Brand stood at the foot of the great stairway, waiting. Beside him, Gerard stood restless, impatiently glancing up the stairs at intervals. Perhaps the banisters would yield Madelyn if he stared long enough.
He was slightly amused. He knew the man did not particularly mind Madelyn's delay, he only cared for the remote possibility that he might grow irritated by it.
But he was not irritated, merely growing increasingly eager to behold her in the dress.
The clock on the mantel ticked away, counting the seconds with him.
Gerard cleared his throat. "She must be feeling anxious about attending the ball," he said cautiously. "Shall I go up and hurry her down?"
Brand turned his head slowly to the man. "And why would you do that?"
Gerard blinked.
She could take all the time she wished. He was in no great haste to attend the ball either. It was an obligation that held very little interest to him, a command from the king.
Still…
