But then there was Isobelle herself. Even after Gwen had snuck back into her bedroom last night, she lay awake, unable to shake the torrent of thoughts and images invading her mind every time she closed her eyes. Isobelle had a face designed for openness and vulnerability, with delight and frivolity shining from every pore. Gwen had no doubt that the vast majority of people in Isobelle’s life dismissed her as a vapid, fashion-obsessed idiot—as Gwen herself had nearly done at the market, until the whirlwind that was Isobelle had swept down on top of her.

Isobelle was no idiot. She’d seen through Gwen’s masquerade in a heartbeat when no one else even questioned Sir Gawain’s existence. She’d come up with this entire plan, which was brilliant. Mad, but brilliant. Gwen couldn’t help but think that open, honest, charming face of Isobelle’s that seemed to show her every thought and whim might be a far better mask than any of Gwen’s scowls had ever been.

Her mind could not stop replaying one specific moment from that night, when Isobelle’s mask had slipped. A flicker of something deeper, gripping, consuming, had shown through when Gwen realized what Isobelle was proposing.

A white knight, Gwen had breathed.

Isobelle’s eyes had met hers. Like something out of a ballad.

Gwen blinked, swallowed, and lifted her head to meet Olivia’s gaze. “I don’t think this is one of those schemes,” she said slowly. “I don’t think she’ll lose interest.”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “I know my lady a little better than you do, Gwen of Ellsdale.”

“But you don’t know me.” That tension in her shoulders that had been gathering since she left the village that morning snapped free.

“I suppose it’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance to play at being something more than you are,” said Olivia coolly. Suddenly, her animosity made sense.

“She asked me to help her,” Gwen replied simply. “I intend to do so.”

Olivia held her gaze, letting the silence draw out, her own eyes clearly scrutinizing the shabby, plain girl in front of her. Then, after an agony of waiting, the corner of her mouth lifted and a spark in her eyes hinted at the thawing of that icy attitude.

“That’s good,” she murmured. “You’re going to need to hold on to that. Your reason.”

She tipped her head, beckoning, and together they continued down the corridor. Gwen had only enough time to process that Olivia, too, excelled at the donning of masks, before they came to a halt in front of one of the doors.

“Last chance to say no.” The lady’s maid laid one hand on the latch and turned to look at Gwen, her eyebrows raised. “I can handle her, if you want to change your mind.”