Chapter Forty-Seven

Men were starting to wander in and out, including an abashed-looking Toby. Ruth whisked her skirts aside and considered all the housekeeping duties which awaited.

“Let’s get out of here,” Sigurd said.

She felt rather wicked in those moments. This was the Queen’s lover. Her face softened. Daphne was undeniably lovely when her mood was good, with her shoulder-length fair hair and those eyes which tended to adapt to the colour of the gown she was wearing. Her mouth was too often set in a thin line and her nose was over long, but at least the latter was straight and complemented the chin she had inherited from her father in its sharpness.

As a result, the former Princess Royal always dressed boldly, and little had changed in that respect now that she was Queen. Her deportment was a byword in public, unlike what Ruth had too often witnessed in private. Should she tell him, disclose the truth – or did Sigurd already know? Certainly, he would be aware of some of it.

“I need to be back in