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“Old fool!” said Bess. “You’d think he’d have something better to do at his time of life than take a wife half his age!”

Fen blinked. “You are close to your uncle?”

“He’s my legal guardian, if that’s what you mean,” she said bitterly. “And if he marries that model of decorum Lady Constance, then I will likely be taken into their household and forced to spin and weave and do all manner of women’s occupations.” She spat the last two words as if they were obscenities.

“Oh, well perhaps this afternoon’s entertainment will take your mind off it?” Fen suggested, and earned a scathing glance in reply.

“Not bloody likely,” Bess grumbled.

The hall was rather full when they arrived, and to Fen’s surprise, both the King and Queen were seated upon the dais. She had only thought the Queen would be in attendance. Bess towed her through the crowds until they found a less populated area next to a large pillar.

“Looks like a quiet spot,” said Bess, as the two of them stood unobtrusively to one side. “Don’t want to get hemmed in so we can’t escape if it becomes too damned tedious,” she said looking about.

Fenella winced, hoping no-one could hear her outspoken friend. One look at the tall, rather fancy-looking ambassador from the Western Isles, made her worried he was smirking at them. She couldn’t quite remember his name, but she knew they had been introduced. “Do you know any other of the dancers?” asked Fen hurriedly, as the ladies filed into the room in a single line and took up their positions in a square formation. To her eye there looked to be about sixteen of them in number. Eden was stood front and center and at twenty-two was probably the oldest in the bunch.

Bess puffed out her cheeks. “Not likely. Look like they’re hanging out for well-connected husbands,” she said with disinterest. “That one there with the meek downcast eyes and the white hands is the one that’s caught my uncle’s eye.”

Fen looked at Bess’s prospective aunt and thought she looked rather younger than Bess. She didn’t voice this opinion. Thank goodness she was already married, she thought as the musicians struck up and the ladies started to make weaving complicated steps as they moved in and out, touching hands before spinning away. She would never have been able to keep up with such intricate patterns. Eden was easily the most fleet of foot and elegant of form as she glided across the floor, her black hair sleek and shining, her pale neck long and delicate. Her slim body bent and swayed in time to the music and it was obvious the other dancers were looking to her to keep time and follow her lead. But as the crowds around them began to discreetly whisper, Fen noticed that the name on most people’s lips was that of the prettiest girl in the group, Lady Helen Cecil. From the faux-demure look on her face, it looked like she was well aware of the stir she was causing and was rather enjoying it.

“Who’s that one?” asked Bess. “Smug faced-one, with the big eyes.”

Fen cleared her throat. “I believe that’s Lady Helen Cecil,” she murmured as discreetly as possible.

“Eh? Isn’t that the King’s latest trollop?” asked Bess with interest.

Fen made a strangled noise in her throat which to her dismay quickly turned into a coughing fit. The tall gentleman to her left stepped up to her and presented her with a handkerchief, which she took with thanks and dabbed her watering eyes.

“Countess Vawdrey,” he greeted her with a bow, and hearing his low drawling voice, she remembered his name at once.

“Viscount Bardulf,” she said with a curtsey, and offered him back his handkerchief. He waved a hand for her to keep it, and turned back to watching the dance.

Fen turned back too and found she did recognize one other of the young ladies, Lady Helen’s older sister, Jane Cecil. Jane performed the steps competently enough, though she had neither Eden’s grace and suppleness or the voluptuous lure of her sister. In short, the eye was not drawn to her as it was the other two. Bess nudged Fen in the side and nodded her head toward the royal couple. Queen Armenal was watching the dancers with every apparent pleasure, a smile about her lips, and King Wymer was tapping the arm of his seat in time to the music. “Wonder if she knows,” whispered Bess hoarsely, presumably referring to the Queen. Fen shot an uneasy glance at Viscount Bardulf. Had not Oswald said something about him being a countryman of the Queens? His narrowed eyes were fixed on the formation of the dance and he gave no indication of having heard them. “Eden’s easily the best,” said Bess, nodding toward Eden. “Shame she’s so uppity.”

“Uppity?” whispered Fen. “She’s always been most agreeable to me.”

“Oh me, too,” agreed Bess, tugging at her wimple. “But people do say she’s a bit aloof and rather prim and prudish.”

Fen thought suddenly of Roland. What was it he’d said of Eden? Knowing Roland, it was probably something shallow about her looks. But to Fenella’s mind, Eden looked lithe and slender as a faery dancer.

Suddenly the ladies all turned in a circle, and the dance was ended. Everyone clapped politely and the ladies dropped into low curtseys, the last strain of the music dying away.

The King cleared his throat, but before he could speak, Armenal cut clean across him with her loud carrying voice.

“A most commendable performance. I congratulate you, my dear Eden on your masterly execution. You had by far the lightest and most graceful step, as always, but I fancy I see another close on your heels.” Her gaze travelled over the party of young women. “Lady Jane Cecil,” she said benevolently, and Fen watched the ripple of surprise her words created. The Queen paused, nodding at the reaction. “You see,” she said holding up a finger and taking the murmurs for agreement. “I am not the only one to admire such dainty steps.”

Lady Jane turned quite pink with pleasure. “Your majesty,” she said breathlessly and sank down into another low curtsey. At her side, Fen noticed Lady Helen’s smile looked a little fixed at the fulsome praise her sister was receiving.

“Come before me, young woman,” said the Queen beckoning to Jane. To everyone’s amazement, the Queen removed the brooch from her own bodice, which had an opal in it as large as a pigeon’s egg and pinned it to the trembling Jane’s dress. “Accept this trifle as a small tribute to your talent,” said the Queen benevolently.

“Your highness, I am overcome,” said Jane, who really did seem to be on the brink of grateful tears. The Queen held out her hand and Jane clasped it as reverently as if it were a holy relic.

“It is no more than you deserve,” said the Queen, and Jane seemed to almost float back down the steps to rejoin the other dancers, her expression dazed, but deliriously happy.

“Most commendable my dear,” muttered the King, whose thunder had clearly been stolen by his consort’s antics.

“You are too modest, husband” Armenal told him. “In this I am led by you, as in all things.”

The King looked bewildered.