“I can do it myself,” Gwen offered. “I’m no seamstress, but I can do alterations. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

Olivia snorted.

“I’m the one putting you to trouble,” Isobelle said gracefully. “Anyway, we have the time. It’s not like I need more dresses—apart from the way in which one always needs more dresses—and Olivia’s the best there is. Now, breakfast will be here in a moment. I think we should eat out on the balcony.”

“Breakfast?” Gwen glanced toward the window and the sun high in the sky. “But it’s nearly noon. I ate when I rose.”

“Well, lunch, if you like,” Isobelle allowed generously. “Or whatever you call something that comes between the two. Brunch, how about that?”

“Brunch,” Gwen murmured, absorbing the concept. She had this habit of echoing things Isobelle said in a way that didn’t agree or object, but commented, as if to some third party who might find Isobelle’s pronouncements as odd as she did.

“Then later we can practice curtsies and courtesies, so you can move around the castle with me as one of the ladies here for the tournament. And then this afternoon, your combat instructor.”

“Absolutely nobody is going to believe I’m a noblewoman,” Gwen countered, a line appearing between her brows.

“You’ll be fine,” Isobelle promised, resisting an inexplicable urge to smooth that frown line away. “We’ll tell everyone you’re terribly shy, which should excuse you from plenty of missteps.”

“I am terribly shy,” Gwen replied.

“Well, there you go, then.” Isobelle accepted this news as evidence of her genius without missing a beat. “I think that has to be the plan, Olivia. Sir Gawain’s sister ventures out into the world only when she must. Just as well—the absolute last thing we need right now is suitors.”

“Suitors?” Gwen squeaked, half reaching for a sword that wasn’t at her belt.

“A problem with which I am intimately acquainted,” Isobelle replied regretfully. “Though not as intimately as some of them would prefer. At tourney time, it’s something of a marriage market around here. You’re a newcomer of the appropriate age, so you’ll draw some interest. We can put them off by implying you have no money, but Olivia’s dressmaking is exquisite, so she’ll have to hold herself back if we don’t want them to decide they simply don’t care you’re poor.”

“I’m pretty good at discouraging men,” Gwen said, with a shrug and a wry smile. “I don’t think we need to worry too much.”

Isobelle raised one brow. “I find it hard to believe you don’t have admirers.”

“They find me intimidatingly competent,” Gwen replied with another shrug, Isobelle’s compliment rolling off the other girl’s back unnoticed. “And that’s when I’m not even trying to put them off.”