Madame Dupont’s eyes were severe, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Oui, Mademoiselle le Chevalier. You think I have nothing to teach you?”
“Um,” said Gwen, glancing over at Isobelle, who had no help to offer but a grin. If there’d been popcorn available, Isobelle wouldbe leaning back in her chair and munching it while she watched. “I didn’t say that,” Gwen said, floundering.
“But you are thinking it. I can see it in those pretty green eyes. Come.” She turned away, walking toward the organ and gesturing for Isobelle to follow her. Gwen was somewhat gratified to see Isobelle scramble to her feet with alacrity.
Gwen trailed along in their wake. “But—how are we to practice jousting in a ballroom?”
Madame Dupont let out a sharp laugh. “Do you see any horses, girl? No, we shall begin on foot, with a sword. I wish to see what I am dealing with.”
Next to the organ was a long bench whose lid flipped up to reveal a cavernous storage space below. Dupont stooped to rummage through it, removing items here and there to make room to search more deeply. There were batons with ribbons attached, a pair of shoes with metal soles, a long, seemingly never-ending garland of multicolored silk flowers, the top half of a man-shaped dummy with faded paint in the pattern of a jester...
Gwen snuck an incredulous glance at Isobelle, but the other girl was settling at the organ. The sun streaming in through the long windows fell on Isobelle like a caressing hand, coaxing white-gold highlights from her hair and limning her form in a halo of light. She positioned her hands over the keys, each finger arched gracefully, and then looked back expectantly at Gwen.
Gwen swallowed, distantly aware she was staring, but just as distant from her ability to control herself. It wasn’t until a sharp crack a few feet away broke the spell that she was able to jerk her gaze back to where it belonged.
Dupont had rapped her cane against the floor, a hint ofdisapproval in her gaze, as well as a knowing glint that warned Gwen she would need to be much, much more careful about who she stared at and for how long. “Pay attention, mademoiselle,” Dupont snapped, before tossing a dull-tipped practice blade, hilt first, to Gwen.
Gwen managed to catch it and tried not to look so surprised by having done so that she ruined any semblance of cool she’d managed to reclaim.
“We will move on to jousting in time,” Madame Dupont said, letting the storage bin lid fall closed as she turned to face Gwen, a second sword in her own hand. “Today I wish to see how you move, how well you anticipate the movements of your opponent.”
“I know how to handle a sword,” Gwen said, gaze flicking from the sword in her hand to the Frenchwoman standing before her.
“I should hope so,” replied Madame Dupont. “We shall begin with the gavotte.”
She swept her blade to the side in some sort of signal or salute to Isobelle, who straightened and began to play. The music was stately, each set of four beats easy to notice and follow. Madame Dupont gestured to Gwen and took up a position opposite her.
Gwen felt the bottom dropping out of her stomach, her eyes darting between the organ and the dancing instructor. “Wait—you want me to dance?” She couldn’t help but notice her voice had risen in pitch. “I thought you wanted to see if I could fight.”
Madame Dupont raised an eyebrow. “You told me you could handle a sword. Should I not take your word that this is so?”
“No. I mean yes. I mean—” Gwen took a breath, wishing for once that Isobelle weren’t there. “I... I don’t know how to dance. Not to something like this.” She gestured with her free handtoward the organ, where Isobelle kept circling back around to the introductory phrases of the music, like a carriage driver waiting for her charges to hop on.
Gwen was not accustomed to being taken at her word as far as her abilities were concerned. Handling a sword was one of the things sheknew, and in this world of chandeliers and croissants and curtsies, she’d been telling herself all she had to do was make it far enough to prove there was a reason Isobelle had brought her here.
Madame Dupont was watching her with an even expression, her black eyes giving nothing away.
“I don’t even know what a gavotte is,” Gwen murmured.
“That is why I have chosen it,” said Madame Dupont. “I trust that you know how to hold a sword. What I must teach you is how to use it while someone else is trying to stab you through the weak points in your armor. To do this, you must learn to see what they will do an instant before they do it. That is why we will begin with a dance you do not know—you will learn by watching me and predicting how I will move next.”
Gwen looked down at the practice blade she held, shifting her grip until it felt balanced in her hand and giving it a few experimental swings. It was noticeably lighter than her own sword, but it wasn’t a bad one—she could work with it. “All right,” she told Madame Dupont. “I’ll try.”
Madame Dupont tilted her head, something very nearly like a smile changing the set of her mouth. “Good. Let us begin.”
Chapter Twelve
Mademoiselle le Chevalier
Isobelle let her fingers dance across the keys, a lifetime of lessons taking care of the music while she addressed her attention to the two figures on the dance floor.
This was her great gamble, and she knew it. If Gwen couldn’t learn—or worse, couldn’t understand why Madame Dupont was the perfect teacher—then all Isobelle’s plans would begin to dissolve like a spun-sugar castle left out in the rain.
Madame Dupont began the first steps of the gavotte, offering no compromise in terms of speed or technique, moving in toward Gwen and then back again. She was light on her feet, elegant and controlled. Playing the organ was automatic for Isobelle, but these steps were apartof Madame Dupont.
At first Gwen didn’t move at all, her eyes on her instructor’s feet. She blinked and drew breath, and Isobelle’s heart skipped a beat as she waited for her would-be champion to protest. Then Gwen let the breath back out again and lifted her gaze to watch Madame Dupont move as a whole, rather than just staring at her shoes.
Slowly, she began to mirror her. At first, it was simply Dupont’s movements. And then, after a few bars, Gwen started to match her footwork.
