And then there was Isobelle’s face, shining and full of that excitement and enthusiasm that had to be seen to be believed. Shebounced up to the doorway, throwing out her arms to take hold of Gwen’s unresisting hands and draw her inside.
“Oh, splendid!” she exclaimed, managing to sound delighted without allowing an ounce of surprise or relief to enter her voice. As if she’d never doubted, not for a single second, that Gwen would show. “You’re here.”
Chapter Ten
Nobody ever expects a lady to rappel off a balcony
Isobelle had only been half sure—at best—that Gwen was going to show up. Even now she couldn’t quite let go of the other girl’s hands, wanting to anchor her here, lest she float away like smoke on the breeze. But already the distress of last night—the whitening of his lordship’s knuckles, the sneers of the guards—was fading away into the background.
Isobelle decided to leave it all there. It was far less interesting than the girl before her.
“Whatisthis place?” Gwen asked weakly, allowing herself to be drawn into the room.
“This?” Isobelle twisted around to get a better look at her surroundings. “This is my suite of rooms. Now, how is your horse? All settled?”
She’d been raised to ask about someone’s family as a matter of courtesy, and she could immediately see she’d won herself some credit with the girl from the village for thinking of him.
“Achilles is very well settled, and already snacking,” Gwen replied, but she was distracted. She pulled her hands away and drifted into the center of the room, leaving Isobelle flexing her fingers on empty space.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she murmured, her gazejumping from the chandelier to the silk pillows on the window seat to the racks of dresses Olivia had pulled out when choosing which to alter for Gwen.
“It’s one of a kind,” Isobelle agreed cheerfully. “I decorated it myself.” Then, at a faint noise from Olivia: “Well, I had lots of ideas about how to make it lovely, anyway, and Olivia executed them flawlessly. Olivia excels at flawless execution.”
Gwen’s eyes flicked across to Isobelle, and then to Olivia, her mouth covertly twitching at that revision. Isobelle had a sneaking suspicion Gwen was amused by her, those forest-green eyes mirthful behind her ever-present shields. She found she didn’t particularly mind.
Isobelle tried to take in the apartments through a newcomer’s eyes as Gwen turned away to walk over to a wall of small portraits, each no larger than her palm. There must have been two dozen of them, quick studies of Isobelle, Sylvie, Jane, and Hilde undertaking various pursuits—they’d been daubed by a painter Jane had fancied, and Isobelle had tacked them up as reminders of her friends.
Isobelle had never much noticed the richness of the fabrics, the thick braiding along the edge of the sofas, the lush velvet of the curtains, the gold thread running through the tapestries.
This must be so very different from what Gwen was used to. But even as the girl from the village kept staring about her with a sort of appalled wonder, she stood her ground.
That was what Gwen did—she stood her ground. Whether she was running her father’s smithy, ignored by everyone around her even as she did the work they all needed, or she was strapping on her armor to venture into the realm of knights and chivalry, a place where she was far from welcome. This much, Isobelle had alreadylearned about her. Gwen simply lifted her chin, set her mouth, and—
Olivia poked her in the small of the back, and Isobelle blinked out of her daydream. Whatwasit about Gwen that kept making her do that? The same thing that kept drawing her gaze back to her, she supposed—she was one of a kind. That was all.
Gwen had torn herself away from her inspection, and she was looking at Isobelle expectantly. It was very possible she’d said something and was waiting for an answer.
“Olivia’s at work on your dresses,” Isobelle said, setting off in a conversational direction of her choosing rather than requesting a recap of what she’d missed. “We can stay here this morning while she fits you.”
“Already?” Gwen blinked. “But how do you know—”
“I noted your size at the market,” Olivia replied, as though it was perfectly normal to mentally measure up everyone you met.
“I can do it myself,” Gwen offered. “I’m no seamstress, but I can do alterations. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
Olivia snorted.
“I’m the one puttingyouto trouble,” Isobelle said gracefully. “Anyway, we have the time. It’s not like I need more dresses—apart from the way in which one always needs more dresses—and Olivia’s the best there is. Now, breakfast will be here in a moment. I think we should eat out on the balcony.”
“Breakfast?” Gwen glanced toward the window and the sun high in the sky. “But it’s nearly noon. I ate when I rose.”
“Well, lunch, if you like,” Isobelle allowed generously. “Or whatever you call something that comes between the two. Brunch, how about that?”
“Brunch,” Gwen murmured, absorbing the concept. She had this habit of echoing things Isobelle said in a way that didn’t agreeor object, but commented, as if to some third party who might find Isobelle’s pronouncements as odd as she did.
“Then later we can practice curtsies and courtesies, so you can move around the castle with me as one of the ladies here for the tournament. And then this afternoon, your combat instructor.”
“Absolutely nobody is going to believe I’m a noblewoman,” Gwen countered, a line appearing between her brows.
