Tommy dashed forward, only to trip over a pile of boots and sprawl face-first into a veritable mountain of livery and gowns. She extricated herself from tentacles of shirtsleeves and hair ribbons and took Kuni’s hands. “Marry my brother so that you can have a vote!”
The air wheezed from Kuni’s lungs at the thought of keeping Graham forever. She could not draw breath, much less make words.
Luckily, Tommy barreled on without pause. “So far, it’s you and me and Philippa who think I should definitely have all the disguises I want. Graham might vote however you do, and since Jacob has an entirebarnfull of creatures—”
“That’s a selfish motivation for matrimony,” Marjorie scolded her sister. “Graham and Kuni should both be free to marry anyone they please, without being influenced by the fate of your costume collection.”
“Think it over,” Tommy whispered, and waded back through her piles of clothes.
Kuni would think of nothing else. Try as she might.
“My art studio is smaller than this dressing room,” Marjorie reminded her sister.
“Paintbrushes are smaller than wigs,” Tommy shot back.
“You could knock down an adjoining wall or two in the empty wing and build an even bigger studio for your art,” Kuni suggested. “Unless you have an empty room upstairs next to the studio you already have?”
Marjorie stared at her. “Tommy’s right. You should definitely have a vote at the family meetings.”
Kuni knew they were teasing. There was no future between her and Graham—or between Kuni and this wonderful family at all. In three weeks, the boat would leave, and Kuni would be on it.
None of which she wished to contemplate at the moment.
“I’ll sweeten the agreement.” Tommy’s eyes twinkled. “If you promise to vote in our favor, I’ll make you an entire wardrobe full of Balcovian Royal Guard uniforms, and you can wear them whenever you want. Have Marjorie paint what the costume looks like, and I’ll begin this very day.”
Marjorie nodded. “All you have to do is marry our brother.”
“‘Royal Guard’ is not a costume. It is my profession. Or will be. I will not wear the uniform until it is real and I deserve it.”
“It’sclothing,” Tommy replied. “What you look like on the outside has nothing to do with who you are on the inside. Once you’re the most decorated soldier in all of Balcovia, you’ll still be a Royal Guardswoman even when you’re in your sleep bonnet and night rail, won’t you? Besides, you already ‘deserve’ it, and you know it. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
Kuni blinked at her.
“Tell me what your future uniform looks like,” Marjorie begged. “I want to paint it.”
Kuni crossed her arms. “I will not wear it.”
“I just want to have a picture of you as a Royal Guard,” Marjorie said. “Don’tyouwant to see?”
The idea was very, very tempting.
Kuni had been surrounded by Royal Guardsmen all her life. She had imagined herself as a future Guardswoman ever since she was a child. But she had neverseenwhat it would look like to be one of them.
Even when the king granted her petition, when Kuni indeed became the first female to join the elite infantry unit and the personal guard to Princess Mechtilda herself, the royal portraitist would not be commissioned to commemorate the moment.
“Very well,” she said at last. Then inspiration struck. “Will you paint something else for me, too?”
Marjorie’s eyes lit up. “You know I would. What is it?”
Tommy glanced up from a mountain of wigs, her eyes wide with interest.
Secret projects,Kuni signed to Marjorie.
I know signs, too,Tommy signed back.
Marjorie giggled. “Tell me in Balcovian. Maybe I’ll understand.”
They had definitely practiced these words.“Een schilderij van—”
