Page 27 of The Cornish Princess
At the turn of their conversation, Gwendolyn’s heartbeat quickened. She had to keep herself from blurting a hundred thousand questions, fearful of never having another opportunity. And yet, she knew her mother well enough to know she must proceed with caution.
“Have you not spoken to my grandparents since you wed my father?”
“Nay,” said Queen Eseld, with an odd note in her voice—wistfulness, frustration? “I have not.” She exhaled impatiently. “Enough reminiscence for one day!”
She smiled brightly, seemingly unfazed, and perhaps unaware that her refusal to share more would diminish Gwendolyn’s spirits. “We have so much to do, and so little time!”
Disappointed despite her mother’s enduring good humor this morn, Gwendolyn hitched her chin, wondering if Queen Eseld’s detachment from her own mother could be the reason she was so aloof toward Gwendolyn. Perhaps she simply didn’t know what it was to be a mother to a young woman? Or even a wee child.
Could it be… not so much that she still believed Gwendolyn to be a hideous changeling, but if she’d never had a genuine relationship with her own mother, she wasn’t predisposed to having one with Gwendolyn?
It could be.
It seemed plausible.
Unfortunately, Gwendolyn knew firsthand how Ely’s mother behaved with her own two children, and it was nothing like how Queen Eseld ever behaved with Gwendolyn.
In fact, Gwendolyn had never even thought of Ely’s mother as Lady Ruan. She was mother to Ely, and mother to Bryn, and truth be told, mother to Gwendolyn as well.
This was why yesterday’s ordeal upset Gwendolyn so much. To see Lady Ruan so disappointed in her made everything so much more difficult to bear. Someday, when she dared, she might ask Demelza how her mother had been with her as a babe.
Had she been coddled? Was it always Demelza who’d cared for her?
Gwendolyn wanted so desperately to believe that Queen Eseld had once held her to her bosom, cradling her head, and petting her messy curls. Demelza liked to say she was born with a mass of ringlets so thick she broke every comb she ever tried.
Unwittingly, Gwendolyn lifted a hand to her tresses, running her fingers through the thick tangle of curls. It wasn’t fine, nor shiny, but Prince Locrinus had complimented her and the memory of that compliment made her smile a tiny, private smile.
Could it be that it shone for him? Was it possible that he saw not the tangle of curls she struggled to brush each day, but the golden filaments promised by the Prophecy?
The thought alone made Gwendolyn giddy, because so it was said that only her true love’s heart could bring out the true beauty in her. And if he saw her tresses as golden, then perhaps he saw beauty in her face?
Her palms dampened simply over the thought of seeing him again, and her breath quickened painfully. She felt a telltale flush creep over her body.
Over by the bed, her mother made busy gathering some jewels she’d let Gwendolyn borrow yesterday—primarily the lovely sapphire necklace that matched her tiara.
So often her mother shared from her private coffers, but it occurred to Gwendolyn in that moment, as her mother gathered her precious gems, that her own dowry chest remained empty. So, too, was Ely’s, but for a different reason.
How much longer before she must leave? Little more than a month, Gwendolyn realized, counting the weeks on her fingers.
Thanks be to the gods, although her relationship with her mother was bittersweet, her bond with her father was strong. She didn’t know what she would do if she went away, never to speak to him again. But she felt quite certain they would meet often to parley, except with Loegria as Gwendolyn’s newest priority.
Still, she would never stop caring about Cornwall or its people. And gods willing, with her new husband at her side, she would serve the realm well.
“I thought you might wear the gown today,” her mother suggested as she prepared to leave. “Really, Gwendolyn, if you must go traipsing about the countryside—as I know you will—I must have you present us to our best advantage.”
Startled by the abrupt change in her mother’s demeanor, although she might have expected it, Gwendolyn said, “I shall endeavor to do so, Mother.”
And yet, escorting Prince Locrinus about a city he would someday rule could hardly be considered “traipsing about.” So then, was that what this was all about? Had her mother come only to ensure Gwendolyn presented herself to “our best advantage”?
Gwendolyn’s smile faded. Why couldn’t it ever simply be about a girl and her mother? “Thank you,” she said, resigned. “’Tis beautiful. I adore it.”
And she did.Truly.
And anyway, it was a compliment of sorts—to be trusted to represent her Prydein kindred. By wearing this dress, not only would she be seen to represent Cornwall, but Prydein, as well. And of course, her mother’s people should be represented, even if so oft her mother seemed content to ignore her humbler beginnings.
Gwendolyn sighed then, because it didn’t matterwhyQueen Eseld had proffered the dress; what mattered was that Gwendolyn wore it. To that end, she found her best leather hosen and donned them at once. With Demelza’s help, she slipped on the ceremonial robe as well, and once she was fully attired, she was surprised to discover how odd the garment felt.
It was firmly fitted, with no extra material about the arms—and now, she regretted all those blueberry cakes! The only free-flowing part of the gown lay below the waist, which was essentially made of four conjoined flaps to give the impression of a full-skirted dress.
