The day of our first party, two days later, my nerves were frayed. I had no appetite but forced myself to eat lest the girls catch my jitters.

Edmond spent the entire day cleaning my carriage—we'd all but abandoned Gareth's, while the house was abuzz with life from the three girls panicking at every misplaced hairpin.

Cinderella hesitated a time or two but once she held her gift of chocolates, thankfully from a batch she hadn't sneaked, she felt more confident.

Edmond would drive us, Poppy decided, even though we still had one perfectly capable coachman. She insisted he was too old. Admittedly, much like the cook, he was not at the manor in full capacity.

I understood Poppy's trick immediately. Surely, Edmond did as well. Still, he gave no protest. When we emerged from the house to him dressed so well, my feet felt heavy. My heart pounded but all the blood rushed to my gut.

The girls overtook me, for what else could they do when their silly mother stopped moving?

Once they were down the steps, Edmond held out his hand for them each and they piled into the carriage.

When it was my turn, I feared he'd let me fall. Instead of two hands, however, he held me by the waist, an action that lit me up. It wasn't uncommon; this was usually how he assisted me. Perhaps it was the extra care needed for the elderly.

I felt a hundred years old when he eased me in. The door closed to Cinderella's marveled words. "Stepmother, your face is so red!"

This didn't help my blush. I fanned myself. "Oh, it's just so hot," I said, ignoring the cool breeze of the evening. Once the carriage started moving and I could get my thoughts together, I focused on Poppy and Piglet sitting across from Cinderella and I. They were to keep her safe.

"But...that requires so much effort," Poppy cautioned. "What sort of reputation would we garnish?"

"That does not matter," I informed her. "If it requires hostility, so be it. I will need to get a feel of the mothers to see where any danger may lie." I told Piglet, "Your voice is unparalleled. So do not shy away." Poppy had no need for my praises, so I left it at that.

Cinderella was all nerves. I squeezed her hands. I wanted to convey some good news I'd gotten from Edmond...before he'd deemed me an unworthy friend.

One look at Cinderella's labored breathing, and not for the corset, and I decided against sharing it.

Apparently, Poppy, who had been in attendance when I spoke to Edmond, decided this was good motivational news to share, and not something terrifying for three young women who barely knew what to expect from this party much less life. Therefore, she took it upon herself to do the honors.

"Sometimes, members of the royal family frequent these events incognito." When her news failed to garner any wild shrieks as she herself seemed ready to give, she asked, "Isn't that amazing?"

The light in her blue-gray eyes had me smiling. It was rare that she looked so young. Today, too, she had most of her right eye nearly covered by her hair. The rest was tied up. Truth be told, she and Cinderella...looked alike. Should they stand side-by-side for any given moment, their blood relation became apparent.

Similarities in looks were as far as it went. Their personalities were polar opposites.

"That sounds difficult," Cinderella said, "to keep track of the guest while searching out a duke or duchess."

"Not just the duke or duchess but an even higher ranking! Why, don't you want to marry into royalty! Wouldn't that be splendid?"

No one echoed the sentiment but I was pleased. Seeing Poppy lose her composure wasn't common. This was the only thing she'd ever wanted...to marry into the monarchy, something that was an impossibility within her father's merchant class. I'd never told them about my own background—the memories were too painful. But now, with the help of this marriage and a bit of prestige and luck, anything was possible.

"I don't need to marry into the monarchy," Cinderella boasted. "Mother'd always said they were stuffy, boring people. Besides," she declared, taking hold of my hand and giving me a smile, "I'll just live with Stepmother all my life."

That made me laugh and I patted her hand.

Poppy's eager expression dissolved. Piglet wasn't far behind. There was no chatter after that, a fact that worried me.

We arrived in good time and as Poppy expected, our unusual coachman sparked chatter and curious onlooking.

Poppy was nervous at first until another coach pulled up, manned by a driver that, although nothing like Edmond in looks, resembled him in color.

That servant's clothing was even grander. Edmond held his head high but there was something beyond his gaze that troubled me. I regretted bringing him and made up my mind that he would remain home in the future.

I wished I could say I enjoyed the party but it was...work. Pretending mirth and revelry was...work. And keeping a close eye out for any slight to my girls, or mistakes was...work.

Poppy's piano skills stole the show. The mother who'd dare suggested she play in an effort to put her own daughter up shortly after, regretted that challenge to no limit.

From that moment, the tone changed, now no longer a friendly game find the better breeding but a deathmatch. I was eager to show Piglet off next, but the hostess, who could have chosen anyone out of the countless young girls there, zeroed in on our weak point—Cinderella.

It was her posture. The way she was so quiet the entire time. The way she hid herself either behind Poppy, Piglet, or both. A time or two, she even found her way to my side and I had to shoo her on to join the other girls yet again.

The mothers, more than ready to knock us down a peg, smelled blood and were eager to strike.

Rather than shy away, I raised my nose and called Cinderella to me. She nearly tripped in her panic. I whispered in her ear, "It's all right if you make a mistake. You planned to live with me forever anyway, correct? But there's chocolates at the end of this party for an exquisite guest."

Her eyes met mine and although she knew it was a lie, I was sure, it made her smile. For the chocolates, I'd get them myself.

The ornate chandelier high above complimented Cinderella's face well.

All gathered around to watch her fail. The quiver in her voice when she started her story, without the aid of a book, made me nervous. Behind my proud smile, my thoughts ran wild. A glance at Poppy showed a mirroring of my expression. She was panicked, too. Only Piglet, who nearly bit her nails, allowed others to know her worry.

Despite the bumpy start, Cinderella hit her stride midway and the rest was a blur after that. Her voice was light at cheerful moments. Her hands came up in an exaggerated fashion for the tension. And just before the climax, she leaned down and whispered; everyone leaned in to hear her. She was amazing. Absolutely amazing. She could weave a story far better than even Arabella, which was no easy feat.

Her final exclamation, punctuated by a jump, had some men falling back. The crowd was eerily still. When she finished, even the servants had paused in what they were doing to listen. A pin could drop, and we'd all hear it. One clap came from a gentleman then another.

And then they exploded into thundering applause.

It was a success. All worries receded from me with a long exhale. With that out of the way, I decided to go in search of Poppy's royal connections.

No. I did not believe she had a prayer in winning the favor of anyone in the monarchy, but lately, I'd found myself being less practical and more...motherly.

Spinning around from woman to woman in an effort to get as much details as subtly as possible proved fruitless. It was only when I arrived back at the main party that I noticed something. Poppy and Piglet were accounted for. But not Cinderella.

The world shrank and fell silent.

No.

This wasn't happening.

Surely, she couldn't get up to much mischief in this short amount of time, and yet, dread filled me.

No.

No.

This was not acceptable. In an instant, my composed-mother façade fell, and I raced to the girls and whispered, "Where is Cinderella!"

"What?" Piglet gasped. "We thought she was with you!"

Yet another quick scan of the busy guests trying not to sweat in their overly priced, extravagant clothes yielded no beautiful blond perhaps shoveling food into her mouth.

That was hardly a comfort.

We had to search and search fast in the most ladylike fashion. I nearly threw off all pretense as I lost patience with the big frocks, boxing against my own big frock, blocking my way.

Finding a monarch at a random party was unlikely. Finding a cad looking to take advantage of a naïve girl was all too easy. I decided to focus on narrow passageways, any halls devoid of people.

I spilled out of that party into the long hall in time to see Cinderella, talking to a man.

"No, no, no." My feet fell faster as I hurried to reach them, but I was too late. A handful of people followed me from the party. I prayed it was my girls, but I knew better. I couldn't break into a run like I wanted, and the world ended for me when she showed him her bare foot—her glass slippers.

Five minutes later, there was no blushing when Edmond helped me into the carriage. We left early. We had to. It was by luck that the people at my back were in fact Piglet and Poppy dotted in with some guests. They'd managed to steer the onlookers clear but the man who Cinderella entertained was too stunned to even speak as I whisked her away.

The carriage ride was tense. Something surprising happened, Poppy dabbed her eyes.

She didn't dare cry, but she didn't have to, Piglet was in enough tears for the rest of us.

"But we tried so hard," Piglet lamented. "All the time to fix the dresses. All the practice."

Poppy finally pulled her close and rubbed her shoulders.

Cinderella sat shamefaced at my side. She had nothing to say.

"You," Piglet seethed, "you! Was it just too hard to simply take one victory and keep quiet?"

The silence after that, punctuated by the sniffs and sobs broke my heart. I didn't know what to say to any of them.

Once we arrived home, I tried to approach Piglet, but she broke her sister's hold and ran past me into the house.

Poppy was the one I felt sorriest for. "I suppose it wouldn't have amounted to much if someone from the royal family had been there," she muttered. It sounded more like she wanted to comfort herself rather than me.

And when I tried to approach, she hurried inside as well. That meant she'd cry. She hadn't cried in front of me going on five years now. My heart ached for her. This had been such a rare chance.

Finally, there was Cinderella. But as soon as I approached her, she whipped around with her back to me.

"It's not my fault. He asked for another story and I panicked. I didn't have any others. And you said you'd read mother's stories and tell me a new one and you haven't!"

She started for the house and I followed, all the while listening to her cries. And she'd been right. I'd promised to give her more stories for her arsenal but balked at the idea.

Once she reached her bedroom door, I finally built up the courage to say something, but that door flew closed, inches from my nose.

I felt like a pariah. Two doors in my face in three days. Till now, I hadn't any.

There was no supper, anyway, no one wanted one. I flopped down in the study.

A slither of light came through the open doorway. To my surprise, Piglet approached with a tray of tea and two biscuits.

"I'm sorry, Mother. You tried very hard, too."

After she put it to rest on the desk, I stood and circled the mahogany to embrace her. She tensed. For a long while, she did not move. Finally, she hugged me back but when I leaned away, her tears started anew.

"Whatever's the matter?" I asked.

Her smile meshed with the anguish of her eyes looked strange. "Nothing's wrong." She took another hug, unprompted and I decided to let her hold on for as long as she wanted. "I didn't get to sing."

That made me smile. I broke her embrace and leaned down to meet her with a grin. "Yes. Did you notice? After Poppy's performance, they didn't dare allow you to upstage their own daughters whose talent was singing."

My words made her eyes light up but she hesitated. "Is that why?"

"Of course that's why!" I promised her, "Next time, we'll start with your singing instead."

This satisfied her enough that she nodded. She surprised me by hugging me one last time before saying goodnight.

I puzzled about her behavior. Perhaps I'd been too hard on them, all of them. But they were from a humble start, they needed to be ravenous to make it in life. For a house with no boys, they'd be picked off easily by lecherous men in search of an easy access to unearned riches. I couldn't allow to happen to them what occurred to me. But had I been too...dedicated in my efforts?

The house was somber and after I readied for bed, I'd barely got under the sheets when I heard a knock.

"Enter."

What I expected was one of the girls looking for a heart-to-heart; what I received in the form of a guest was Edmond who closed the door and leaned back against it.

The light from my bedside lamp didn't reach him fully but it was more than clear to me that he was in deep contemplation.

"I take promises seriously. I take vows seriously. And you are a married woman."

His words shamed me but not for the normal reasons. Their lack of impact was the true concern. I didn't care about the vows I'd spoken, or the verbal understanding I'd fallen under. Till now, I had. I always had. But not any longer.

"One night," he said, "and none after that." Perhaps as we were experiencing our biggest fiasco in that party, outside, Edmond instead had an epiphany; I was unsure.

My heart soared. "All right."

"Also...." He paused then said, "I have nine toes." The hesitation said far more than the confession itself. "And I was not born that way."

My back stiff, I paced myself. Was this the source of his previous hesitation? I was unsure.

"That's all right, too," I said. "I have eleven."

His brows raised and I waited before smiling. When he caught my joke, he nodded.

No sooner had he opened his mouth to perhaps tease me in return, that I raced from the bed and leapt at him. He caught me with ease and reached back to turn the key in the lock.