Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales #4)

Lady Linnea went on, imitating a statue and not looking at Gemma.

Gemma pushed her blue headband further up her forehead as Lady Linnea all but turned her back to Gemma. “When it is convenient, I shall need to measure Lady Linnea again. I wish to try a new gathering at the waist, and I must be positive my measurements are precise,” Gemma said.

“Of course,” Lady Lovland said, elegantly flicking her fingers at her daughter. “Linnea is free now, I believe. Will you stay, Linnea?”

Lady Linnea kept her face a perfect mask of porcelain as she curtseyed.

“Wonderful. We will leave you girls to it. Come, Jentine. I can hear little Karl screaming in the nursery. I should collect him, lest he aggravate our guests,” Lady Loveland said.

“Yes, My Lady,” Jentine said, following the elegant lady out of the room.

Gemma listened to their steps fade down the hallway as Lady Linnea stood in the middle of the small room like a carving. When Gemma nudged the door shut, Linnea’s shoulders heaved.

“Finally,” Lady Linnea said, flopping into a chair like a tired child. “I thought I would never be free of Mama this morning. She spent all of breakfast hounding me to improve my embroidery,” Lady Linnea said, her face scrunching up.

“What happened to dancing?” Gemma asked, returning to her workbench to start pinning the fabric pieces together.

“She says I’ve mastered it—which is hardly fair, because you are right: some of the more elaborate steps and turns can be used in swordplay. Speaking of which…”

Lady Linnea scrambled out of her chair and ran to the fireplace. A short sword was carefully hidden, tucked into the side of the fireplace. Lady Linnea unsheathed the sword. “I only feel alive when I’m holding a weapon,” she said, reverently holding the sword in front of her.

“Be more careful while practicing, My Lady. That last rip in your dress was in an awkward spot. It was difficult to patch,” Gemma said, threading a needle with ease.

Lady Linnea swept the sword through the air in several different practice moves before she sheathed the sword and thumped across the room to look over Gemma’s shoulder. “No petticoats?” she asked, her voice hopeful.

“No petticoats,” Gemma said. “The gown parts in the front and back. Publically it is to show the lacework on the kirtle, but the kirtle splits in areas where the gown sits.”

“So I will be able to move easier? Gemma, you are a genius,” Lady Linnea said, turning away from the workbench, satisfied with Gemma’s explanation. “Mama thinks you might be one of the best seamstresses in Verglas, but she doesn’t even know the brilliant changes you make to your dresses for me,” Lady Linnea said.

The young lady drew a dagger from deep inside the wide sleeves of her dress—Gemma’s design, including the dagger sheath stitched into the upper arm—and stuck it in a wood chair to serve as a target before she began thrusting her sword at it in various military maneuvers.

“I’m honored to hear that,” Gemma said, the words spilled from her lips automatically as she worked with the velvet material.

“Are the servants and villagers getting after you again?” Lady Linnea said, casting Gemma a sympathetic look over her shoulder before landing a sweeping blow on the abused chair.

“A little. They remain uncreative and repetitive as ever, accusing me of doing little work or nothing at all,” Gemma said, cocking her head as she studied the velvet before pawing through a basket of thread spools.

“Ignore them. They’re silly nitwits who haven’t got a clue how talented you are. Why, Papa was furious when Lady Selberg tried to hire you out from under us for her daughter. Thank you for staying, by the way. I don’t know who else would sew pockets in my winter muff for my daggers! I only hope Mama offered to pay you enough.”

“More than enough, My Lady.”

Lady Linnea attacked the chair for a few more minutes before she sighed and straightened up. “I have some bad news.”

“Yes?”

“King Torgen denied Papa’s request to return to Loire to continue with his ambassador duties,” Lady Linnea said, knitting her hands together as her shoulders fell in an unseemly slump.

Gemma shrugged. “I expected he would.”

“You take the news better than I did,” Lady Linnea sighed. “I’m dying to leave this place. Loire wouldn’t be so bad—Prince Severin runs a marvelous military, even if he doesn’t allow females to join the army—but Mother would never let me escape from her grasp. She frets too much over my reputation.”