Visions (The Daevas #2)

10 | Pique

November 21, 1520

"They be here, dames!"

"Who, Kate?" My mother asks, her hands stopping from working on her as she looks up at our maidservant.

"The Duke of Brightam and his cousin, the Marquess of Dover, your grace," Kate replies dutifully.

But of course! Anne says that George promised to be back with Edmund in two days to talk to Father about the change of wedding dates to an earlier time. I am shaking with excitement from my toes inside my boots, up to the beating of my heart. My hands cannot stop shaking also, as I insert my needle into the fabric, while my other hand is holding the sewing frame. Anne squeals a voice of excitement, and she earns a surprised look from Mother. We have been in the solar with her for nearly an hour now, having our Mother-Daughters time.

Anne was growing quite whiny and impatient, as she plunged her needle into her own embroidery, which caused her to prick her forefinger. Of course, I healed her, and so she is now all right. Ever since me and Anne's secret meeting with our fiancés two days ago, never -- not once -- in my whole sixty-one years of being a Daevas princess and a sixteen-year-old young lady in my human years, have I experienced such a wild and carefree feeling of being in love.

I have never pushed George away from my thoughts, even though I try so hard just be in my present time. Anne controls her feelings better than I do, but when thoroughly expressing her feelings, she fails.

"Are they now?" Mother asks curiously. "Well, where are they? You can summon them in here."

Kate shakes her head. "Nay, your grace," she says. "The duke and the marquess are inside his grace's study. As soon as they came in, Lord Dover asked if they could see his grace. He is already outside, walking tow'rds the cousins."

Mother furrows her brows. "I wonder whatever they could be talking about this instant. Thank you, Kate. You may be dismissed." She smiles. Kate curtsies and sweeps out of the room. Mother continues to sew.

"Can we not go there, Mother?" Anne pleads, dropping her sewing frame on a table beside her. She jumps in her seat, her ribbons up and down.

"Anna Marianne," Mother scolds, her dark and gold eyes wide. "Do sit still like a lady. You are making your beautiful new headdress tilt!"

Anne tips her cream headdress at the center, sighing in frustration. "I have not seen Edmund for a long time now. I do wish you allow me to have this opportunity to speak with him."

"'Tis a customary Daevas tradition, my dear, not to see the affianced groom or vice versa till the wedding day. And besides, I am sure that whatever the cousins are talking about with your father, he will tell it to us soon enough. Now sew or simply drink tea, love," Mother says with a gentle, but patronizing tone.

Anne grumbles and sits back, crossing her arms in quiet mutiny. She looks black as thunder, but she holds her silence. After all, this is our mother. I purse my lips and continue to sew my red rose.

I must say, it looks quite beautiful. Anne's half-way-done lily is a disaster, though she does not care much for it...

Heavens, it is so hard to distract myself from thinking of George. He is here! My love is here to speed our wedding date! 'Tis most exciting indeed. I smile inwardly, and I hear a rustle as skirts swish and a chair's feet scrape the wooden floor. Anne stands up from her seat and goes around, walking to the window.

I glance at her. She is looking directly at me. Her eyes are saying something, expressing something. I know what she wants me to do. There is only one thing: listen to my father and our fiancés' conversation five big doors away. I shake my head and turn my eyes away from her dark ones. I hear her low sigh, but I ignore it. I cannot possibly listen to their conversation! Besides, Mother is right. Father will be telling us the news later on.