Rumour and Counter-Rumour

Perhaps I have the right to say that I won't let you ruin my life any more. Any of you.

That worked out well, didn't it?

Cinderella looked down at the Post in front of her, and at the story contained within.

For a day or so it had seemed that they might be over the worst of their troubles regarding the duke and the marriage: although he had been released from custody due to lack of evidence against him, the fact that someone had tried to kill Eugene – and Cinderella herself – had been all over the news and no one seemed able to find a good word to say about him in the light of it. It had appeared, Cinderella had been able to believe, that his rash action would case his schemes to whither and die from a lack of support.

There was still the worry that he would try again to put their lives under threat but Eugene assured her that there were men watching His Grace and the house, and that if he attempted any further plots then they would know about it.

But now it was hard to feel so hopeful that they had reached an end of things.

Drizella, it seemed, had decided to talk. A part of Cinderella wondered why she was even surprised any more.

"I'm sorry about this," she said miserably.

Although they were at the dining table for breakfast, Eugene had forsaken the protocol-dictated seat opposite Cinderella and taken the seat on her left instead. He had one arm around her, and he rubbed her right arm gently up and down and squeezed it reassuringly. "This isn't your fault."

"I let her go."

"We couldn't keep her a prisoner, we had no cause," Eugene said. "No cause we were willing to admit, at least."

Cinderella closed her eyes for a moment. "I try to be kind, to be generous, to be forgiving. Have courage and be kind, that's how I try to live, the way that…that my mother and father would have wanted. But why…why does it seem to…am I wrong? Am I being terribly foolish, ought I to-"

"No."

Cinderella opened her eyes and glanced at him. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I think I can guess," Eugene replied. "The fact that wicked people take advantage of your kindness doesn't make that kindness a fault and it doesn't make their wicked deeds your fault either." With his free hand he took hold of Cinderella's chin, and gently turned her face so that she was looking at him, into his devoted brown eyes. "If you lost that part of yourself, if you became hard or cold I don't know what I'd do."

Cinderella reached up and gently removed his hand from her chin. Her expression was as melancholy as her spirit in this moment. "Even when it happens so often? When does it stop being their wickedness and become my stupidity that I let this keep happening to me?"

Eugene stared at her in silence for a moment. "Cinderella…I'm afraid to say this but you will always have enemies. We will always have enemies. Because of who you are, because of what you are, because of who and what we are there will always be those who hate and despise us, and that would be true whether you are as sweet and gentle as you are or the most cruel and grasping, selfish woman who ever lived since Salome. The difference, I think, is that those who have saved you, have saved us both, wouldn't have done so for a cruel or selfish girl."

Cinderella's eyes glanced downwards. Eugene had a point there, if she thought about it for a moment. She had not…she didn't want to think that she had engendered the hostility of Serena, or Grace or even her stepfamily by anything that she had done – unless one counted the mere act of her existence, the very fact of her having the temerity to marry Eugene in spite of her lack of eligibility for such a marriage, as constituting a provocation to their malice; Cinderella would rather not do so – but she had, she hoped, engendered the love of her rescuers and protectors.

She had to believe that, or she was nothing but a fool and truly lost.

Cinderella looked away, back to the paper in front of them. "What are we going to do?" she asked.

Whoever Drizella had been talking to she had not told the truth, but it had to be admitted that she had told more of the truth than Eugene or Cinderella or anyone else connected with the palace had.

Not that that was saying much considering that Eugene had told a tissue of lies. Drizella was right in saying that Vanessa was dead, but everything was framed in such a way as to make Eugene, the King, Cinderella herself come out of it as badly as possible. And all of it framed in innuendo and suggestion, saying nothing directly but implying everything.

They – Cinderella didn't know whether Drizella had come up with her own creative interpretation of events or whether their graces had taken what she had told them and devised the interpretation that furthered their own cause best – said that Vanessa was dead (which she was, though not quite in the way they meant) at the hands of General Gerard, who had murdered her on the orders of Eugene and Cinderella when she became too much trouble for them to bear; they claimed that His Majesty's grief had been for her death; they had the audacity to claim that Drizella had been Cinderella's most trusted confidante but had departed her service when the princess' crimes grew too great for her to keep silent. It was slightly absurd, but that particular falsehood upset Cinderella possibly more than the rest.

Of Grace's villainy, Drizella's attempt to seduce Eugene, or even of the fact that Grace or Vanessa had influence the King to physically attack Cinderella nothing was said or suggested at all. Doubtless someone felt it might make them look a little sympathetic and not as ruthlessly evil as they liked.

Cinderella was afraid, she was very much afraid, that all the sympathy that had accrued to them after the botched assassination attempt – and the infamy that had descended upon the head of the duke – had been wiped out, if not reversed, by these revelations. After all, his grace still protested his innocence and this, unfortunately, made his protestations seem very credible.

If we were willing to kill an innocent girl we would certainly be willing to frame an innocent man.

What are we going to do?

"In this instance I think we should say nothing," Eugene said. "Except perhaps to bluntly deny it."

"Really?" Cinderella asked, confused. Keeping silent in the face of ridiculous allegations had never worked for her, and in fact her ladies had always encouraged her to deny them publicly and get the truth out rather than letting this week's slander fester. "Because I've found that it's better to confront these things, otherwise people might think there's something in it."

"We've already told our story, back when it all happened and we had to explain it," Eugene said. "We don't need to repeat ourselves."

"But would it hurt?" Cinderella replied.

"It gives any questioners a second chance to pick holes in our account," Eugene pointed out. "If we just point out that we have given a full explanation of everything then we can dismiss this as the ill-informed, irresponsible and unfounded speculation that it is."

"Even though it's accurate."

"Oh, nothing is worse than ill-informed, irresponsible and unfounded speculation that happens to be accurate," Eugene said.

Cinderella glanced at him. He smiled just a little.

"Things aren't as bad as all that," Eugene said. "At the very worst we're back to square one, but even that might be an exaggeration. Not everyone will believe this, not by a long way."

Cinderella wanted to believe that, but experience had taught her that people were willing to believe quite a lot where she was concerned.

"Is there nothing else that we can do?"

"The only thing I think that we should do," Eugene said. "Is continue to show that we are better suited for the throne that he is or could be." He was silent for a moment. "But, if you want to address these rumours more directly, I won't stop you. Although I warn you, it may be an inquisitorial interview."

"Mmm," Cinderella murmured. "You're right, but I don't like the idea of just…saying nothing and letting people think that we have something to hide. Will you let me think about it?"

"Of course," Eugene said, leaning forward to kiss her on the temple. "Take as long as you need?"

"May…may I join you both?"

Cinderella gasped as she looked towards the door, one hand rising to her heart, her fingertips brushing against the pearls that dangled from around her neck.

His Majesty stood in the doorway with shoulders hunched a little, hands clasped behind his back. He looked abashed, hesitant, just as he had when he had approached her in the library.

He was looking at her, and not Eugene. It was her answer that he was waiting for.

A quick glance stolen behind confirmed that Eugene was waiting for her answer to.

I did tell him that I would try to be able to be in the same room as him.

Cinderella rose slowly to her feet, trying to ignore the trembling in her hands, and the desire to run, to hide, to get behind Eugene. She tried to ignore the fear that His Majesty had something clasped in his hidden hands, some weapon which he would turn on her. She tried to remember that this was a man whom she had loved once.

And then he beat me.

That wasn't his fault.

But he still did it.

Cinderella swallowed. This was…this was Eugene's father, and her king. She couldn't avoid him forever, and if she couldn't be around him then…then she would have to give up things that she did not want to give up.

She didn't know if they could ever find their way back to where they had been before, but she needed to find some way to get past the fear that she felt just being in his presence. For the sake of her children, she had to.

And so, though she could not smile at the sight of His Majesty, though she could put no joy or even enthusiasm in her voice, Cinderella managed to say, "Of course, your majesty, you would be very welcome."

The King sighed with relief. "Thank you, my dear. You cannot know how much that means to me."

He walked to the table. Cinderella flinched as he approached the seat at the head of the table, the seat next to her, and he must have noticed that for he did not take that seat but rather sat opposite Eugene instead, for all that required him to be one seat down from the head of the table in a position unbecoming of a king.

"Thank you," Cinderella whispered.

His Majesty did not respond, but the way he glanced at her confirmed that he had heard.

"You both look very preoccupied," he observed. "What so concerns you both?"

Eugene wordlessly handed him the paper.

The King read, his bushy white eyebrows rising as his face reddened until he flung the paper down upon the table hard enough to make it slam. Cinderella flinched at the loud noise, and a slight sound of dismay escaped her at his anger.

"THIS IS ABSOLUTE POPPY-" the King stopped, and looked at Cinderella. His face paled, or at least lost all its red of wrath. "I…I'm sorry, Cinderella, I will try…I won't let it get the best of me."

"Your Majesty," Cinderella murmured.

"I will not stand for this," the King said. "They cannot force me to sign any law altering a marriage I consented to and disinheriting my own grandchildren in favour of my nephew or anyone else for that matter."

"Perhaps not, but if all the realm were to demand it life could get very difficult for us all if you didn't," Eugene said. "That's why we have to fight, and not just rely upon your support, father."

The King muttered something indistinct. "And how is that going?"

"It was going better, until this," Eugene said. "As it is…we may have been set back a few paces. But I've never believed that it was insurmountable."

His Majesty nodded. "So what will you do?"

"Work," Eugene said. "And serve. And do the things that cousin Henry has never bothered to do. And build support, I hope."

"Um," Cinderella murmured. She struggled to raise her voice a little more in the King's presence. "Speaking of which, your majesty…it's about today's council meeting."

The King looked impatient, but he also didn't hurry her or snap at her to get on with or anything else. He waited, concealing his impatience as best he could.

"Eugene and I," Cinderella continued. "Might we have a word with you…about the factory law? We…we have a few ideas to…to amend it. To make it better."

"Of course," His Majesty said. "Come to my study before the meeting and we will discuss them."

"Thank you, your majesty."

"And as for the rest," he said. "Do whatever you must. I couldn't bear it if the throne went to my brother's grandchildren instead of my own."

The question had been building all morning. Etienne could feel it in the air, like a storm about to break. Lucrecia had avoided the subject all through breakfast but, as he was putting on his jacket to leave for work, in the hallway of the Gerard townhouse, the question came.

"Is it true?"

Etienne stopped what he was doing. His back was to her, she was unable to see the pained look on his face. He had known this was coming but that didn't mean that he was eager for it.

Still, the last time he had lied to Lucrecia - even by omission - he had nearly lost her and though they were wed now he was not eager to test her loyalty again. He turned halfway to her, his hands falling down by his sides. "They don't know the full story. Or even half of it."

"But it's true," Lucrecia said, in a voice that was soft and small and quiet. "You killed this woman."

"She was going to hurt Cinderella, kill her even," Etienne replied. "She boasted of the fact, that's why I..." He took a deep breath. "When I recieved the King's commission I took an oath to defend His Majesty, His Heirs and Successors in person, crown and dignity. I kept that oath. I defend the wife of his heir, and the unborn heirs of his line. I do not apologise for that nor do I feel any shame for what I have done."

"Then why not tell me?" Lucrecia asked. "Why not tell the world, for that matter? Why lie to everyone?"

"Because...because it's more complicated then I'm making it sound, there are things that nobody, not even you, would believe. Things that I wouldn't believe if I hadn't seen them with my own eyes."

Lucrecia folded her arms. "I must say, Etienne, that if I didn't love you that would sound an awful lot like an excuse."

Etienne cringed. "Now you see why His Highness preferred a plausible-sounding lie that didn't invite too many questions."

"Then what is the truth?" Lucrecia asked. "This fantastical truth that no one would believe, not even you who were there."

Etienne hesitated a moment. But...for God's sake he was sworn to defend the crown, not to drive a wedge between him and his wife for their sake. And Lucrecia was a friend of the princess, if not sufficiently close a friend to be let in on the secret, and he had kept enough secrets from her. He ought to have learnt his lesson the first time. "What I tell you stays between the two of us."

Lucrecia's slender eyebrows rose. "I'm not in the habit of gossiping, and I'm well aware of the importance of discretion." She smiled. "You have no idea how some of my clients witter on as they're being fitted. The things that I could tell you if I wanted to...if I wanted to ruin my business, that is, no one would patronise a dressmaker who spread their confidences around the town. Come," she said gently, invitingly, even as she held out her hands to him. "Your secrets will be as safe with me as anyone else's."

And so Etienne told her the truth, as best he knew it. He told her how, when he had shot Vanessa dead, her body had transformed in death into that of Grace du Villeroi, the treacherous lady-in-waiting. He told her how her faithful soldiers had turned into dogs. He even told her about the bear, and about what - as far as he knew - His Majesty had done under Grace's influence.

And when he was finished she took a step backwards. "You're quite right, that does sound incredible," Lucrecia murmured. "Now I understand why Prince Eugene preferred to make up a story. Vanessa's running away sounded much more plausible."

"It sounds absurd but it is the truth," Etienne said.

"I believe you," Lucrecia said. "It's just a pity that so many others wouldn't." She was silent for a moment, as her expression turned accusing. "You should have told me."

"I've killed before, do you want to know about every time?" Etienne asked, a little more sharply than he had intended. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...I didn't want to burden you with this, and their highnesses didn't want the truth to spread any further than necessary."

"I'd rather know before the truth comes out in the press."

"It wasn't supposed to come out."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I do." He walked towards her, and places his hands upon her shoulders. "I will tell you the truth next time, I promise."

"You expect there to be a next time?"

Etienne snorted. "I sincerely hope not, but anything seems possible nowadays."

Lucrecia shook her head. "It feels so unfair, you did what was right but now people will think that you're a murderer. Is there nothing that you can do, nothing that their highnesses can do?"

"My reputation has been shot before and I survived," Etienne said. "I will survive again, if need be." He paused, a frown creasing a face that seemed made for frowning. He could survive a tattered reputation because, ultimately, he lived on the royal patronage and favour - he only needed His Majesty and Eugene to know what had really happened in order to keep his job; but Lucrecia lived on her reputation, which needed to be as spotless as those of her noble clients. Association with him, and through him with this, could damage her. "Let me know if this starts to hurt you," he said. "Let me know and I will do something about it."

He wasn't entirely sure what he'd do, but he would do something.

He could do nothing less for the woman he loved.

Frederica swept into the sitting room wearing a gown of emerald that hung off her shoulders and revealed a good deal of her cleavage to the world. She smiled brightly as she saw Cinderella sitting on the settee in the centre of the room. "And how is my favourite and most beautiful spy feeling today."

Cinderella did not smile, rather she favoured Frederica with a look that let her know just how unamused by it she was.

"Oh, don't look at me that way," Frederica said lightly as she slumped down on the settee beside Cinderella. "I should know more than anyone else what a preposterous idea it is."

Cinderella managed to try to smile, or at least to twitch one corner of her lip upwards. "I'm sorry, I just...I suppose I don't find this very amusing."

"I suppose there's no reason why you should," Frederica admitted. "In all seriousness, how are you?" She placed one hand on Cinderella's belly. "And how are they, for that matter?"

Cinderella's hand joined Frederica's on top of her bump. "They are very well, but they're already beginning to tire me carrying them around. I don't know how I'm going to feel in six months' time."

Frederica nodded. "You're three months along now, aren't you?"

"More or less," Cinderella said.

"Well, I've no personal experience to draw upon but for what it's worth, I'm told it gets better into the second trimester."

"Yes, they tell me the same thing," Cinderella said, with a slight sigh in her voice. "I'm still waiting for that promise to be fulfilled."

Frederica was silent a moment. "I must say...I'm not sure that the strain you're under is helping in that regard."

Cinderella looked away from her friend and fellow princess, and her gaze fixed upon the walnut table in front of them. "I know what you mean. I think that...sometimes I wonder if I would have been better off remaining in the Summer Palace until...maybe until they were born, or at least until this was settled one way or another. At the time I felt as though I couldn't just sit back and do nothing while his grace did this to us but now...do you think I made a mistake. Oh, I'm so sorry, help yourself to the tea and cakes there. I should have mentioned that when you sat down."

Frederica looked at the spread of cakes and scones laid out in front of them. "Are you allowed to eat any of this or is it all for my benefit?"

Cinderella considered the selection. "No, I think I should be fine."

Frederica smiled as she picked up an angel cake, with yellow lemon-flavoured buttercream emerging from the cavern in the centre, holding the sponge delicately between her fingers. "Open wide."

Cinderella grinned. "I'm not hungry."

"I'm sure that somebody in there is," Frederica replied. "Come on, I'm not sure it's possible to eat too much when one is eating for three." She thrust the angel cake forwards towards Cinderella's mouth.

"Stop it!" Cinderella cried, more in amusement than anything else, as she shoved Frederica's hand away. "I'm having babies I haven't become one; I'm perfectly capable of feeding myself." She picked up a pair of napkins and spread one out across her lap. With the other she plucked the little cake from Frederica's fingers - ensuring she wouldn't get crumbs on her glove - and took a bite. "Thank you," she said after she had swallowed.

"Thank your chef, not me."

"Not just for this," Cinderella said. "Thank you for coming here; I know that usually I come to visit you but-"

"I would never dream of putting you to the trouble in your condition," Frederica said gently. Her eyes were keen as she leaned forwards. "You never finished telling me how you were."

Cinderella looked at her, then glanced away for a moment, and used the excuse of eating her angel cake to not talk.

Frederica raised one eyebrow. "Out with it. Or would you rather I guess?"

Cinderella swallowed, and put down the remains of her cake down on a little china plate. "I think that you could probably guess, but it's more than that. I...you won't tell Eugene this, will you?"

"In so far as your husband and I are friends it's through and because of you," Frederica said. "Anything you share with me in confidence will remain so, you have my word."

Cinderella closed her eyes. "Ever since I told him the news Eugene has been worried about me. And I understood why but at the same time...I thought it was a little silly at first. All I could think of was how wonderful it was going to be when I had my baby." Her hand went to her belly once again. "My babies." She rubbed her hand across her bump, from one side to the other where she thought - imagined, at least - her growing children to be, based on where the doctor seemed to listen for their hearts beating. "But now...now I'm worried too. With everything that's going on, sometimes I feel so...what if I'm hurting them? What if they...what if...oh, Frederica, it's terrible but I'm afraid that-"

"Shh, shhhh," Frederica whispered, leaning yet closer to Cinderella so that their shoulders were touching, even as she reached out and wrapped Cinderella's hands within her grasp. "Shh now, don't upset yourself. Nothing is worse than upsetting yourself over how upset you are." Her smile was sympathetic and understanding. "I don't think any woman can be ignorant of the fact that there are risks in this."

Cinderella looked down. "My mother, she...after she had me she was never quite...she got tired so easily, she was bedridden often. After she died, my father told me that she'd given up too much of herself to make me."

"Did he blame you?"

"No!" Cinderella said firmly. "No, that isn't what I meant, or what he meant, he meant that...Papa didn't blame me. Papa could never be cruel to me. I just...I made her sick, and she was never really well after."

"Did she love you?"

"Yes," Cinderella said quietly, for although her memories of her mother were too few they nevertheless burned brightly in her mind as memories of happiness and love. When the three of them had been together, mother and father and Cinderella herself, everything had been so perfect and so wonderful it was as though there was nothing but joy in the world.

"Then I'm sure she thought it was a worthwhile trade," Frederica said. "Just as I'm sure that she's proud of the woman you've become."

"You're very kind to say so." Cinderella smiled shyly. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"You can tell me all the secrets that you like."

"In my dreams, I have four children," Cinderella said. "Four beautiful children, two girls, and two boys. The girls have my eyes, and the boys have Eugene's strong chin. Eugene and I put our arms around them, and hold them close and keep them safe and love them so much that...that when we're all together everything seems perfect. I want...I want my children to know me. I want them to know their father and their grandfather. I want them to have years of memories of me: of my smile, of the way that I would hold them, of the sound of my voice when I sang them to sleep, the way I played them, and dried their tears or kissed it better when they hurt themselves; I want them to remember how proud I was to see them all grown up and falling in love and married I want to hold my grandchildren I want..." Cinderella blinked rapidly, there was something in her eye making it water. "I want my children to have the family that was stolen from me too soon and I'm afraid...I'm afraid I won't be able to give it to them."

Frederica raised one of her hands away from those of Cinderella, and wiped the tears away from Cinderella's blue eyes. "I pray to the Blessed Virgin every day on your behalf. From now on I will pray that all that you hope for comes to pass in time. And, though I cannot do more than that to keep you healthy or make sure that you deliver safely, I will do what I can against this duke who so fatigues you with care and worry."

Cinderella sighed. "For a moment I dared to think that it was over, but now..."

Frederica's face was still. "Yes," she said. "But now. Cinderella, I am your friend. I cannot imagine anything that you could do to shatter our friendship; at least I cannot imagine anything that you could do that would be in your nature to do. But you should have told me the truth, have I not earned your trust?"

Cinderella's eyes widened a little. "It isn't true," she said. "What they say, it isn't true."

"It is not the truth," Frederica agreed. "But neither is the story that your husband put out."

"How-"

"I can smell a lie," Frederica said. "God knows I've told enough. I allowed to be taken in, I allowed myself to believe you when you wrote to me and told me everything was fine, because the alternative - that someone as good and pure as you was trapped in marriage to an abusive monster and his father - was too terrible to contemplate. But now...now as your friend I ask you to be honest with me. What really happened?" She was silent for a moment, running her fingertips down Cinderella's cheek and neck and across her shoulder to her arm. "Did he start to hurt you?"

"No," Cinderella said firmly. "No, Eugene would never hurt me, he couldn't. He loves me."

"Sometimes the ones we love are those we hurt he most."

"Not Eugene," Cinderella insisted. There had been one or two times when she had feared that he might, when he had been so angry that it had seemed possible that he would - when she had risked herself in front of the bread riot and he had grabbed hold of her so tightly it was painful, and again after she had discovered the secret of Philippe - but that fear had been in her mind more than in his actions; he had shouted at her, but he had never behaved violently around her; nor did she believe he ever would. Their love was too true and pure to be profaned with violence.

Frederica cocked her head slightly. "Not Prince Eugene then...but what of his father, what of the king?"

Cinderella swallowed. "He...His Majesty, he..."

"He did, didn't he?"

"Only once," Cinderella cried.

Frederica's mouth tightened.

"He wasn't himself," Cinderella protested. "His Majesty wasn't...he didn't mean to it was...it was Vanessa."

Frederica's gaze was as flat as an anvil and just as hard. "Is that so?"

"Yes!" Cinderella said. "I...you might not believe this but it's the truth..."

When Cinderella had finished, Frederica's face was frozen. "Well..." she said. "That was quite a story."

"It's the truth," Cinderella said.

"You believe that," Frederica replied. She smirked. "And since I'd rather not be friends with a mad girl I suppose I believe it too."

"So you see," Cinderella said. "It really isn't true what they're saying."

"Yes, I see," Frederica murmured. "Although...he did hit you."

"I know," Cinderella whispered. "And I can't...every time I see him I want to run, to get away from him. I know he didn't...I can't help it. I can barely be in the same room as my father-in-law. What do I do about that? What can I do?"

Frederica glanced down at her lap. "My father never hit me," she said. "Instead he used a whipping girl, a rather ghastly medieval custom. She was...essentially she was like a lady-in-waiting, her job was to keep me company and take my punishments on my behalf. Her name was Joy, and for a while we were close friends. She was my only friend."

"Was?"

Frederica's smile was sickly. "It's very hard to retain affection for someone when your back has been turned into a mass of scars by beatings that are the fault of that other person," she said. "As soon as we both turned sixteen Joy left and never looked back. I don't know where she is now, she wanted nothing to do with me and I respected that. The point is...you shouldn't feel as though you have to forgive what was done to you, somethings are unforgivable."

"But he's Eugene's father, the grandfather of our children," Cinderella said. "I don't want to feel justified in feeling this way, I want these feelings to stop."

"And I wish I could help," Frederica said. "But I can't."

Cinderella nodded. "Eugene thinks...he doesn't think these things they're saying about us will hurt us that much, but I'm afraid it will be worse than that. What do you think?"

"I think the best way to answer scandalous reports is with another scandal," Frederica said. "It's what His Grace has done, and somewhat successfully at that: used the perpetual hunger for salacity to turn attention away from himself and onto you. I think that you should do the same."

Cinderella frowned. That approach didn't sound particularly righteous, but then the Duke and Duchess were not behaving particularly righteously towards them. "But...we don't know anything scandalous about them."

Frederica chuckled, and leaned forwards to kiss Cinderella on the cheek. "Leave it with me. I'll find something absolutely delicious."

Delicious, Frederica thought. With hindsight I should probably have chosen a less glib way of putting it.

I would have, if I had known what my people would bring home.

It had not been very difficult to suborn one of the Duke's servants into taking Norman gold in exchange for the secrets of his master and mistress. From this man, one of the Duke's footmen, Frederica had learned that since that His Grace paid for pleasures of the sort that he could not or would not obtain from his lady wife. That might not be the sort of thing that anyone would admit to, but it was not the sort of revelation that was going to destroy anyone's reputation either; Frederica did not doubt that many men behaved in a similar fashion, and the fact that he had begun this practice during his wife's first pregnancy might even make him sympathetic to other husbands who had likewise suffered through the drought as their child was carried to term. Not every man could be as devoted and virtuous a husband as Prince Eugene - yes, thanks to Penny, Frederica knew all about that - and not every man could be content to snuggle with their wife, able to smell the honey but not quite able to reach the honey. Some needed that taste of sweetness on their tongues. His Grace was one such, but it would not make him a wicked man in the eyes of the world.

No, this news would not destroy His Grace's reputation nor that of anyone else, but nevertheless Frederica had found out where His Grace went for his extramarital adventures, and a little further investigation had turned up the somewhat disturbing sight before her.

A girl stood in her parlour. A street girl, a woman of the night as they were euphemistically known. Her clothes were ragged but not overly so, she had clearly not lived comfortably but nor was she obviously malnourished. But what had amazed Frederica and disgusted her since the girl was brought in was how she looked: a small girl, young but adult, with a petite waist and soft features. Her eyes were blue and her hair was strawberry blonde. She even had a snub nose, much like Cinderella. She was not an exact lookalike, you couldn't have kidnapped Cinderella out of the palace, replaced her with this girl and nobody would have noticed the difference but, if you were a small man with a shrivelled soul looking to symbolically degrade the object of your ire then the resemblance was close enough and more.

Does he hate her or lust after her? Or is it both? Just contemplating the question made Frederica shudder with distaste. The Cinderella herself would never fall into clutches was the only reassuring fact about this sordid situation.

Which is why he must exorcise his feelings upon an innocent in all of this. "What is your name, Mademoiselle?" Frederica asked, trying to keep her voice soft and gentle.

"Charlotte."

And how old are you, Charlotte?"

"Eighteen, ma'am."

Frederica closed her eyes for a moment. I suppose it could have been worse. She opened her eyes again, and gestured to the bruises on Charlotte's arms. "Did His..." No, she would not call him His Grace, he was no longer worthy to be associated with the word. "Did the Duke do this to you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Frederica was silent for a moment, contemplating the angry red marks around Charlotte's neck. "He strangles you?"

"Yes, ma'am, with pearls."

"A pearl necklace?" Frederica asked. Of course he does. Cinderella does love her pearl necklaces, after all.

"Yes ma'am, he brings it with him."

Frederica took a deep breath as she tried to control herself. Her father and Duke Henry would get on very well, it seemed, and it was hard not to wish on one the vengeance she could not take on the other. Here was a man blessed with more wealth than he required to live in luxury all his days, a constant stream of fresh revenue, a beautiful wife, children, a grand house, freedom to travel across Europe and beyond to his heart's content...most people would give their right hands to exchange places with him, but not only as he consumed with desire for that which he could not have, not only was he determined to persecute a truly good woman who had done him no wrong but now this? Frederica wondered if his lady wife knew what a beast in a frock coat she had wed.

"Charlotte," she said. "You can trust me, I give you my word upon that, but what I ask you next you must answer honestly. Does he frighten you? Are you afraid?"

Charlotte nodded twice in quick succession. "He...he's always so angry, ma'am. I worry that...sometimes..."

"You worry that he can't stop," Frederica finished. "Or won't."

Charlotte nodded again.

"Don't worry," Frederica said. "I can protect you. I will protect you. He will never lay a hand on you again, I guarantee it. Anton, have a room made up for our new guest."

"At once, ma'am."

"Thank you," Frederica murmured. "Charlotte, go with his gentleman, he will look after you for now."

"Yes ma'am. Ma'am?"

"Yes?"

"What...what are you going to do now, ma'am?"

Frederica smiled, and hoped that it reassured the girl. "I promise that your name will be completely kept out of it. And I have already guaranteed you my protection." It was a pity that she had to reveal this, not least for Cinderella's sake. Frederica couldn't imagine how her friend was going to react to this revelation. But there was no help for it, visiting a bordello might not have been unusual or scandalous but what Henry had been doing there certainly was. The press would have a field day.

She wondered, again, if the Duchess Anne knew what her husband was, and she wondered if the woman deserved the chance to find out before the rest of Armorique did.

"Please, your grace, sit down."

"Thank you," Anne murmured, taking a seat opposite Frederica with the laden table between them.

"Would you like some tea, your grace?" Frederica asked, gesturing to the pot on the table.

Anne smiled. "With respect, princess, I suspect that you did not invite me here to take tea."

"And what would make you say that?"

Anne's look approached contempt. "Princess Frederica, everyone knows that you are a friend and ally of Princess Cinderella. Some might call you more than that."

"Some people are very stupid, your grace, especially those who make of me some kind of svengali to Princess Cinderella," Frederica said. "But I am glad to hear that you are giving the style which is her due, even as your husband tries to take it away from her."

"It is hers," Anne said. "For now."

Frederica stared at the duchess opposite her for a moment. "If I may ask, your grace, did this seem like a certain victory when you began it? And does it still feel that way to you?"

"I confess I had thought that the princess' unpopularity would make any alternative seem preferable," Anne admitted. "And I certainly hadn't reckoned on you framing my husband for attempted murder and treason."

"I don't know what you're talking about, your grace," Frederica said blithely. "Although, even if I were to concede the innocence of your husband in that matter, you do realise that he would kill the princess in a heartbeat if he could."

Anne blinked. "I'm afraid that it is my turn to confess to ignorance, princess; I know not of what you speak."

"I see," Frederica murmured. "Will you profess ignorance of his infidelity as well?"

Anne smiled. "You cannot shock me with this, Princess Frederica, men are congenitally unfaithful to their wives."

"Prince Eugene is not."

The look on Anne's face tightened somewhat. "Princess Cinderella," she said. "Is more fortunate than she deserves."

Is that jealousy I detect in your face and in your voice? Why, I do believe it is. Well isn't that interesting?

"For myself," Frederica said. "I have always found the opposite. Cinderella deserves far more happiness than the world in all its many cruelties allows to her."

"You think very highly of her."

"Her spirit soars above."

"Perhaps," Anne said, with a touch of melancholy in her voice. "Princess Frederica, what am I doing here? Did you think to shock me by throwing my husband's infidelity in my face?"

"No," Frederica said. "But I did wonder if you knew what form his infidelity is taking at the moment. Did you know that she looks like Princess Cinderella?"

Anne was still and silent a moment, confirming to Frederica that she had not known. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Have you noticed a pearl necklace missing from your jewellery box, your grace?"

Anne hesitated for a moment. "Yes," she said. "I assumed one of the maids had stolen it."

"Your husband has borrowed it, to strangle the poor girl he makes his substitute princess," Frederica said.

Anne shook her head. "You're lying, my husband-"

"He had no cause to hate Cinderella not too long ago, or even to know of her existence," Frederica continued. "Do you think, if I looked hard enough, I could find girls who look like you? What do you think he did to them?"

"At least he isn't doing it to me!" Anne snapped.

Frederica was silent for a moment. She sounds like my mother. That's exactly what she used to say about Father. "Is that what you think or simply what you tell yourself?"

"I am the angel of his house and the mother of children," Anne declared. "It is right that I should not be sullied with brutal base desires. But, at the same time, it is not fair that Henry should be expected to-"

"Control his base brutality?"

"Suffer in celibacy," Anne said. "He's not a monk."

"No, he's a rather wicked man, as I suspect you know full well," Frederica said.

"Why am I here?" Anne demanded.

"Because Armorique is about to find out about your husband's rare proclivity, and I wanted to fair warning, your grace," Frederica said. "And...I suppose I wanted to offer you my sympathies. I know what it's like to be in your position."

Anne hesitated for a moment. "I...I...I do not require your sympathies, princess, well-intentioned though they are." She rose to her feet. "I should go. Thank you, princess, for the invitation."

Frederica closed her eyes as Anne departed. She did not know the details, but she could believe it once I told her. She knows what kind of a man he is.

If she were not my enemy I could feel sorry for her.

I do feel sorry for her.

Author's Note: Just when you thought Henry couldn't get any worse.

This chapter was originally going to be concerned a lot more with the factory reform stuff, but when I got to the scene with Cinderella and Frederica I could feel the focus of the chapter shifting onto a different axis. The welfare stuff and its role in the ongoing battle for the crown will take up next chapter instead.

At university I studied Victorian historian, rather stupidly expecting it would be mostly political history like I'd studied at A-level; instead there turned out to be a very large social element, which I confess bored me a bit at the time but I've come to find more interesting as I've gotten older. I remember one week studying Victorian women and sexuality, and reading about the, frankly, quite messed up attitudes that prevailed among the respectable classes: the way that wives were put on a pedestal as the angel of the house, combined with the (kind of, sort of) demonisation of male sexuality led to a tacit encouragement of adultery and affairs because, as Anne puts it in this chapter, to do to his wife all the things that a man wanted to do would sully and disrespect the wife, so go and find someone too poor to make a fuss and do it to her instead. It's one of those moments that reminds you how distant we are from our ancestors.

This is the first time that Anne is forcefully confronted with what kind of a man her husband is. It won't be the last. How will it affect her? RAFO.