Page 40 of The Cornish Princess
“Indeed,” said her mother, her lovely lips lifting only slightly at one side. “’Tis long overdue.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Eager to see what gift her mother had sent, Gwendolyn rose from her knees, her spirits now lifted so that she barely noticed the bruise on her knee, eased by her mother’s agreement. Whatever else her mother had sent, the Queen’s capitulation was most welcome.
Exhilarated by the news that she would allow Ely to join her in Loegria, she gave each of her parents a bow and then rushed into the corridor to search for Ely, keen to share the news.
ChapterFourteen
Before Gwendolyn stood an intricately carved coffer, bearing many of the same odd symbols she now wore on her Prydein gown.
Was this, too, her mother’s?
Their faces bright with joy for Gwendolyn’s sake, both Demelza and Ely stood aside as Gwendolyn approached the coffer with ill-concealed awe.
Like the gown she wore, the coffer didn’t appear to be new, but neither did it appear to be any worse for its wear. To the contrary. It was well cared for and smelled of lemon oil. The paint on the etchings was vivid and fresh—perhaps even retouched for this presentation.
It was the finest gift her mother could have given her, with a bit of herself in the bestowal. It was as though she had known how much Gwendolyn longed to know about her mother’s kindred. And now, this was a connection to her grandparents she’d never dared yearn for—a glimpse into their life through the gifts she’d been given.
Gwendolyn fell to her knees beside the chest, uncertain whether she dared to touch the beautiful, finely etched wood. Gingerly now, she put a finger to the figure of a fox, imagining the careful hand that had carved it. The pigment here was bright red, and she wondered if the paint was derived from bedstraw root, because of its shade—more orange than red.
Across the entire lid, there were tiny gems carved into the woodwork and all the fish had sapphires embedded into their eyes. The scales were brushed with gold.
“There were several gowns that wouldn’t fit within,” explained Demelza. “Along with your betrothal vestige, they are here upon the bed.”
Gwendolyn turned to peer at Demelza, finding her patting the bed, and there saw another veritable mountain of dresses. Only this time there were none Gwendolyn recognized. Instead of her mother’s usual castaways, they appeared to be new and quite extravagant, judging by the opulent materials—though really, her mother’s leavings were far from meager.
Demelza was beaming. “Your mother hoped the wait would be worthwhile. She sent the coffer to Caledonia to be restored by the same artist who painted it for your grandmother and your mother as well.”
Had her grandmother had a hand in its restoration? Had it once been filled with her dowry gifts? Gwendolyn inhaled sharply, wishing with all her might that the woman who’d given birth to her mother could be here now to watch her open this chest.
Mayhap all she’d postulated was wrong?
Mayhap her grandmother had loved her daughter fiercely—as her own mother loved her, as well? Her heart sang with delight. “’Tis… beautiful,” she said. “So beautiful!”
“Only wait till you open it, child. Inside, you’ll discover great wonders—robes from Carthage and Phoenicia, ribbons from Megara, and some fashioned of Imperial silk.”
By the eyes of Lugh!
Gwendolyn had yet to process the chest itself, much less what lay within. It was the loveliest thing she had seen in all her life.
“You’ll also find chemises fashioned of dimity—nobroellafor you, my dear!”
A soft gasp escaped her.Broellawas a thick woolen cloth of a dark red shade, worn by theGwiddons. She had never worn that coarse fabric, but she knew many who did, including the aldermen. Blinking in wonder, she marveled that, so well visited as they were, she had never heard of so many of these places, nor of Imperial or dimity, either.
Inconceivably, Demelza continued.
“There’s a bit ofbaldekin,byssine, cendal, cameline,and cloth of gold so you can fashion your own gowns in your own style.”
She took a breath before adding, “By the by, your wedding attire was commissioned by a seamstress in Troy, in hopes that King Brutus will appreciate the effort. But though your Princeling may not recognize the gesture, perhaps his father will tell him.”
Certainly, if King Brutus did not, Gwendolyn would be sure to do so.
So much thought had been put into this dowry gift. More than aught, she longed for Prince Loc to know how much her parents valued this union—how much everyone valued it. Gwendolyn no less than anyone else—and shemust, for it was vital she do so.
Love where you must.
Love where you must.
