Now it was Fiona’s turn. She’d practiced all this dozens of times—until her thighs and calves had ached. And while she’d done it wearing the hoops beneath her gown and a headdress with two feathers, she hadn’t been wearing the actual gown or this headdress or any of these jewels.

Fiona carefully moved her right leg behind her left and slowly lowered herself toward the floor. When she’d finally reached the appropriate depth, she felt a surge of giddiness. Almost there!

But her left leg went numb suddenly. She feared for her balance. Panic rushed through her as she wobbled. She took a deep breath and silently told herself that she could manage this—she had only to rise. Only her legs were immovable, as if they were locked in place. She didn’t dare look toward the earl or Lady Pickering. She was to keep her head pointed forward, her gaze directed at the queen’s skirts.

Fiona heard a murmur to her right. She’d been down too long. She had to stand up!

Clenching her jaw, she squeezed her hands into fists and straightened her leg. The movement was too fast however, and the balance she’d fought so hard to maintain completely gave way.

Since she was closer to the floor than not, her body simply collapsed into a heap of ivory and yellow disaster. In that moment, she truly hoped the gown was large—and monstrous—enough to swallow her whole.

Alas, it was not. Nor did it prevent the sounds of people gasping from reaching Fiona’s ears. Almost instantly, Overton’s hands were on her, helping her, or more accurately, pulling her to her feet. He said nothing, but a quick glance toward his face said he was concerned.

Lady Pickering touched her arm. “We beg your pardon, Your Majesty. Miss Wingate was feeling a trifle overheated before she was summoned. Please accept our deepest apologies.”

A heavy silence fell over the throne room as the queen surveyed Fiona. She kept her gaze averted just enough so that she wasn’t looking directly at the queen. But the queen was definitely staring straight at her.

“Are you well, Miss Wingate?” the queen asked in faintly German-accented English.

Fiona clutched at Overton’s arm, grateful for his presence. Lady Pickering’s explanation, that Fiona was overheated, was certainly true at the moment. Still, she answered with a pleasant, “I am. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Come forward,” the queen said softly. Since she was only looking at Fiona, who was now returning her gaze, Fiona felt she should approach on her own.

She glanced toward the earl and gave him a determined look before taking her hand from his arm. Moving slowly, she approached the queen. “Your Majesty,” she said, bowing her head and wondering if she should have attempted another curtsey. They hadn’t practiced for this!

“Where are you from, Miss Wingate?”

“Shropshire, Your Majesty.” Fiona was in awe of the queen’s regal beauty. She wore a tall white wig, and her gown was made from a gorgeous blue brocade. Court dress looked absolutely lovely on her.