Chapter Twenty-Three
GRIETE HOUSE, ANTWERP, 1623
‘How do I look?’ Adela asked, holding out her peach satin skirts before the long mirror in Clara’s chamber.
What do I tell her? How can I put such perfection into words? ‘You look very pretty, and I love you very much.’ Does Will understand his luck, that she has chosen him? Clara adjusted the orange bows that tied Adela’s sleeves. ‘There. Perfect. We should go down. They’ll be waiting.’
Adela stooped to hug her. ‘You look lovely, too.’
Clara scrutinised herself in the mirror. Green had always been her colour. Satin the colour of a spring beech wood. ‘Hmm.’
Adela moved behind her and, lifting her velvet cap, allowed Clara’s copper hair to fall down her back. ‘There.’
‘There.’ How strange they both loved servants’ sons made gentlemen b
