Charm by Sarah Pinborough Page A

herself away before she lost her determination, and then scurried through the revellers towards the stairs. She didn’t look back.
     
    T he carriage was waiting for her, the driver leaning against the door watching as she fled the castle.
    ‘Did you meet your handsome prince?’ he asked. Again, there was a tone in his gruff voice that hinted he was laughing at her. She glared at him, wanting him to move away from the door so she could climb in. Although broad, he wasn’t as tall as the prince, and where her love was blond and beautiful, this man had dark hair that hung slightly over his eyes and rough stubble peppered his chin and cheeks. His brown eyes made her nervous. She couldn’t read them.
    ‘Yes I did,’ she said. ‘Now get me back home before we’re both in trouble.’
    He laughed a little, an earthy sound, and stepped back, pulling the door with him and giving a brief mock bow as she climbed in.
    ‘I was born in trouble it seems,’ he said. ‘But at least I’m no pansy prince who can’t take care of himself.’
    ‘What do you mean?’ Cinderella asked, leaning forward in her seat. He either didn’t hear her or just refused to answer because suddenly the wheels were turning and they were on their way. He was jealous, she decided. Who wouldn’t be? The prince had everything a woman could want. That much was obvious. And he was going to be hers. That thought made her smile and, as they raced back to the house, she lost herself in the memory of his touch on her hand and the way he’d held her close as they danced.
     
    T he magic vanished as soon as she’d stepped through the kitchen door, her hair tumbling free down her shoulders and her fine silver gown evaporating to leave her back in her house dress. Her feet cooled as her own shoes, clunky and uncomfortable in comparison, replaced the diamond slippers. She was still smiling though, and made sure the other two nuts were safely into her pocket before drinking a glass of her father’s wine and dancing with a broomstick across the kitchen floor and giggling to herself.
    She’d barely crept upstairs in the dark and crawled into her cold bed by the time the front door slammed and lights went on throughout the house. She could hear her step-mother shouting. She was sure Rose was crying.
    ‘You stupid, stupid girl!’
    ‘It wasn’t my fault, I—’
    ‘You had him. In the palm of your hand! All my dreams – all your dreams – shattered!’
    ‘Look, mother, I did my best—’
    ‘Well it wasn’t good enough!’
    Cinderella pulled her knees up under her chin. Her excitement and the glow of love still burned in the pit of her stomach, but hearing her step-mother screeching so hysterically was something new and it gave her a sickening twist. As did Rose’s sobbing.
    ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry—’
    ‘Sorry isn’t good enough! You’re ruined everything! Everything!’
    Cinderella pulled the covers over her head and pushed her fists into her ears. She wouldn’t let them spoil her happiness. She wouldn’t. And if she did win the prince’s hand the next night then she made a quiet promise to herself that she’d find an Earl for Rose to marry. A handsome one.
     
    T he next day passed interminably, and once her chores were done she hid in her room avoiding her step-mother. She veered from berating Rose to encouraging her to make the best of the second night to come while Cinderella wished the hours away. Finally, night came round again and she watched from the window as Rose went off in Ivy’s carriage. This time, however, she felt no jealousy, just her own overwhelming excitement. Once her father had gone up to his study to work into the early hours, she ran down to the kitchen and cracked the second nut open.
    This time, her dress shone like spun gold, reflecting every shade of red from her magnificent hair. Her feet tingled with the warmth from the slippers and her face glowed.
    ‘Very nice,’ the driver said, as he opened the door,