Joy
“This is Joy,” the old lady said, and the blonde girl curtsied to me with a wide smile on her lovely face. “Her family live near the river, up north, and her father is ill; she needs to go home.” “Sorry to hear that,” I said to her, still holding her small hand. She was dressed for riding; tight fitting breeches and high boots, a frilly shirt beneath a short jacket and not a sign of stays. Her pale hair was tied back like mine but her queue hung well down her back like a waterfall. Five-three...