Astoria

t w e n t y - o n e

She lay back on her pillow, reliving last night. She had danced with Lord Andrew, effectively distracting him from Isabella, and then she had been cornered by Lord Richard for a dance, during which he clomped on her toes more than once, but neither of them had danced as well as King Antony.

She shook her head. It wasn't proper for her to even think about Antony in any more of a sense than her employer and, aside from that, her king, and yet she wished she had been able to dance with him just once more. Perhaps if she had not been so silent when he asked who she really was. Would he really be unkind to her because she was merely Isabella's maid? Or maybe if she hadn't left the dance floor so abruptly...

One thing was for sure, though. She would not be telling Isabella about any of these thoughts, as her friend might react in some rash manner as she had the night before, and the poor, unsuspecting king might find himself with an unplanned, unwanted dinner guest or riding companion.

Isabella had promised her the day to do as she pleased, and, at the moment, she did not even feel as though she'd get out of bed.

However, about a half an hour later, she sighed and forced herself to stand. There were things she could get done today.

Before she even got out of her nightgown, she crossed to her writing desk and pulled out pen and paper. Evan may be less than understanding if she told him about Isabella, but she had hope that her mother might at least listen.

Dear Mother,

She stopped, pen poised above paper and took a deep breath. She needed to tell her mother. She needed to tell someone. So she dipped pen in ink once more and began.

Work has been going well for me here at the palace. I have found that they treat me perfectly well, and Evan is fine too.

I'm writing to you for a purpose, Mother. Because I felt that if I didn't tell anyone else, I'd burst.

The day after my arrival here, the Prince and Princess arrived from their estate. The Princess Isabella required someone to assist her in working in the greenhouse, and Fulton (the butler) offered her my help.

Working with Isabella was different than I could ever have imagined it being. She doesn't put on airs, or see herself above anyone else. She insisted I refrain from calling her "my lady" or "ma'am" or any of the other terms of respect that prissy ladies insist on their servants using towards them. She insisted I call her by name.

I have to admit to you, Mother, that I enjoyed talking with her. I have never had a friend around my age to talk to, except for Evan. And, I suppose you know, he's not the same as having a female friend to go to for advice, to chat, or simply to know that she's there.

Isabella, surprisingly, has also never had a friend like that. She's grown up an only child, her closest friend being her cousin. She admitted to me that she found working with me and chatting with me very pleasant, and, the next day, she invited me to be a companion to her. This is the reason my pay has increased so, and I send you more with this letter than I have ever sent before.

What I really want to tell you, Mother, is that I've been doing some thinking. Isabella seems not at all the sort of person who would do what Rupert and his brothers did in attacking our home, and in killing father and Tad. I feel as though, if she knew my story, she would be truly sorry. And her cousin. He's going to be a much better king than any we've had in a long time.

But I'm confused, Mother. They're of the House of Westerholme. Haven't we always hated them? Haven't we always kept our distance from them, watched them warily? But now, I find myself wanting to confide in Isabella every time I'm upset, or not feeling well, or about a dress design I've wanted to make. And she listens, unlike anyone else ever has. She's my friend, Mother. She's given me so much. The opportunity to make dresses I've always wanted to make, the ability to send even more money home to you, and an ear to listen to me whenever I ask.