I can ask her to leave.

And if she will not go, then Jean is outside.

"Is she alone?" Cinderella asked.

"Yes, your highness, I am quite alone," the Duchess called from outside the door. "May I come in? It's rather rude to keep me standing out here."

Isn't it also rude to try and take the equality of my marriage away from me? Cinderella thought. "Come in," she said. "Both of you." She rose to her feet.

Jean opened the door, allowed Lady Anne to come in first, then stepped in himself, closing the door behind him.

Lady Anne, Duchess of Cornouaille, was dressed in a peach-coloured gown with an overlay of fine lace that masked but did not conceal the gown beneath. A necklace of diamonds and rubies coiled around her neck and descended downwards in swooping parallel with the daring neckline of the dress. A lover's knot tiara, that looked almost a twin to the one that Cinderella had been about to wear, crowned her head and sat atop her dark brown hair.

Tonight her eyes seemed more green than hazel. They gleamed as they regarded her. "You look very lovely, your highness."

[i]Is she mocking me by giving me a style that her husband is trying to take from me?[/i] "You look very beautiful tonight yourself, your grace."

"I am beautiful, as are you," Anne said. "We look as we are, little more." She glanced over her shoulder at Jean. "Is there any need for this man to stand here breathing down my neck?"

"Jean is here for my protection," Cinderella said softly.

Anne's eyebrows rose. "Do you think I'm here to kill you?"

"I mean no offence, your grace," Cinderella said, her voice brittle. "But I don't know why you're here."

Anne was quiet a moment. "Are you angry?"

"I'm afraid that I'm upset, your grace," Cinderella replied. "Did you know what your husband was going to do?"

Anne smiled. "Did I know? It was my idea. Not that the world will give me credit for it but...I feel as though I can tell you, if I can tell no one else you will understand...because we're a lot alike, you and I."

"Are we, your grace?"

Anne's smile faltered. "Probably not," she confessed. "But I'd like it if we were."

"Why?"

"Because your accomplishments are remarkable, all the more so considering your sex," Anne said.

"No, your grace," Cinderella said. "I mean why are you doing this?"

Anne did not respond immediately. She clasped her hands together momentarily. "The papers say that you are with twins. Is that true?"

"Yes," Cinderella murmured. "Or so the doctors tell me, at least."

Anne chuckled. "I don't know how you feel about it, but...they will hate each other, I hope you realise that."

Cinderella had not, in fact, realised that and didn't immediately see why she should. "I hope that all my children will love one another, as I will love them all."

"And if they were not in the line of succession - if, say, your marriage were only a morganatic one - you might have some hope of that," Anne said. "But the younger will always resent the fact that they came second, and the elder will never be wholly comfortable around who so clearly resents them."

"Are you trying to tell me that this is for my children's sake, your grace?"

Anne took a step forward, and might have taken another step had Jean not placed a hand upon her arm to forestall her.

She regarded him coldly. "Paranoid fellow, aren't you?"

"With respect, your grace, her highness has been through enough to engender paranoia in the most unwary of protectors."

Anne's smile returned to her face. "You're very loyally served, your highness."

"I am very grateful for the loyalty that I am given, your grace," Cinderella said. "Jean, let her go."

Jean released the Duchess, but Lady Anne made no move to advance further. She said, "We were neither of us born to royalty, and that being so I doubt that either of us can really understand what it must be like to be the younger son of the King, to be doomed to irrelevance except in the case of dire tragedy. My late father-in-law was well provided for by his father but nevertheless he was consumed by anguish over the fate of his birth. Kingship is the dream he passed on to my husband, an inheritance more vital than all the lands and incomes of the Duchy. This is the dream of my husband's family, and I...I am his wife, his helpmeet; it is my place to assist him in his endeavours."

"No matter who it hurts?" Cinderella asked.

"Do you think about who you hurt before you do whatever you want?"

"I try not to hurt anyone."

Anne snorted. "Do you really believe that? Are you blind to how you are hurting this country? You are dangerous, your highness, and being dangerous you cannot be allowed to remain in a position to wreak your havoc and disorder."

"Dangerous?" Cinderella repeated. "I'm afraid I haven't the faintest idea what you mean, your grace?"

"Pandering to the mob," Anne declared. "Fuelling their appetite, giving them their way, taking their side against the august and venerable families of the court, are you really blind to what you're doing?"

"I believe I'm helping those who cannot help themselves," Cinderella said, thinking of the children in the mills and mines and factories.

"The mob is like a wolf-" Anne began.

"I wish you wouldn't call them the mob, your grace," Cinderella said. "They are just people. We would be just like them if we were not so fortunate in our marriages."

"The more you feed them the more you encourage them to come back for more," Anne said. "And when you have nothing left to feed them they will eat you alive. And all the rest of us with you."

"I don't believe that," Cinderella said. She remembered the incident that had first brought the poverty of the people to her attention, the angry crowd outside the palace gates protesting the high price of bread. There had been no such anger from them since, no march on the palace demanding further concessions or extracting them with threatened menace.

"You'll forgive me if I don't intend to let you prove yourself wrong, your highness."

"I hope you will forgive me if I don't intent to let you do that, your grace."

Anne regarded her coolly. "I see. We shall just have to let the fates decide, I suppose. Your highness."

"Your grace."

Jean stood aside as the Duchess took her leave. When the door closed he said. "Your highness...I do not understand why she came here."

"I'm not sure," Cinderella said. "Perhaps she just wanted someone to know what she'd done." She said that no one else would understand. I wonder why not.

Cinderella finished getting ready with the help of Duchamp, and had finished by the time Eugene arrived to escort her downstairs.

"You look," he said. "As beautiful as the day we were married."

Cinderella giggled. "You look as handsome and dashing as you did then, but I'm getting more visibly pregnant every day."

"And yet still beautiful," Eugene said. He held a wrapped box, bound in a scarlet ribbon, lightly in one hand. He crossed the room, and gave her a kiss. "Taurillion tells me that the Duchess of Cornouaille was here?"

"Yes, but it's alright," Cinderella said. "She said what she came here to say and then she left."

Eugene nodded, and held out the box to Cinderella. "For you."

Cinderella tentatively took the box, and set it down on the dressing table as she untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. She gasped. A pair of glass slippers sat snugly surrounded by a velvet lining. They began to sparkle as the candle light hit them. A smile spread across Cinderella's face as she plucked one of the slippers from out of the box and held it lightly in her hands, turning it over to look at it. It looked almost, but not quite, like the slippers that she had worn to the ball just over a year ago. It was not quite so smooth or so rounded, but still so beautiful, and so lovely; and such a wonderful gift.

Cinderella's smile only broadened as she tore her eyes away from the slipper and looked up at her husband. "Oh, Eugene."

Eugene smiled down upon her. "I know that this is a public and political event, but it's still one year since we were wed. Happy anniversary, darling." He kissed her again, leaving Cinderella breathless and trembling. "I love you. Whatever happens, never forget or doubt it."

"Never," Cinderella whispered. She put the slipper back in its box, looking down on them for a moment. "Do you think...do you think that I could wear them tonight?"

"I don't see why not, if you want to," Eugene said.

"I'm worried that I might have become a little too heavy," Cinderella confessed.

Eugene wrapped his arms around her. "You're exaggerating. Try them on the see."

"I don't want to break them."

"You won't, I'm sure," Eugene said. He kissed her on the cheek. "Go on. I can tell you want to."

Cinderella smiled as she sat down upon the stool and exchanged her slippers for Eugene's glass gifts. They were cold upon her skin, like wearing ice. Thankfully her feet hadn't swollen in size - yet. Now was the moment of truth, Cinderella pushed herself up onto her feet and waited. Nothing. No crack of glass shattering beneath her, no sense of imminent falling as she lost her balance, nothing. She stood still, and the cold glass bore her up.

"Nothing to worry about," Eugene said. "How do you feel."

"Magical."

Eugene's smile was broad as he offered her his arm. "Are you ready?"

Cinderella took a deep breath. This is it. This is where it starts. "Yes," she said, and took the offered arm. "Goodnight, Duchamp."

"Goodnight, ma'am, I hope you have a productive evening."

Eugene led Cinderella out of her room and down the stairs.

"Christine thinks that if we do change the proposed factory law, or even support it, some of the liberal politicians will abandon us," Cinderella said as they walked down the stairs.

"But you want to do it anyway," Eugene said.

Cinderella snorted. "You know me too well."

"A husband should know his wife at least as well as I know you."

Cinderella shifted her grip on the crook of Eugene's elbow. "Do you think I'm making a mistake. Do you think we should do nothing, or even do what Christine suggests?"

Eugene was silent for a moment. "Ordinarily I might say yes. Be pragmatic, play the long game, that sort of thing. But this...there comes a time when you have to stand by your principles or else you can't claim to have any. And this might be it."

Cinderella sighed with relief. She hadn't realised that she was worried about what Eugene might say until there was nothing to worry about any more. "I'm glad, so glad. I don't know if I could have looked at Philippe the same way again if I'd thrown the chance to protect children like him aside."

"I know what you mean," Eugene said. "We continue then?"

"Yes. And if some don't like it-"

"We'll manage without them, I'm sure," Eugene said. Cinderella didn't know if his confidence was genuine or not, but either way it comforted her.

Shortly thereafter, Eugene and Cinderella made their way to the ballroom, where the doors were flung open for them to enter.

"Their Royal Highnesses!"

"Niece."

"Uncle," Christine replied, curtsying.

Lord Roux held out one hand to her. "Will you do me the honour?"

"Of course, uncle, I would be delighted." Christine said, slipping her hand into his open palm and letting him take her in hold. He did not hold her close, of course - there was such a thing as propriety - but well enough that they could step through the dance without difficulty.

"How are my cousins?" Christine asked. "How is Aunt Amelia?"

"Comfortable and content," Lord Roux replied. "As for my daughters, they will be of an age to marry soon, the bane of any father's life."

Christine laughed prettily.

"You laugh, my dear, but your father feels the weight of it as much as I do."

"So much so that he sent me here as the next best alternative to a convent," Christine said.

"He sent you here to advance the interests of our family and the party," Lord Roux said gravely. "I trust that your efforts in that regard have not been unsuccessful."

"Uncle, you are the premier of the nation, what more could you possibly want?" Christine asked. "Speaking of which I must say that your timing could have been better. Factory reform? Really?"

"It is a necessary measure."

"It is a divisive measure," Christine said, as she and her uncle twirled in the centre of the ballroom. "Especially at such a time. You know this will cost the princess much-needed support."

"Only if she supports the measure."

"Which she will," Christine declared. "She is too righteous to do other than the right thing."

"Then that is her choice, and the choice of her husband."

Christine's eyes narrowed. "Uncle...you do mean to support their highnesses against this nonsense of the Duke, don't you?"

Lord Roux did not meet her gaze but rather looked over her head. "If it becomes in my interest and the interest of the party to do so then I will, after careful deliberation, come down upon the side of their highnesses. It strikes me that we have not yet come to such a place."

"Uncle!" Christine hissed. "How can you say such a thing. We're talking about unprecedented-"

"Everything was unprecedented once."

"Self-serving-"

"Even those who serve themselves may serve others unwittingly."

"Why?" Christine demanded. "Why, Uncle, answer me that?"

Lord Roux's expression was impassive; his face was almost devoid of real expression like a stone wall or a dead fish. "Because it may well be in the nation's best interest to have a queen who talks less than, on the basis of the evidence, Princess Cinderella would."

"A queen who..." Christine fell silent. She was rendered utterly speechless, which did not happen very often. Her throat was so choked with jostling words that none could struggle forth to escape her mouth but remained so jammed up in her windpipe that it was a miracle she could breathe through them. "Uncle, if I were a less perfect lady I fear I might be tempted to slap you. We have been gifted a golden opportunity and you will cast it aside because a hypothetical Queen Anne would be seen and not heard?"

"One year of marriage, Christine," Lord Roux replied as they danced. "One year of marriage and we have had scandal on top of disorder."

"Scandals that were wholly false and disorders that were inflicted on the princess from without, by those opposed to her," Christine replied.

"You are her partisan now?"

"Call me her partisan then call yourself her enemy."

"I will do no such thing," Lord Roux said. "But you must realise what she really is. She meddles in the affairs of government, which might be tolerable if she were foursquare on our side but she is not so partisan."

"She isn't supposed to be partisan," Christine replied. "But she is just, and being just she is for the most part liberal. Uncle, can you not look past the fact that she is a woman with opinions for one moment and see what an opportunity we have before us: a liberal queen sitting at the right hand of a king whom she has brought to liberalism. When was the last time we had a truly liberal monarch? When was the last time the monarchy was on our side?"

"Liberal princes become conservative kings when they no longer have a father to rebel against," Lord Roux said. "We have been disappointed before."

"Cinderella's politics come not from rebellion but from conscience, and she leads Prince Eugene to greater conscientiousness as well," Christine said. "She will not turn, and so long as he loves her nor will he and he does love her, uncle; though her highness grows heavy with children I have not seen him so much as glance at another woman, it is still her bed he chooses to lie in every night. Please, Uncle, trust me; Princess Cinderella is our horse to back."

"The world you conjure would be a beautiful one," Lord Roux said. "If I could believe in it."

"Isn't it a chance worth taking even if you don't believe me?" Christine snapped. "The Duke of Cornouaille would be an ultra-conservative, you have to realise that. If he became king he would either provoke a revolution or set our politics back fifty years." She scowled. "If you wish to stand above the fray then so be it but please, please tell me that you aren't going to whip this."

"What do you want, Christine?"

"I want you to take the part of the prince and princess but failing that I'll settle for you doing nothing while I canvas on their behalf amongst our party."

"You would be her election agent?"

"I would work for the common good of Armorique; I am a Roux, that is my duty and my right."

Lord Roux shook his head. "So often you sound like you were born into the wrong party," he murmured. "Very well. Do as you will, and as your loving uncle I wish you good fortune in all your endeavours."

"And as your devoted niece I thank you for your blessing," Christine replied. It was not all that she had wanted, but it was something she could work with.

Now she had to get to work.

"Father," Augustina said, as she slipped her hand into her father's grasp. "I need you to introduce me to Lord Georges."

General du Bois was a man growing old in the middle of his years, his hair and beard turned prematurely grey and going white. Despite that he still possessed a fine martial figure, without any sign of strain upon his dress uniform. He regarded his daughter with an air of amusement, though his magnificent beard concealed his mouth from view he seemed - Augustina had learned to read the signs - to be smiling. His blue eye - he had lost the other in a duel when Augustina had been too young to remember what he looked like with two eyes - twinkled. "Lord Georges is a fine man, my dear, but a little old for you if I may say."

Augustina rolled her eyes. "I'm not asking you to introduce me as a potential suitor, father, I just want to talk to him."

"About what?" asked her father as they walked together, hand in hand, along the edge of the ballroom.

"What do you think, this business with the Duke and the princess and the royal marriage," Augustina murmured. "We have to stop it."

"There was a time you would have welcomed it."

"No, father, there was a time when I would have welcomed seeing the marriague annulled and Cinderella run out of town," Augustina replied calmly. "I would never have wanted to see tradition abused in such a way as his grace proposes."

"Perhaps," her father said. "But I doubt you would have bestirred yourself to defend the princess."

"No," Augustina acknowledged. "But you taught me to be willing to admit when I was wrong and I was wrong. As it will be wrong to let the Duke of Cornouaille have his way and rewrite the law to his own liking and for the benefit of his own issue."

"His grace is one of us, the same cannot be said for the princess."

"I believe that her highness is one of us in spirit."

"Her attitude to the grain levy might suggest otherwise."

Augustina cringed. "Yes, that was...quite something wasn't it? But if you could only understand why she did it. Yes, she tried diligently to plough her way through The Wealth of Nations even when it was making her cross-eyed, but she wasn't acting in obedience to doctrinaire economic ideology, she was looking for arguments to bolster what she already beleived to be right for the people. She's a paternalist at heart, one of us, and I can convince her to see that. Please, father, trust me. And introduce me to Lord Georges."

Her father looked at her a moment. "Are you sure that this is what you want?" he asked. "To tie your fortunes to this woman? To bind our fortunes to her?"

"You didn't only teach me to admit when I was wrong," Augustina said. "But also to stand up for what I thought was right."

Her father smiled, or at least she thought he did. "I'm very proud of you, Augustina. You've grown up."

"I'm not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult."

Her father laughed, and led her to where Lord Georges was standing on the edge of the ballroom, watching the dancing but not partaking in it. His attire was black, save for the red silk scarf wore prominently around his neck. Apparently he wore a knew one every day.

Although technically Sieur Robert Danjou remained the leader of His Majesty's Loyal Opposition, in practice the vast majority of the Conservative deputies now looked to this man for leadership, Augustina's own father amongst them. Augustina herself had never met him before, although she knew him somewhat by reputation: a failed soldier but a king of the turf, a man no one had expected to amount to anything in politics, not said to be a great speaker but a man, so it was said, of great integrity. And a scion of one of Armorique's oldest famillies. A man to whom other men would listen.

A man whom, if she could win him over, would be a great ally for Cinderella in her cause.

"My lord," General du Bois declared. "May I introduce to you my daughter, Augustina."

Augustina curtsied. "My lord."

Lord Georges bowed. "Mademoiselle."

"I was very sorry to hear that you had sold all of your racehorses, my lord," Augustina said. "Especially with Silver Blaze expected to win the King's Cup this year."

"I am sure he will, under his new owner," Lord Georges said, sounding like a man trying to seem less upset than he really is. "But I have vowed to dedicate myself wholly to the reintroduction of the tariffs, and I cannot admit of any distractions to that great endeavour."

Augustina's heart sank just a little. With an attitude like that we may be done before I've even gotten started. "I see," she murmured. "I, um, I wondered if I might have a word with you, my lord."

"Of course, mademoiselle," he said, as he plucked a sherry off a silver tray held by a passing waiter. "Would you care for a glass?"

"Thank you, my lord," Augustina said, taking the drink and sipping from the small glass.

"I'll leave you to it," her father muttered to her, making his exit.

"I hear that you are in service to the princess," Lord Georges observed. "For however long she remains a princess."

"Many years, if I have anything to say about it," Augustina declared. "Which is why I wished to have a word with you, my lord. I hoped that you might at least consider throwing your influence behind her highness. With the Conservative Party behind her this scheme of His Grace will surely falter at the first fence."

"I fear, mademoiselle, you overstate my influence."

"I believe if anything I understate it, my lord," Augustina said. "Everyone knows that Sieur Robert would never have been brought down without you."

"D'Israeli did all of the talking."

"No one would have followed D'Israeli, a man of no birth sprung out of nowhere, an ambitious mountebank," Augustina said. "But you, my lord, a man of integrity, a king of the turf, a great lord of the realm, you are a man that men will follow."

"Perhaps," Lord Georges said, sounding less like he was trying to be modest and more as though he genuinely had a hard time believing it. "But why should I lead them in defence of our enemy? The woman who sold us all like barleycorn sacks?"

"It was Sieur Robert who broke faith with us, the princess promised nothing."

"It was her highness who encouraged Sieur Robert in his betrayal," Lord Georges replied. "His Grace may be sympathetic to a reintroduction of the tariffs."

"Are we about no more than the price of grain, my lord?" Augustina asked. "Is that what our great party has sunk to: nothing more than a barley merchant's talking shop? Where we not once the party of the Crown and the Church, of all the blessed institutions of our land? The party of the country and the land and of fatherly concern for the little people and their condition?"

Lord Georges tugged on one of his magnificent sideburns. "I would not say that we have ceased to be those things, Mademoiselle."

"If we are Conservatives then what are we conserving?" Augustina said. "What do we even wish to conserve? The perogatives of the crown provided they are not exercised? The holy sacrament of marriage until it becomes inconvenient for us? The institutions of the realm unless we have to damage them in order to hurt somebody we don't like? My lord, you are said to be a man of true integrity. You single-handedly cleaned all corruption and vice from the racing scene, no matter who you had to expose as a fraud in the process. I'm asking you to show that same integrity, now, here. You know that the prince and princess are in the right, everyone with a half-shilling of sense knows that. You are said to be a man of true integrity, my lord; please don't throw that reputation away now by handing the crown and kingdom over to an unprincipled oaf just because he might do you a good turn."

Lord Georges stared at her for a moment. "You chide me very well, mademoiselle, I have always striven to behave with honour in my life. There is...much force in what you say. I will think on it, I swear."

Augustina curtsied. "Thank you, my lord. That is all I can ask."

Cinderella was pleased to admit that things could have been a lot worse.

It was true that the ballroom was rather less full than it had been on previous grand occasions, and it seemed that many people had stayed away because they did not or would never support her and Eugene. But that only meant that the people who had come were either sympathetic or receptive, and so Cinderella wasn't inclined to object to the fact that her most implacable enemies had decided to stay at home. One or two people had referred to her as 'Madame', but by and large it appeared that those who disliked her the most had better things to do than come here specifically to spite her, for which Cinderella was very thankful. No mocking whispers seemed to follow her, and as she and Eugene worked the room there was a pleasant dearth of mocking remarks to her face, either snide or openly hostile. Having been on the receiving end of all sorts of barbs and insults in the past, Cinderella couldn't say she wasn't glad to be free of them tonight.

It was still a bit of a disappointment that they had to spend their anniversary celebration glad-handing and politicking and working the room like this - although Cinderella had to admit to herself that she probably would have been too tired for much dancing in any case - but it was not nearly as unpleasant an experience as she had feared it would be.

Which wasn't to say that there weren't a few strange or rather bizarre moments that made Cinderella wonder just what people had been hearing about her, or induced a sort of mild despair in her as to the kind of things that people were willing to believe. Somewhat early in the evening, when Cinderella and Eugene had been briefly separated as Eugene was drawn off by one or two officers, Cinderella had noticed one young lady in a gown of gold looking at her but, at the same time, trying not to seem that she was looking at her. She kept staring at Cinderella for a few moments, and then looking away for a little bit, and then looking at Cinderella again.

Cinderella approached her. "Can I help you, mademoiselle?"

The young lady squeaked in alarm, and looked as though she might like nothing more than to flee.

Cinderella smiled, and spoke softly to put the girl at her ease. "I don't believe that we've been introduced. I'm Princess Cinderella, and you are?"

The young lady's eyes went everywhere but at Cinderella. "Avelina, your highness." She glanced at Cinderella, then looked away, then leaned forwards a little to whisper conspiratorially. "Is it true that you have a dungeon?"

Cinderella took a step back. "I...a dungeon?"

Avelina nodded eagerly. She seemed more comfortable now, almost enthusiastic. "They say that Prince Eugene is...abnormal, although I don't know what that means and Papa says I'm too young to understand. But they say that you've cured him of this abnormality with practices you learned in a brothel. They say that dungeons are involved." Avelina was smiling now. "I must say it all sounds very exciting!"

For a moment, Cinderella wondered if Avelina was mocking her. But she seemed so genuinely enthusiastic, and lacking in the slightly cloying insincerity that most strangers used when they wanted to laugh at her without actually appearing to do so. It seemed that this girl genuinely believed in this nonsense, and that far from finding it a reason to disdain Cinderella she actually found it fascinating.

Cinderella couldn't say that she felt the same way about it. "No, Mademoiselle, I don't have a dungeon and I've never so much as set foot in a brothel in my life. I'm sorry to disappoint you but the only hold that I have over Eugene is the love we share."

"Oh," Avelina said as her face fell. "That is a little disappointing. Still, does that mean that you're not planning to kill us all, because that's the other thing they say about you."

Cinderella blinked. "What, exactly do they say if you don't mind me asking?"

"That you're going to raise a mob and burn down all our houses and devour us alive," Avelina said brightly. "Well, perhaps not devour us, I might not be remembering quite right; but it's something like that certainly! Although, I must say you don't act like that kind of ogre at all."

"Probably because I'm not actually planning to raise a mob to do anything, mademoiselle," Cinderella said. "I help the people where I can but they don't answer to me. They've helped me in the past but they aren't my private army." She paused. "May I ask who has been telling you all of these things about me, Mademoiselle?"

"Oh, you know, they say them."

"But who is they?"

Avelina hesitated. "Um, well...I don't know really. I overheard Papa talking about it, but the person he was talking to just said that it was something they said, so he must have heard it from somebody else, and I don't know where they heard it from, and other people have heard about it too but only from hearing it from people who heard about it so...it's just something they say, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is," Cinderella murmured. Clearly these were the rumours that the Duke of Cornouaille or his wife had started about her - the latter statement about her plans for the mob sounded rather similar to what her grace had accused Cinderella of when she visited - but she couldn't prove it or tell who believed it. It sounded ridiculous - a brothel, really? The idea that she had a dark hold over Eugene sprung from his 'abnormality'? - but it appeared that there were people impressionable enough to believe it.

She talked with Avelina a little longer, gently explaining to her that there was nothing to any of these rumours, and that they had been wholly invented by their originator.

"You know, you're a little more boring than you're made out to be, your highness," Avelina said, as she took her leave. "But you're really rather nice at the same time. I'm glad I met you."

"Likewise, mademoiselle," Cinderella said. "Have a good evening."

"You too. Happy anniversary, your highness."

"Thank you."

Eugene returned at that moment, putting one arm around Cinderella's waist. "A new friend?"

"Perhaps," Cinderella said softly. "It was certainly an enlightening conversation."

She told Eugene what she had learned about the way that certain people - certain somewhat suggestible-seeming people, it had to be said - were beginning to view their relationship. Eugene couldn't contain the roll of his eyes.

"Oh, for heavens' sake," he snapped. "Abnormal? Really? Do they have to sink so low?"

"I'm sorry," Cinderella said. "But I thought you ought to know."

"Yes, you're right," Eugene replied. "It doesn't mean that I don't to wring that man's neck though."

Cinderella couldn't help but giggle. She raised one hand to cover her mouth.

"What?" Eugene asked.

"Well, it's nothing really," Cinderella said. "But I have to say, but of the rumours that could be spread about us...I'd much rather people think that I have some kind of mysterious hold over you than think that I'm having an affair or three with Jean or Lucien or any complete stranger I might meet."

"Because the former makes you sound enigmatic and powerful," Eugene suggested with wry amusement in his voice.

Cinderella laughed. "No," she said. "Because at least it acknowledges that you're the one for me. The only one I want."

Eugene snorted. "Yes, we must look on the bright side, I suppose."

Together they made their way around the room, speaking to as many people as they could. Sieur Robert was sympathetic but ultimately rather powerless.

"At present, your highnesses...to be frank and explicit very few people care for what I have to say any more. In fact I daresay that in some quarters my support would do you more harm than good. Nevertheless you have my sympathies. This is a very distasteful business all round."

Lord Roux said a great deal, but at the same time was quite hard for Cinderella to tell what he was actually saying. There was doubtless meaning amongst his words but she was not quite able to draw it out. Christine watched their conversation with a look on her face as though she was fulminating about something.

Many of the radical liberals whom Cinderella had met as part of the Anti-Corn Law League were present at the party, and Cinderella made sure to introduce Eugene to each and every one of them. Some were sympathetic, and if their sympathy seemed driven as much by dislike of Duke Henry and what were called his 'ultra tendencies' as by affection for Cinderella and Eugene they were prepared to take what they could get. Others, however, prepared to elide over the issue of the royal marriage and talk instead about the role of commerce as the lifeblood of the state and the necessity for commerce to flow unchecked by restriction or the regulation for the greater good and prosperity of the nation.

"They know something about the factory and they're trying to warn us off," Cinderella said to Eugene after the end of just one such discussion. "It's just as Christine said, they're letting us know where their priorities lie."

"It was always likely," Eugene said. "There's nothing to be done about it."

"No," Cinderella agreed. At least nothing that we're willing to do.

Augustina introduced her to a man named Lord Georges who frostily conceded that she had the right on her side 'in this instance'. By the end of the evening they had not amassed a huge number of ringing endorsements, and more people had professed their sympathy than promised their backing, but they knew now where they were starting from and they were reassured that the whole country was not against them.

It could have been, Cinderella told herself, much worse.

"It's a start," Eugene said. "Not the best start, but a start nonetheless."

"Yes," Cinderella agreed. "So, where do we go from here?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Eugene said. "But for now, I think we deserve just a little time to ourselves on our anniversary night, don't you think?"

Cinderella smiled. "I think that sounds absolutely delightful."

Eugene drew her off, out of the ballroom and into the palace gardens where they walked, alone together, under the light of the silvery moon.