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curved inward in exclusion.
    “I’m Lady Emelin. I am the bride. But I’m not yet a mother.”
    Three heads popped up; three sharp glances flew from her face, to her wimple, to her gown, and back again. She bit the inside of her lip. Laughter wouldn’t be polite, even if they did remind her of hungry hens, bobbing for tidbits.
    “Oh. Oh!” Yellow Lady seemed lost for words. “But you’re…not what we expected, is she, ladies?” The women whispered, and their tight circle widened as benches scraped back. As if some exotic flower opened to lure in an unsuspecting butterfly. A brown, insignificant butterfly.
    “Sit down, Lady Emelin. I’m Lady Dulsie.” A plump hand indicated the end of a neighboring bench. “This is my dear sister, Lady Cleo.” She beamed at the black-haired beauty, then fluttered her fingers dismissively at the third lady. “Oh, and my companion, Ortha.” She leaned forward. “You’re from the north?”
    Now the inquisition . Be pleasant. They’re only curious. “Yes, my family is at Compton.”
    Emelin perched on the edge of the seat. Lady Cleo occupied most of the bench with her bloody dress. She did not make room. Emelin glanced up to encounter a look of sly insinuation from the lady and felt a moment of kinship with soldiers under attack.
    “Compton, Compton.” Lady Cleo thought for a moment, before her thin, arched brows rose in mock recognition. She looked like a cat smugly eyeing dinner. “Such a large family you have, my dear. Six brothers, is it not? And several sisters?”
    Emelin nodded once. Let Cleo the Cat guess the number of sisters.
    “Sir Garley is your brother, then?” Lady Dulsie’s voice caught on a breath. “So handsome. You must be grateful that he has your interests at heart, to arrange a match with our dear Langley. Such a strong, confident man. So handsome.” Her sigh carried the same high drift as a young maiden’s.
    Did Lady Dulsie think every man handsome? She must have weak eyes or no discrimination if she thought cold, heartless Garley easy to look at. His glance could chill a snake.
    Ortha’s hesitant voice added, “So reassuring to know some men have family duty at heart.”
    Emelin swallowed a sharp retort. Family duty her little toe. Her brother was a selfish, greedy beast like their father. Their loving papa had sold off her three sisters as soon as the girls could breed. She’d been lucky. Betrothed at age eleven to Stephen, she was sent to live with his family at Riverton Castle for his mother to train. She blossomed in that loving family.
    When Stephen disappeared, Emelin feared she’d be sent back to Compton. Garley ruled there, now that their father had died.
    Bless her brother’s greed. Faced with the addition of another mouth, he quickly arranged her entry to the convent. She could still hear his cruel words that last morn.
    “You’re better off in a nest of women than home to trouble me.” His careless finger had poked her cheek. “Considering your spotty face and pudding of a body, you shouldn’t expect another man. Not when the one you had took himself off to die among heathens rather than stay home and marry you.”
    For years after, the spiteful words had the power to scrape her heart. No longer—although his current action showed Garley’s nature hadn’t changed. She didn’t know about his appearance. Five years had made a difference in hers.
    Lady Dulsie leaned forward. “This must be all so different for you,” she said with a sympathetic nod. “Poor child.”
    Emelin hid clutched fists in her skirts, careful to guard her words. They mean well. She eased her shoulders, smiled. “Thank you for your concern. Do you live here, then?”
    Lady Dulsie gasped. “Oh, my, no. If any of us did, would this hall be so dreary? I live to the south, at Wormley. My husband is Sir Robert. He fostered with Lord Osbert here at Langley. Poor Cleo is a widow, aren’t you, my dear? She’s been so kind to visit since my happy