Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales #4)

“You’re welcome,” Gemma said. “Did you need something?”

“I came to check on the fire,” Sissel said, sticking her neck out like a turtle so she could see Gemma’s fireplace without entering the room. “I thought I might clean it out, but it wouldn’t be right to do that with Lady Linnea present,” Sissel added, her voice lower than a whisper.

“Come back in half an hour. She has embroidery lessons then,” Gemma said. “And thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

“No, thank you,” Sissel repeated, pressing her shawl to her cheek. She glanced at Lady Linnea and gave a wobbly curtsey before she hurried away.

Gemma shut the door when the scullery maid disappeared down the hallway.

“You are a fool,” Lady Linnea said.

“Am I?” Gemma asked, returning to the violet gown.

“If you sold clothing items like that to the people who questioned your talent, the nasty rumors about your abilities would be silenced,” Lady Linnea said, turning so she could lean against the wall in a most unlady-like manner. “Instead you give such things—which should be costly and pricy—away to scullery maids and stable boys.”

“That stable boy is keeping it a secret from your mother that you occasionally slip out and ride. He deserved the coat, My Lady,” Gemma said, inspecting her stitches.

“Maybe, but what about the goose girl? Or that baby blanket you made for one of your father’s customers?” Lady Linnea said before she shook her head. “These people should act as your champions. Instead they closet your workmanship away like they were made of gold.”

“Perhaps. But I am well fed and well paid. I have a job I love. I may find the doubts and rumors irksome, but I would rather sew for those who need it and deserve it than raise my esteem in the eyes of people I don’t like and frankly don’t care about,” Gemma said, snipping a loose thread with a scissors.

Lady Linnea tilted her head as she thought. “I redact my comment from before. You are not a fool. Instead, you are filled with an unspeakably horrid amount of good will.”

Gemma scoffed. “Do you know me at all?”

Lady Linnea flopped her upper body on a workbench. “I think your cynical expressions and unrelenting pessimism—,”

“I’m practical and realistic, My Lady, not pessimistic.”

“—hide your gooey, warm feelings. You, Gemma, are exactly like a hedgehog. Or a porcupine.”

“I’m not sure I would ever apply the word ‘gooey’ to an animal covered in quills,” Gemma said.

Lady Linnea smiled, but she wiped the sign of mirth off her face when someone knocked on the workroom door.

“Come in,” Gemma said.

A footman opened the door. He offered a bow in Lady Linnea’s direction. “Lady Linnea,” he murmured before addressing Gemma. “If you would come downstairs with me, please.”

“What’s wrong?” Gemma asked. Had her father gotten drunk and lost somewhere in the city, again?

The footman flatted his lips. He glanced at Lady Linnea and leaned forward to whisper, “A squad of royal guards is here to escort you to the palace.”

“Why?” Gemma said, standing up straighter.

“They would not say.”

“Gemma is being summoned?” Lady Linnea said, her adopted persona briefly failing her at the footman’s words.

“Yes, My Lady,” the footman said, bowing at Lady Linnea.

“Do Mama and Papa know?” Lady Linnea asked. Although her face was smooth like cream, worry accented the noble edge to her voice.

“They are aware, My Lady. I believe Lord Lovland means to go to the palace, as well,” the footman said.

“Very well,” Lady Linnea said, blowing out of the room without further notice, a vision in her ivy green dress.

Gemma shut her eyes. When she opened them, she had a solid grip on her composure. “I will get my cloak,” she said, retreating into her workroom to snatch up a plain, brown cloak. She settled it on her shoulders before she nodded to the footman.

The footman led her through the manor, all the way to the front entrance.

“Have strength,” the footman whispered to Gemma before he bowed to Lord Lovland. “Miss Kielland, My Lord,” he said, backing away.

Lord Lovland was on the slender side. Lady Linnea inherited her tallness from the lord, but the man was more scholar than warrior. He had a kind face, which was covered with a strawberry-blonde beard and was creased with worry.

“Gemma, the King has requested your presence in the palace,” Lord Lovland said. “As your employer, I will follow you,” he hesitated and turned to the guards. “Miss Kielland will join you in a moment,” he said.

Sensing the dismissal behind the words, the squadron bowed to Lord Lovland and trooped through the doors. The footman closed the door behind them.

“Have you done anything to bring the King’s attention to you? Anything at all?” Lord Lovland asked, his voice low pitched and urgent.