[AN: This scene was interesting to write; I'm sure I'm overthinking things, but it's kind of challenging to reconcile someone as ambitious and domineering as Lady Tremaine with her pampered, selfish children.]
Lady Tremaine sighed as the hired carriage bounced and creaked along the darkened city streets back out to the countryside. Anastasia and Drizella were sitting on the opposite bench, bickering as usual - Anastasia's shrill whine countered by Drizella's nasal squawking - and Lady Tremaine felt her patience wearing thin. She took a careful breath, and pulled her narrow mouth into a tight smile. "Remember: a lady always keeps her voice low and her tone soothing."
Anastasia pouted. "But, Mother, it isn't fair. I don't see why we can't have nice things like everyone else does!" She picked at the pink lace on her fan and let out a petulant huff. "I'm sure Fredericka wore her gloves from Madame Tournay just to spite me! She knows I've been begging for a new pair for weeks."
Drizella rolled her eyes. "I've told you a thousand times, you shouldn't wear pink anyway. It looks just awful with your hair."
"Better than yours with that huge floppy bow!" Tilting her nose up, Anastasia stuck her tongue out at her sister. "Obviously you know nothing about fashion; it isn't pink, it's magenta. And besides - eep!" Whatever Anastasia was going to add was cut off with a shriek as the carriage lurched to a stop at the head of the drive.
Gathering her heavy woolen shawl around her shoulders, Lady Tremaine cleared her throat. "Proper posture, girls: shoulders back, eyes forward." The driver opened the carriage door and she stepped down gracefully, then turned - and stiffened, ever so slightly - as her daughters lurched out, tangling themselves in their full skirts and petticoats. It was as though they paid careful attention to everything she said, and then made absolutely certain to do the exact opposite. She stepped quickly toward them, herding them toward the door. "Come along now." Though she gave a regal nod to dismiss the driver, she made no attempt to hide the threat in her gaze, daring him to say so much as a word against her beloved daughters.
But either he had learned a great deal about how to deal with aristocratic pride, or he simply didn't notice. He simply touched the brim of his hat, mumbled "Evenin', mum," as he stepped up to his seat again, and drove off.
The house was quiet as they entered, but light still shone from the kitchen. Lady Tremaine folded her shawl over her arm. "Cinderella!" she called, but there was no answer. She frowned, her eyes narrowing.
Noticing her mother's expression, Anastasia mimicked it, though her exaggerated scowl was more comical than threatening. "She's probably gone to bed already, the lazy thing."
Drizella smirked. "It's not like she had anything better to do." Both girls sniggered rather nastily.
A swift glance around the dark hall showed that at least Cinderella had cleaned up the remains of that ridiculous costume she'd scrounged up. Still, it wasn't like her to leave lights burning. Lady Tremaine glanced up the stairs, but the idea of climbing all the way up to the tower to give Cinderella the tongue-lashing she deserved... her feet hurt just at the thought of it. "Well, she can't go off and sulk any time she doesn't get her way. I'll have to speak to her in the morning." She turned to her daughters. "Take a candle from the kitchen and go to bed. It's important to be well-rested for your lessons in the morning."
"But we're not a bit tired!" Drizella's claim seemed less believable when she followed it with a yawn that she didn't bother to hide.
Anastasia pouted again. "If you're just mad because he danced with That Girl instead of us..." Her protest faltered under a chilling glare from her mother.
"At once," said Lady Tremaine, and the girls knew better than to keep trying when she used that tone. They scurried obediently up the stairway without another word.