Page 7 of The Cornish Princess
Once Gwendolyn’s head emerged through the collar, she hitched her chin.
She wasn’t a child any longer. She was seventeen.
“I hear tell he’s beautiful,” offered Ely. “Perhaps ’tis why Bryn doesn’t like him.”
Gwendolyn cocked her head in surprise. “Bryn has met him?”
Ely smiled the faintest of smiles. “Oh… I don’t know,” she sang, and Gwendolyn frowned.
“You mustn’t fret, Gwendolyn,” said Demelza, her lips somehow moving around the pin in her mouth. She tugged rudely at Gwendolyn’s sleeve. “I’m told he’s quite handsome, but really, you oughtn’t ask such questions. Rather, the question should be: Does he appeal toyou?”
Gwendolyn felt this way, too. But she didn’t like it that everyone seemed to know more about Prince Locrinus than she did—including Ely, though naturally Ely would know more, because she spent so much more time with Queen Eseld.
With a sigh, Gwendolyn allowed her head to fall back, neck sore, and wearied of posing so long—even wearier of dissembling. She glanced at the high window, gauging the time.
“How can I know what I think until I meet him?”
“Verily,” agreed Demelza, as though she had validated her point. “And yet, whatever the case, you must get your mind straight, because the result will be the same, whether you find him appealing or nay. You will marry, no matter, and if you are inclined to enjoy your husband, perhaps you will.”
“Humph!” said Ely. “That is what my mother says about thedawnsiowhen I say I wish to wed a man instead. This is what it’s like, you realize—thedawnsio.”Ely sighed dramatically.“But my mother says ’tis inevitable I will dance, because Queen Eseld loves my form, and I must embrace my calling.”
“She speaks truly,” said Demelza. “You have a rare talent, Elowyn.” She plucked another pin from thepinpushand placed it into her mouth.
And face, Gwendolyn wanted to add. No doubt, it was Ely’s face that Queen Eseld loved most, for, in truth, Ely was the epitome of beauty—hair like flames, eyes cerulean, like the sea. As stunning as the Queen was, it was Ely who was blessed with the beauty of theirrás.
“Humph,” said Ely, again. “It is notmycalling. I’d sooner die a thousand deaths in childbed than dance a single night for fat, greasy dukes!”
“Ely!” exclaimed both Demelza and Gwendolyn, although Gwendolyn said it with a yelp of laughter.
“Well, then, perhaps you will enjoy your flat-nosed companion?” suggested Demelza as she knelt at Gwendolyn’s feet.
“See, Gwendolyn! I told you!”
Gwendolyn’s thoughts sobered, returning to Prince Locrinus, and perhaps sensing the turn of her thoughts, Demelza said, “This is the way of it. You’ll not be the first to wed a man whose face and heart are unknown to you. And yet, no matter, I’ve known many who found joy in their unions, merely because they chose to—your mother being one. You must decide you will love him, and eventually you shall.”
“What of me?” Ely complained. “I shan’t be allowed to wedanyman! Really, Demelza, I don’t want to dance!” Elowyn pushed her new dress aside, adding sullenly, “Oh, yes, I know that once I am invested, I can take a lover if I wish, but it does not please me to welcome a man into my bed under a veil of night and never hold my own babe in my arms.”
Put so gloomily, Gwendolyn vowed again to speak to her mother. But, at the moment, Demelza had left a door wide open to inquire about Queen Eseld, and Gwendolyn intended to seize the opportunity. “So my mother came to her marriage with a full and willing heart?”
“Of course not,” said Demelza matter-of-factly, putting her needle to the hem of Gwendolyn’s gown. “What woman does? And yet your mother understood her duty, and she accepted it with grace and faith. In the end, she came to love your father dearly.”
Gwendolyn thought about that for a moment, then asked, “So, did you know my mother before she arrived?”
“Nay, child.”
Gwendolyn knit her brows. “Then how can you know what she felt?”
“I simply do.”
“Gods.You are unyielding, as usual,” Gwendolyn said hotly. “I am certain my mother commends you for it, Demelza, but I find it boring!”
The maid stood, reaching up to tap a finger against Gwendolyn’s cheek, not the least bit perturbed. Very gently, she said, “Have I ever forsaken you, Gwendolyn?”
Gwendolyn shook her head because, nay, she had not. And yet, neither was Demelza sworn to her. She was bound to her mother, and thus would do her mother’s bidding in all things.
The maid sighed wearily. “Youmusttrust me,” she said. But Gwendolyn’s shoulders slumped, and the maid immediately reached about to tap her back. “Stand straight,” she demanded. “If you slump, the dress will drag.”
And that was another thing: While she was shorter than her mother, she was not short for a woman. She had her Prydein grandmother’s look, or so she’d been told.
