Two weeks later Isabella prepares to become a queen. “How do I look?”
“You look beautiful, your grace,” Isabella de Vescy tells her. She is much older than her other ladies and has taken her in hand, as if she thinks she needs a mother. Perhaps she does.
“Do I look regal?”
Even in the polished steel mirror she sees the frown of hesitation. “Very regal,” the younger one, Eleanor, tells her and earns a frown of rebuke from de Vescy that she thinks Isabella does not see.
Well of course I do not look regal. I look like a twelve years old girl, over-primped and overdressed; if not for these ribbons and artifices I would disappear inside this gown and my uncles would have to hack a way through the taffeta and velvet with their swords to free me.
“Will Gaveston be there?”
De Vescy shrugs with all the eloquence that a mature woman can muster.
“Why does no one want to talk about him?
Valois bursts in. Her uncle comes and goes as he pleases, it seems, immune to Madame de Vescy’s cold stares. He still treats her as a child, they all do.
He regards her gown and sighs. He had done much sighing since arriving in England. “Are you ready to become queen of England, your grace?”
She takes a deep breath and nods her head. She is ready for no such thing.
* * * * *
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Genre – Historical Fiction
Rating – PG-13