“She is so plain,” Elizabeth muttered. “She feels she has to gild herself already in the splendors of a queen.”

“Exactly,” Rose said, surprised by her own boldness.

“Exactly what?”

“She is so very plain. Dumpy.”

“Dumpy!” Elizabeth laughed gleefully. “I love that word, Rose. Say it again.”

“Dumpy.” The princess and Sara giggled.

“Be careful!” Elizabeth had a mischievous glint in her eye. “This could be treasonous—calling a royal dumpy.”

“All I meant, Your Highness, is that she has no natural beauty.” Unlike you, Rose thought. And there was no doubt that Elizabeth was beautiful, with her milky skin and red hair that she usually wore free, spilling like a soft sunset over her shoulders.

“And what might I then wear to compare, Rose?”

“I wouldn’t try to compare with her.”

The royal princess tipped her head to one side and studied Rose. She began to speak slowly. “Then what, pray tell, might I try to do? Speak honestly.”

“The Princess Mary is harsh and all angles. Her skin is sallow. There is something lifeless about her. She needs the jewels to sparkle. But I think they only make her plainer.”

“Are you suggesting that I not wear such adornments?” No doubt about it, Rose realized, Elizabeth was a quick study.

“Yes, I guess I am. You do not need such fripperies.” Fripperies, Rose thought; where had she ever come up with such a word? It sounded centuries old. Rose began in that moment to realize that although she might be straddling two worlds, she too was a quick study, a fast learner. She seemed to have unconsciously absorbed so much about palace life at Hatfield and her mistress, Princess Elizabeth.

“Then what might you suggest that I wear?” She opened wide her dark eyes that were a soft brown in the morning light. They were almost the color of cinnamon and seemed to complement her hair.

“Something quite simple. Not brocade. Nothing bejeweled. No gold cloth or silver embroidery. Simplicity.”

“Go to my wardrobe and pick something out.”

Rose walked through an arched door and entered a large closet the size of her bedroom at her grandmother’s house. Sara followed her. A strong scent assaulted her as she entered, and she sneezed. “What’s that smell?”

“Camphor, miss. Prevents mold, you know.”

“Oh.”

It was almost like walking through a forest of dresses, hanging on parallel rods. She began wandering through the aisles.

“The full ones, ball gowns, and those for masques are in another closet.”

“Masques?”

“Oh, you know. The courtly entertainment that the king often holds—but seeing as we have been banished, we haven’t been to such entertainments lately.”

“That’s all right.” Rose had walked to the end of one aisle. Her eyes fastened on a soft moss-green dress with simple folds. “This is perfect. The color will look so good with the princess’s hair.”