I wish I could say Gareth's disappearance troubled or inconvenienced us, but in truth, it hadn't. Not at all. After one month passed, more than enough time for any sensible constable to find his body and perhaps bring up charges, we fell into a proper routine.

Edmond and my trips to the cellar were far too frequent at first, I knew, but slowed with the nearing of the royal ball—there was just so much preparation involved. Perhaps he was tired, I'd told myself.

Today, as the girls went off to pick berries with the cook, was the first—perhaps only time—he ravished me in the light of day.

I loved it. And it was awful because I loved it. The more I gave into my urges, the more twisted my imagination became. I barely left the house when the cook was afoot. I'd thought her older but was taken aback to find she was three years my junior. Her heavy weight added some maturity to her face.

She was very knowledgeable about Edmond, however. So today when Edmond lay on the mattress, exhausted from the work I'd put his body through, I dressed and made my way into the kitchen. My plan was to give him the good coffee and not the watered down tea to which he was accustomed.

It was rare that he slept for long, and he picked his head up when I returned.

After putting the tray on yet another small table we'd long since brought down for the lamp, he paused often to glance at me. Once I looked away, he threw the sheets back and began to dress.

I longed for us to be closer. For us to share things with one another. That was why I'd overcome my inhibitions and started dressing in his plain sight, albeit via lamplight, something I hadn't done even with my late husband. Today, too, I felt comfortable being bare around him as I put my dress back on.

For now, I left my hair down to hang at my shoulders when we were together. Once he folded the sheets neatly, I sat at his side and offered the coffee.

He studied the dark contents of the cup then took a sip. The gag was instant.

"This is for guests!" he protested. Hand extended, he searched around. But it wasn't as if he could put the coffee back.

Finally, I held the cup and promised him, "I won't make it again, but please enjoy it."

He stared into my eyes, defiant. I was being reckless. Keeping coffee was already difficult, and we hadn't had all that much due to the expense.

But I begged him, not verbally, but with my worried expression to please let me pretend for a moment. Down here, right now, just for a few minutes, we could pretend to be normal. Not strange bedfellows hiding in the night.

Letting out a sigh through his nose, he drank the coffee but didn't reach for the biscuits. Those, he tried to give me. When I refused to take it, he put one to my lips.

I smiled in spite of myself.

We ate in companionable silence but that feeling of dread and impending loss hadn't dulled in the last month. In fact, it had snowballed.

Some assurances would wipe them away, but I couldn't bring myself to ask Edmond about something that had crossed my mind again and again.

Gareth was dead. Rather conveniently.

Each time I formulated a way to ask about it, I lost my nerve. I didn't want to offend him. I didn't want to jeopardize what we'd become.

My hand on his thigh as he drank, I debated whether or not to be direct about it.

"Edmond?"

He tilted his head back and emptied the last of the cup. I loved seeing it. Everything in me dissolved into calm.

When his eyes peered at the residue of the coffee, my body swelled with pride.

"You make this exceptionally well," he lied.

I tucked my head under him, and he held me close.

When he inquired, "What is it you wanted to ask me?" I changed my mind.

"Nothing," I answered.

Our situation was...odd yet sustainable. But dangerous as well. If anyone were to ever discover it, it wouldn't matter who killed Gareth or if he'd died on his own. People's minds tended to shift into the least decent realms for gossip's sake.

More than once, when I looked at Edmond's pleased expression, I imagined it being blank if he were tried and killed for something he didn't do.

I'd want to take his place; I'd hope to be brave enough to, but then my daughter's futures came into play and I didn't know what to do. A distraught widow may garner some leniency.

For now, only one person knew of us—the cook. And she'd known the moment she came back to the house and found Edmond in my bed and me with my hair undone without me realizing it.

Perhaps that was why Edmond rehired her. Or perhaps...perhaps his fatigue lately was due to him having a place to meet her some time during the night.

I shut my eyes and dismissed that thought. It was jealousy. Unfounded jealousy.

And yet. "Edmond?"

He kissed my throat and gathered the cup and plate. "Yes?"

Once he stood before me, I peered up at his brilliant smile. He was smiling. It had been a rare thing for so long.

But I couldn't help it. "About the cook...."

Little by little that grin dissolved. Once he wore his usual serious scowl, I scrambled for a new train of thought.

"Do you think we must pay her more?"

He didn't respond at first but then said, "No. We cannot for now. But do not worry. She is not very greedy. Your grandmother took her in when she was sixteen, a year after you got married and moved away. It will be fine."

I allowed him to clean up, though my original intent was to wait on him instead. And he must have recognized the affection I attempted to shower him with.

He kept me at arm's length, however, never letting me dream too big.

Once he was gone, I tidied up the cellar and joined him upstairs. I met him on his way down and patted his shoulder. Upon realizing what I'd done, he set his mouth to protest but footsteps filled the house. The girls had returned—at least Cinderella had.

We ascended the steps to angry chatter.

"Well, I don't care," Cinderella said, holding her head high.

"Of course, you don't care. You are not the one repairing the dresses!" Piglet clutched her fists. "How selfish of you!"

Poppy glanced between them, as stoic as ever.

Cinderella looked smug, a tear in the shoulder of her frock. "Well, if I hadn't gone in deeper, we wouldn't have got any of the sweet ones. You should be thanking me. Now you can stuff your face a bit more and earn that nickname."

Piglet lunged at her and Edmond said, "Oh no."

Both girls began to scratch at each other by the time he grabbed them by the arm and held them apart.

Piglet calmed but Cinderella pulled away, disgusted. "You don't have to touch me!"

Edmond blinked at her. Finally, he focused on her arm, the pale skin meshed against his dark fingers, and he let her go, surprised at himself.

I hated seeing this display but took some pride at Piglet brushing off Edmond's shoulder to smooth out his shirt.

"I am sorry, Edmond," Piglet said. "Have I scratched you?"

Edmond stared at her, embarrassed. "No, miss, I'm all right."

Finally, he stepped aside, and I went to his rescue. "What is going on?"

Piglet hung her head and muttered. "Nothing."

I was stunned. This hardly looked like nothing.

Poppy stared her sister down and said, "Will you—?"

"Oh, there's no point," Piglet interrupted and walked by. "She'll never get in trouble anyway."

Wherever she ran off to, I did not know. Edmond wasn't the only one embarrassed. Piglet's lack of faith in me hurt me somehow.

I waited for Poppy to confide in me, something she'd often done until now.

"I'm very sorry, Edmond," she said and turned to walk after Piglet.

That left the three of us. My eyes settled on Cinderella and I gasped. The dress was practically ruined. I would have suggested she change if not for fear she'd simply wreck another one.

So that was Piglet's meaning? Poppy handled all our clothes making now. It took her a considerable amount of time alone, but she'd insisted upon it. We could not risk even a misplaced thread this close to the royal ball. There were still parties to visit before that main event.

"Cinderella," I said, turning to give her a proper scolding.

But Cinderella made her way to the stairs, all the while shouting, "I was going to fix it on my own anyway. Everything I do is always wrong. Never mind the berries I picked for you. Now you're angry, too!"

When a door slammed, I let out a sigh.

Edmond stared me down. He had something to say, but like me, he hesitated.

"I think you should spend more time with your girls," he said, finally.

I took a step back. "But I spend so much time with them already. Every day we work together before supper.

"That is not what I mean," Edmond answered. "With your two youngest. Perhaps they should get some proper time devoted to them."

I did not appreciate his tone. It sounded like he was accusing me of something. But instead of arguing, I gave a nod and walked by.

We had two more parties to visit before the royal ball. It was costly and required a lot of preparation but necessary. First impressions were lasting and with how aggressively we had to defend Cinderella at the first party, Poppy and Piglet had garnered a reputation—a ghastly one. I knew it to be jealousy. Because Poppy was such a genius on the piano, there was a need to tear her down elsewhere. And poor Piglet had done nothing but was guilty by association.

There'd been one party since, which we visited sans Cinderella and yet it was hard to counter the new nickname bestowed upon my sweet, innocent daughters. The evil sisters.

At the time of its creation, I had not cared because we could fix badmouthing. But we were running out of time. Never had I imagined there was a royal ball we could attend. I'd considered it more than possible that within the next year or two years, we could do enough to soften any poor first impressions.

It wasn't working.

As such, Poppy had to push her sewing skills to the limit to make our rich persona fit.

I helped but she insisted on doing all the party clothes, so I allowed it. The rest, for the house, I did with Piglet. But I hardly had the time. Managing the finances was necessary.

Before supper, the girls would crochet or play chess with Edmond if time permitted. I'd use that moment to go through our ledgers. Today should have been no different but Edmond's words affected me.

Instead of sequestering myself in the study, I went into the family room.

The sight of me surprised the two girls. Once I sat between them, they went back to their task of repairing the clothes. Poppy was still diligently working on hers and Piglet's ballgowns.

"What about the wedding dress?" I said, though it pained me. "It's too grand as is, but you can tone it down and use it. That will save you some time."

Poppy picked her head up. The heartbreak creased in her expression was unbearable. "But...should I ever get married, I'd...I'd hoped to use it." She considered the words for some time then said, "But if you think it is best...can't I use it in its current form?"

She certainly couldn't. That was a dress fitting for a princess, not a merchant's daughter. It would come off as arrogant rather than intriguing.

"I do not recommend it," I told her.

Disappointed, she sat back and said, "Then no. I'll keep at this. I'm nearly finished."

That left Piglet with the household dresses to mend.

When I caught sight of what she held, I was in awe. A man's shirt. Edmond's shirt.

I stilled her hands. "Where did you get this?"

Piglet peered up at me and said, "I saw it on the line. The cook took it down to repair it and I asked her for it."

A slap in the face would have offended me far less. That woman.

But then another thought occurred to me. "Are you fond of Edmond?"

Piglet smiled wide. "Oh yes. He's awfully good at board games. And he always has time when we want to talk."

I leaned away. Surely, I'd given them time as well.

She noticed my concern and hurried to add, "You've been so busy lately, Mother. But it's all right."

Piglet carried on with the shirt mending. When the door opened, she hid it behind her. Upon seeing Cinderella, Piglet took out the shirt again and raised her nose as she carried on sewing it.

She was hiding her actions from Edmond. I hadn't understood why at first but after I considered today, I knew. Edmond did not like others doing things for him. He very much wanted to keep the lines between us clearly drawn.

Cinderella, wearing a new dress and holding the old in both hands, stared at me.

I judged from the thread and needle she held that she'd tried and failed to fix her own frock.

Without hesitation, I held out my hand to her. "Come. I'll fix it."

"You can let her fix it or at least try by herself," Piglet grumbled, eyes on her own sewing.

My face heated. Once Cinderella was near, I offered her a seat between Poppy and myself.

"I tried really hard," Cinderella insisted.

"All right. Well, let me show you."

Twenty minutes later, Edmond knocked on the door. Piglet, having long finished the shirt and hidden it, opened it for him.

He carried a chess game under his arm along with the tea and biscuits.

The sight of me made his face light up, but then he focused on Cinderella and that smile faded.

I puzzled about his reaction.

Poppy kept her gaze trained on her work. "I cannot play a game today, Edmond, thank you."

The dismissal made me cringe but Edmond, to his credit, simply nodded. "I understand. But do you know that any short break will help rejuvenate you? You're able to work twice as diligently after you relax your mind."

My eyebrows rose. That would never work.

To my surprise, Poppy lowered her hands and returned his gaze. Finally, she said, "All right. In thirty minutes."

Edmond bowed.

Cinderella grumbled in frustration and I held her hands and helped her undo the poor threading. "It's all right, darling," I soothed. "You are just trying to do too much too quickly. It takes time to learn this properly."

Piglet glanced at Cinderella's handiwork and made a sound with her teeth. "Stick to storytelling."

I gave her a look and she shut up.

What Cinderella needed was encouragement, not criticism.

"All right, let's try it again. We'll need more cloth."

"But she's wasting it," Piglet complained. "Why are you letting her waste so much? We barely have any as is."

Poppy shushed her but Piglet ignored the chide.

"No. We can't risk wasting this material for pride's sake. She's ruining it! All she knows is rats and destruction."

I turned on her and she quieted. Everything in me said to quell this argument before it spiraled into a point of things being said that could never be taken back.

For a long while, Cinderella stopped moving, her eyes fixed on the needle and thread she held. A part of me feared she might strike Piglet with it. It was instinct that led me to position myself in Piglet's path so that she could no longer be seen.

"Finished," Poppy declared. Her eyes settled on Edmond and she smiled. "I will join you in that game shortly."

To my surprise, she turned and handed the beautiful pink dress to Cinderella. "Here. I know you said you did not want to come to the royal ball, but in the event that you changed your mind, now you can come."

At the silence, she rested the dress on Cinderella's lap and waited.

She leaned to the right in an effort to see Cinderella's face. "Don't you like it?"

Piglet scoffed. "What did father always say? Pearls before swine—"

"I'm not swine."

Cinderella didn't see as Poppy opened and closed her mouth often, struggling with something to say.

Poppy's jaw dropped, however, when Cinderella held the newly finished dress and ripped it from the collar.

I was stunned. Any idiot could have moved but this was reminiscent of an act of violence.

Once the torn gift landed on the floor after being flung, the room was deathly still.

Poppy, too heartbroken to move to retrieve her rejected gift, sucked in a deep breath and stood. She made her way out but said to Edmond, "I told you it would be a wasted effort."

The door shut with a click.

Eyes closed, I prayed, willed, Piglet to keep quiet. It was due to that silence now why I risked looking back at her.

She waited on me to do—say something, anything. Perhaps she wanted her old, steady, unfeeling mother back. But I hardly felt that way anymore. And I didn't want to return to that internal void, an abyss of emotion sucking out my very spirit daily.

But I should have said something. An entire dress was no easy feat. Poppy had made two, one for her and Piglet, the extra was an amazing accomplishment in so scarce a time.

When I opened my mouth, however, all I could manage was, "It's all right. I'll fix it—"

Piglet got to her feet and stomped off.

She slammed the door.

And then there was Cinderella. I patted her head and tried to calm her.

Perhaps she wasn't aware of what she'd done. But equally, Piglet may not have been aware of the damage she'd wrought as well. Day in day out, Cinderella cared for, and sometimes poisoned her dying mother. Her father now floated down river, who knew where, leaving her with nothing but bitter memories where she'd been compared to livestock.

"I'm sorry," she muttered finally. "But I wasn't going to get there anyway. I'd only ruin it for them."

"We'll fix it—"

But she stood and walked out, leaving her unmended frock on the settee, mere inches from the new dress she'd just ruined.

That closing of the door was by far the softest.

Hands over my eyes, I rubbed my face.

"Do you think that was necessary?" a voice came.

This time, there was no mincing of Edmond's tone, he was angry.

His vexation annoyed me all the more. "What was necessary?" I asked, though I hardly cared.

"This coddling."

I immediately turned my face away. "You know what she's been through."

Edmond took Piglet's seat beside me, a rare thing for him to sit in any area beyond the kitchen.

His holding of my hand would have been welcomed at any time but not this moment.

I slipped from his grip.

"It does no good to coddle her," Edmond insisted. "You'll leave her underprepared for life."

With a sound made with my teeth, I shifted away. "It's hard. She's trying to catch up to seventeen years of studies in a matter of months. And there are some things that she simply can't."

He held my knee, perhaps to assure me he was on my side, but that wasn't how I felt.

"Of course she wants to go to this ball. Any young woman would—"

"Well, what does it matter?" I whipped around to ask him. "What will it matter? She can simply stay here. I'll keep her. And she can find some happiness without others looking to tear her down. Let's say, let's say it is possible for her—for any of them to marry into the monarchy. Are you under the delusion that there are nice people to surround her? No. There'll be bitter, jealous hags waiting in the wings for a chance to drag her under."

He squeezed my knee, urging me to calm, but didn't otherwise move.

"I'll keep her," I repeated.

His voice still gentle, he entreated me, "You are upset. I know this, because no mother intentionally resigns her daughter to spinsterhood."

A gasp left me. He was calling me unfit.

My expression must have been why he sounded more apologetic. "They are your children, and dear to you, I know—"

"Yes, they are mine. They are my children. Not yours and I'll decide what's best for them. And should you ever have your own, you can take up the mantle of fatherhood that's actually deserved."

I bit my tongue when I realized what I'd said. My shock kept my mouth shut for fear I'd utter something even more heartless.

Sometime in my ranting, his hand had left me.

He no longer looked somber when he settled his gaze on the floor and muttered, "I think I should spend the night back in the servants' quarters today."

My heart ached. Even knowing he was in the same house was enough to put me at ease usually.

I wanted to apologize, to beg him to let us discuss this after our emotions ran cooler, my emotions ran cooler, but the words that left me were a simple, "Yes. I think that is best."