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dressmakers hurried from one noble house to another, each trying to come up with unique designs that would guarantee to catch the prince’s eye and his heart. No expenses were being spared and the tradesmen were happy. Jewellers, hairdressers and haberdashers were bringing the sinking economy back to life and butchers and bakers were also busy, as many of those who had no chance of a royal invitation planned their own parties at home. Bride Balls were a rarity and everyone wanted to enjoy the weekend of festivities.
    Except perhaps Cinderella. The days dragged by endlessly as teams of experts traipsed in and out of the house. There was a woman to teach Rose deportment, there was another to manage her eating as her mother insisted she must lose several pounds if she was to shine and not look like a ‘brood mare’ compared to the glamorous young ladies of the court. A man came to teach her how to engage in court conversation, another how to dance all the latest fashionable reels. They arrived like an army before it was light and they often kept working her until it was very nearly midnight.
    Cinderella moved quietly around the house doing her chores but all the time watching and learning. Alone in her room she’d easily manage the moves Rose found so difficult, twirling this way and that, so naturally elegant compared to the girl who spent most of her afternoons thudding across the floor, trying to dance in the heels she’d been bought especially to practise in. It wasn’t fair, Cinderella would think, for the hundred thousandth time. It just wasn’t fair. She almost wept with envy when the dressmaker came bearing swathes of beautiful silks for Rose to choose from. Ivy was paying for her sister’s dress and cost was no object, and her mother was holding her to that.
    Rose was pinched and pinned and squeezed and tutted at until two suitable designs were chosen and then the exhausted girl was sent to bed with no supper in order that she might just fit into her gowns by the night of the first ball. Cinderella heard her sobbing through the wall one night and almost knocked on the door but decided against it. What could she say? Rose knew how much Cinderella wanted that invite herself. She could hardly pity her step-sister for being the one allowed to go. But still, though she might be terribly, achingly jealous of the event, she was no longer jealous of Rose.
    The preparations were endless and her step-mother had become relentless in her determination to turn her daughter into a girl to rival those of the best houses of the kingdom. Cinderella wondered if perhaps, underneath all the laughter and reminiscing of her youth, that first ball hadn’t been too kind to her. Had she been the subject of a few barbed remarks she hadn’t told Rose about? Did she have a few scores to settle at the castle?
    For the first time Cinderella gave some proper thought to her step-mother’s life before this one. How very different it must have been. And how very difficult it must have been to go back into that castle where so many people would remember what she’d done. It made Cinderella feel strange. She didn’t want to feel sorry for either her step-mother or Rose, but somehow she did. Her step-mother had become obsessed with regaining her place in court life and Ivy and the Viscount weren’t enough. The Viscount was a nervous man and preferred to spend his time with his new wife in the privacy of their estate rather than wrangling in court matters, and so now all her hopes were pinned on Rose to secure her position.
    ‘ If you can make the prince fall in love with you, Rose, just imagine . . .’
    Cinderella had lost count of the times she’d heard those words from her step-mother by the time the night of the first ball finally drew close. There was an edge to it. A nervous anxiety. Cinderella might want to go to the ball, yes, but she was very glad she wasn’t Rose. Rose was exhausted and her step-mother was on the verge of madness