Ned was indeed pleased, but the anticipated speed of his horses on the route home had nothing to do with it. He didn't know why he was in such a good mood suddenly; the party had just been another party, and he hadn't been in such high spirits fifteen minutes ago. He could blame it on the return of his carriage, of course, but the truth was it probably had something more to do with the girl he'd caught in stocking feet. There was just something so earnest about it.
He'd ducked his head into the carriage just for good measure, although he was already sure it was his. He leaned out and waved towards his mother to get her attention, easily a head above everyone else with one foot still on the step of the carriage. "Mama, over here," he called. It was only at this point that he registered that there had been an unexpected flash of silver on the floor of the carriage, and he leaned back inside to look at it properly.
A shoe. Hers, obviously, but how on earth had she forgotten one shoe in a carriage? He owed Perrault and Ballet an apology, it seemed; when he'd read their version of Cinderella he'd always thought it a bit contrived that a woman leaving a ballroom, even in haste, could leave behind half her footwear.
Ned reached to pick it up and turned towards the young woman behind him. "La petite Pantoufle de Verre," he pronounced with another grin — the little glass slipper, which was the title of the story as he'd originally encountered it in the French. "Here, hide this before my mother comes over and makes any loud comments about how cold your feet must be."
He'd ducked his head into the carriage just for good measure, although he was already sure it was his. He leaned out and waved towards his mother to get her attention, easily a head above everyone else with one foot still on the step of the carriage. "Mama, over here," he called. It was only at this point that he registered that there had been an unexpected flash of silver on the floor of the carriage, and he leaned back inside to look at it properly.
A shoe. Hers, obviously, but how on earth had she forgotten one shoe in a carriage? He owed Perrault and Ballet an apology, it seemed; when he'd read their version of Cinderella he'd always thought it a bit contrived that a woman leaving a ballroom, even in haste, could leave behind half her footwear.
Ned reached to pick it up and turned towards the young woman behind him. "La petite Pantoufle de Verre," he pronounced with another grin — the little glass slipper, which was the title of the story as he'd originally encountered it in the French. "Here, hide this before my mother comes over and makes any loud comments about how cold your feet must be."
Set by Lady ♡