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he showed her the mews, going on at great length about a treatise on falconry that he was reading with his tutor. Having read much of it herself and shared it with Ned, Joan could appreciate his clear comprehension, and soon they were extending theory into their own experience, allowing Bella to join in. By the time Henri escorted them to the high table, Joan wondered whether Bella and the earl had been mistaken and she was being wooed by Henri of Brabant, he’d been so agreeable. No sooner had Joan been seated beside Lady Lucienne than the Sire d’Albret slipped into the seat on her left.
    “I will leave you now, Lady Joan,” Lord Henri said. “But I will return later to claim you for a dance, if you will.”
    “I would like that very much, Lord Henri.”
    When he was gone, she forced herself to look at the Gascon. “My lord Albret.”
    He bowed to her and greeted her courteously, but nothing more and, throughout the courses, behaved as she would expect of a lord much her senior humoring a young girl. Had her impression of his behavior two days ago been the product of her own exhaustion, the gossip she’d heard of him, the mead? She began to relax. To her right, Lady Lucienne pointed out the nobles Joan had met before, and many she had not, and commented on the elegance of the hall, the grace and ease with which young Lady Marguerite played the hostess.
    “She is suited to be a queen,” Joan said. “And her family will bring wealth and strong influence in this part of the world to King Edward and the prince.”
    Lucienne stared at Joan a little too long for her comfort. “Then it is not true that you hoped to wed Prince Edward?”
    Joan felt herself blush. “Who said such a thing?”
    A little laugh. “No doubt someone pointed out how like the two of you are, what pretty children you would have, and itgrew from there. No one meant you harm.” Lucienne quickly changed the subject, commenting on the fashions round the hall.
    During the course of the afternoon, Joan danced with Lord Henri; King Edward himself, who made small talk with jovial good humor; the duke, who thanked her for helping Marguerite feel welcomed into the family; other nobles who bragged and flirted; Earl William, who was comforting in his familiarity. But her favorite partner by far was Sir Thomas, her least graceful dancing partner, but gallant with his compliments and free with amusing observations about their fellow dancers.
    Only at the very end did the Sire d’Albret take her hand and lead her out to dance, saying little, as if concentrating on the music. Of all her partners, he was the master of the dance, letting the music move him rather than moving to the music. She found herself watching him, fascinated by the perfection of his features, the grace of his gestures, the warmth of his hands. Did he perhaps hold her hand too long in each round, or was it she who held his?
    And then, as he escorted her toward the cluster of queen’s ladies preparing to depart, he said, “I detect Lady Lucienne’s intoxicating scent in your gown. Is that how you sought to ensnare me, my lady?”
    “Ensnare
you
, my lord? I would never wear this gown again if I thought it might do so.”
    “Ah! There is the Plantagenet spirit. At last.”
    “Does arrogance pass for courtesy in Gascony?” They had reached the ladies. “Good day to you, my lord.”
    He reached out to touch her cheek, then kissed her on the forehead. “You are like a heady wine, little one, once you open and breathe. I shall remember that.”
    “My lord.” Earl William stepped between them. “Have you a moment? I wanted to discuss with you a matter of some import.”
    Joan felt faint as she joined the ladies.
    “I shall speak with Her Grace about his behavior, Joan,” said a shocked Lady Clare.
    When Bella fell into bed that night, she declared it a most splendid day. “I almost wish the duke had agreed to a double match. I like Lord Henri.”
    Joan concurred. “I like both