“Are you all right?” she asked softly. “I could tell Mama you aren’t well if you’d prefer to stay home. You could even go out on your own…” The suggestion blossomed inside him, filling him with hope, but Oliver crushed it before it grew large enough to hurt. He would go out on his own, in clothes that actually suited him, proudly bearing his true name … tomorrow. “The Bartholomew Fair,” he said softly. “I’ll go out then. Do you think you could…?” Jane smiled. “I’ll keep Mama busy. If the ball becomes too much tonight—” “I’ll let you know. Thank you, Jane.” She hugged him tightly and whispered,
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YET ANOTHER QUEEN SO SLAY
