“But you are thinking it. I can see it in those pretty green eyes. Come.” She turned away, walking toward the organ and gesturing for Isobelle to follow her. Gwen was somewhat gratified to see Isobelle scramble to her feet with alacrity.

Gwen trailed along in their wake. “But—how are we to practice jousting in a ballroom?”

Madame Dupont let out a sharp laugh. “Do you see any horses, girl? No, we shall begin on foot, with a sword. I wish to see what I am dealing with.”

Next to the organ was a long bench whose lid flipped up to reveal a cavernous storage space below. Dupont stooped to rummage through it, removing items here and there to make room to search more deeply. There were batons with ribbons attached, a pair of shoes with metal soles, a long, seemingly never-ending garland of multicolored silk flowers, the top half of a man-shaped dummy with faded paint in the pattern of a jester . . .

Gwen snuck an incredulous glance at Isobelle, but the other girl was settling at the organ. The sun streaming in through the long windows fell on Isobelle like a caressing hand, coaxing white-gold highlights from her hair and limning her form in a halo of light. She positioned her hands over the keys, each finger arched gracefully, and then looked back expectantly at Gwen.

Gwen swallowed, distantly aware she was staring, but just as distant from her ability to control herself. It wasn’t until a sharp crack a few feet away broke the spell that she was able to jerk her gaze back to where it belonged.

Dupont had rapped her cane against the floor, a hint of disapproval in her gaze, as well as a knowing glint that warned Gwen she would need to be much, much more careful about who she stared at and for how long. “Pay attention, mademoiselle,” Dupont snapped, before tossing a dull-tipped practice blade, hilt first, to Gwen.

Gwen managed to catch it and tried not to look so surprised by having done so that she ruined any semblance of cool she’d managed to reclaim.

“We will move on to jousting in time,” Madame Dupont said, letting the storage bin lid fall closed as she turned to face Gwen, a second sword in her own hand. “Today I wish to see how you move, how well you anticipate the movements of your opponent.”

“I know how to handle a sword,” Gwen said, gaze flicking from the sword in her hand to the Frenchwoman standing before her.

“I should hope so,” replied Madame Dupont. “We shall begin with the gavotte.”

She swept her blade to the side in some sort of signal or salute to Isobelle, who straightened and began to play. The music was stately, each set of four beats easy to notice and follow. Madame Dupont gestured to Gwen and took up a position opposite her.