Three French Hens Read Free Page B

the glass that Lady Joan held between them, that ’twas just an empty gilt frame and that ’twas Lady Joan herself she peered at. But then she realized that the eyes looking back at her were a soft blue gray, not the sharp green of the other girl’s. Other than that, she did look almost exactly like Lady Joan. It was enough to boost her confidence.
    “You see?” Joan laughed, lowering the mirror and moving away to set it on her chest before turning back to survey Brinna in the dark blue gown she had made her don.“Aye. You will do,” she decided with satisfaction. “Now, one more time. When you meet Lord Thurleah you …?” She raised a brow questioningly and Brinna, still a little dazed by what she had seen in that glass, bobbed quickly and murmured, “Greetings, m’lord. I—”
    “Nay, nay, nay.” Joan snapped impatiently. “Why can you not remember? When you first greet him you must curtsy low, lower your eyes to the floor, then sweep them back up and say—”
    “Greetings, my lord. I am honored to finally meet you,” Brinna interrupted impatiently. “Aye. I remember now. I only forgot it for a moment because—”
    “It doesn’t matter why you forgot. You
must
remember, else you will shame me with your ignorance.”
    Brinna sighed, feeling all of the confidence that the glimpse of herself in the looking glass had briefly given her seep away like water out of a leaky pail. “Mayhap we’d best be fergettin’ all about this tomfoolery.”
    “Mayhap we had best forget all about this foolishness,” Joan corrected her automatically, then frowned. “You must remember to try to speak with—”
    “Enough,” Brinna interrupted impatiently. “Ye know ye can’t be makin’ a lady of me. ’Tis hopeless.”
    “Nay,” Joan assured her quickly “You were doing wonderfully well. You are a quick study. ’Tis just that you are tired now.”
    “We are all tired now,” Sabrina muttered wearily from where she sat slumped on the bed. “Why do you not give it up while you can?”
    “She is right,” Brinna admitted with a sigh. “ ’Tisn’t workin’. We should give it all up for the foolishness it is and—” A knock at the door made her pause. She moved automatically to open it, then stood blinking in amazement at the man before her.
    He was a glorious vision. His hair was a nimbus of gold in the torchlight that lit the halls in the early morning gloom. His tall, strong body was encased in a fine amber-colored outfit. His skin glowed with the health and vitality of a man used to the outdoors, and his eyes shone down on her as true a blue as the northern English sky on a cloudless summer day. He was the most beautiful human Brinna had ever laid eyes on.
    “Lady Joan? I am Lord Royce of Thurleah.”
    “Gor,” Brinna breathed, her eyes wide. This was the backwoods oaf? The country bumpkin whose clumsy attentions they wanted her to suffer? She could die smiling while suffering such attentions. When his eyebrows flew up in surprise, and a pinch of her behind came from Joan, who was hiding out of sight behind the door, she realized what had slipped from her lips, and alarm entered her face briefly before she remembered to curtsy, performing the move flawlessly and glancing briefly at the floor before sweeping her eyes up to his face and smiling.
    “My lord,” she breathed, her smile widening as he took her hand to help her up, but that smile slipped when she saw his expression.
    He was frowning, not looking the least pleased, and Brinna bit her lips uncertainly, wracking her brain for the reason behind it. Had she muffed the curtsy? Said the words wrong? What, she wondered with dismay, until he shifted impatiently.
    “I arrived but a moment ago,” he said.
    Brinna’s eyes dilated somewhat as she tried to think of what she should say to that.
    “I hope your journey was pleasant.”
She glanced around at those hissed words, her wide eyes blank as they took in Joan’s impatient face peeking at her