Esabell laughed lightly as she crossed the courtyard. It seemed as though it had been years since she had last been shopping at Lace and Ruffs. Pleasant memories of that day returned to her, her blushing as the shopkeepers assistant had commented that she was the Kings favourite. A small pain struck her heart as she recalled the barge ride, the words her love had said, that he would always return to his moon. Perhaps she would no longer be his moon in several weeks though, what if Princess Isabella stole his heart from her.

Her eyes got dark as a lonely tingle rushed down her despite the warmth of the late summer day. The look was hastily covered with a wide smile though as Esabell took Lady Constance arm in hers, leaning in to the woman to point out a small child running to catch up with her mother at the next stall over.

“Children.” She chuckled, realizing how little she had though about them since she joined court life. She was once quite obsessed with the thought of having children, wishing for a small army of boys and girls crawling over her for a bedtime story. But times changed and opinions wavered. “Are you excited about the Kings proposal?” She smiled, her free hand opening her fan and waving it slowly, to catch a small breeze to cool herself. She was happy that Marc had made a wise choice, glad he had acted in proper judgment rather than his heart but still immeasurably jealous of the woman he would be wed to in her place.

Constance was excited for this shopping trip. She had not spent much time with Esabell. They had merely nodded in greeting, seen each other in passing, never anything more than a face you knew. But then, Constance had decided to join Esabell on a shopping trip for the upcoming wedding of the king. It was nice. Constance hadn't talked to many of the women in court. Many of them were cold to her, and though she tried, she wasn't going to force a friendship.

Oh yes, the king's wedding. To Princess Isabella. Isabella would be the queen of the Sapphire Realm, a hope that many women had held. At one point, Constance had, but had given it up as a lost cause. Why would she try to force it on the king, when he clearly loved somebody else. Esabell. He loved her, and Constance was never one to stand in the way of love.

Esabell hooked her arm under Constance's and Constance giggled slightly too. Giggled. Constance. She hadn't giggled since she was a child. It must have been the fresh air and bustling people to make her feel excited about court again. Oh the joy's of shopping.

"They're so adorable." commented Constance, "Though a handful. I would never be a good mother." she watched the child run and catch up with his mother, and latch onto her hand. As they walked, she considered Esabell's question. Was she excited? Yes, as much as a courtier could be excited. Her king was to be married. "In a way." she finally said. "But...tis a sad ending for him." She had a meaningful look on her face. She hoped that it wasn't a touchy subject for Esabell. "Oooh! Look! That shop!"

Almost dragging Esabell along, they walked into a dressmakers shop.

Lord Westley, who had been strolling down the opposite side of the street for quite some time, was feeling rather contemplative today. His hands were laced behind his back, his chin was held high, and his ever-sparkling eyes carried an air of thoughtfulness. Today was one of those days that he simply felt as if he was drifting along like a leaf in the air, which he decided was a perfectly fitting simile due to autumn sweeping into the Sapphire Court. Ever since the masquerade it felt as if he had constantly been caught in this sort of mindset, no matter how much he badgered himself that it would ruin his slowly growing reputation for being a silent, judgmental person. Soon people would think him growing soft, or even...in love. The mere thought caused him to twitch subconsciously. That he would fall in love with any of the ladies that it had been his displeasure to meet was absolutely absurd.

Immediately searching for something to draw his mind away from that hideous concept, he caught sight of two blonde strolling down the other side of the street. One of them was Lady Esabell, as everyone who was anyone, knew of, and the other Lady Constance. His eyebrows shot up, sending wrinkles across his forehead, and he felt a small smirk touch his lips. He hadn't seen Lady Constance since their dance at the masquerade, and had to admit that he was rather curious now as to how she would be treating him. Deciding that he wouldn't be able to wait another moment, he glanced this way and that down the street before crossing it. He wouldn't wish to be bowled over by some incompetant driver in a cart, after all.

As soon as his boot touched the other side of the street, it seemed, the two of them disappeared into a dressmaker's shop. Shopping, were they? This would be interesting. Lifting one of his hands to brush a dark curl away from his forehead, the young lord moved fluidly into the dress shop, glancing this way and that for the two ladies. He caught the shocks of blonde hair almost instantly, and moved rather slowly towards the both of them, his expression as neutral as it ever was. "Ah, good morning, ladies. Out for a shopping trip, are we?" Westley asked, pausing nearby them to give a rather graceful bow before rising up again. "Forgive me for interrupting, but I confess that my journey to Norshire has been rather dull today. I fear you shall have to endure my presence for a time." Spoken truly like Lord Westley Ryland. 'Twas not a question or a suggestion. 'Twas already decided. His eyes flickered to Lady Esabell, and he arched one of his eyebrows. "Forgive me, but I am Lord Westley Ryland. I do not believe we've met, though most of the court has certainly heard quite a bit about you." A tiny bow followed that introduction, and he watched her face with those same mischievious eyes to see if he had gained any sort of reaction from the lady.

For some reason Esabell saw no reason to argue with her companion on the topic of motherhood. She had been quite good friends with first brother Christopher, taking greatly too him. They were still quite close, sending letters regularly, although she had never been too good and accepting to the youngest, Henry, but he had never really cared either. Lady Constance just didn’t seem the sort for motherhood though, something about her just didn’t call it at all.

The womans words tested her smile. “Yes, but a wise one. It is not our way to follow our hearts.” She admitted, smiling as best she could as a large lump rose in her throat. her last private meeting with the King had not been the happy event she had wished it had been. One half of her approved prideful of her actions while the other half blamed herself for encouraging Marc to wed the Princess Isabella, as though she had told him to throw his heart away and forget her. Of course she nearly had said those very words.

The tug was most unexpected to Esabell, nearly knocking her off balance as Constance dragged her towards a dressmaker. “I take it this is a favourite of yours!” She chuckled, finally righting herself as the entered to shop. It was a quaint place, filled to the brim with fabrics of all sorts and varieties. A few samples of the seamstress handiwork were on display, the needlework wasn’t bad, but not the best she had seen, of course she had seen some very fine needlework. Stepping forward Esabell brushed her hand over a festive colored bolt of silk. “What do you think Lady? I have never attended a wedding, I’ve not the slightest idea what one wears to attend such an event.” She admitted. Being the oldest of her family with few close friends from her home she had never been invited to a wedding, she only had a faint idea of what happened at such an event.

Her thoughts were interrupted though by the intrusion of another courtier. The face was faintly familiar, as though she had seen him about and never found need to know him. He was a bold fellow, intriguing in his confidence. Esabell had an odd feeling that he was more familiar with Lady Constance than he let on. His introduction was curt, clearly her reputation had long since preceded her as he searched her eyes for a reaction.

“Lady Esabell Gamage my lord.” She smiled, nodding slowly as she curtsied lightly, her arm loosing itself from the Ladies as she did so, her fan closed in her hand as she lifted her skirt with habit. “An honor.” She smiled, leaving judgments for the man until she was more familiar with his character.a

Constance grinned when Esabell was thrown off balance and remarked that it was one of her favourites. Constance could act on a whim, and could be childish, and placing her in front of a bunch of a shops would be likely get her excited. She walked over to some of the cloth and elt a few bolts. The assistants watched warily, none really coming forward. Constance frowned and said, "I actually have no idea either lady. I've never been to a wedding either. Something not terribly low cut I would assume."

She turned back to the bolts of cloth and examined the needlework. She was hopeless at needlepoint, and her true talents lay in singing. She had an almost unbearably musical voice, and when she sang, she sang her heart out. She didn't care when people critiqued her. Usually she took it with a smile, and a hurried goodbye. One of her downfalls? She had never been able to take criticism well. She had always been a bit more temperemental.

She was examining a piece of deep purple, with gold embroidery. She loved pruple, it was one of her favourite colours, but then again, she adored various shades of white. But then again, she already had a white gown. Purple would be positively beautiful and something she could wear to the next event. But then again, she would have to buy gold jewelry. But that wasn't a problem. She liked to spend, and she had been getting a larger allowance now.

She turned at a familiar voice. Oh. It was only Lord Westley Ryland. She turned, a rather cool smile on her face. She was going to be indifferent but polite. She had left him alone on the dance floor at the masque, without telling whom she was, though she had no doubt that he knew it was her. She wondered how he would react.

"What a strange place to meet." she commented, the half smile evident on her face. "We could help you pick a dress for the wedding." she turned to Esabell and showed her the purple fabric. "I'm hopeless with embroidery. Is this good quality?"

Westley nodded to Lady Esabell when she introduced herself, though he highly doubted that she truly considered it an honor. He regarded her with that same neutral expression and gave her a single nod, not bothering to return the smile. "Indeed." What did one say to that, after all? Westley wasn't quite sure. Nothing came to mind that he would actually say, of course. Anything would be too polite, too kind, and possibly too familiar. 'Twas not a time for that. Instead, he simply rested one of his large hands on a hip and finally turned his eyes to look at Lady Constance.

Ah yes, she certainly remembered him from the masquerade, then. Her cool smile and polite words, minus those of finding him a dress, made his eyebrow lift slightly higher on his forehead. What, had he somehow insulted her when he had refused to chase after her? She was being positively absurd. However, knowing that playing along would no doubt be amusing, he chose to do so. He regarded her with a certain coolness in his expression, though his eyes continued to glimmer as if he knew something that she did not. "A strange place, of course. I cannot help myself, I fear. I adore gowns as much as the next peacock in this hopeless court of ours." He turned then to face a bolt of yellow fabric, pretending to look rather knowledgable about it. He was feeling a bit playful today, though one could only guess that from his eyes.

"A dress for myself? Oh yes, of course. I think perhaps a shade of peach might go well with my complexion. What do you think, Lady Esabell?" he asked, not bothering to look at her over his shoulder. "Perhaps with little hearts embroidered all over it."

A chuckle escaped Esabell at the comment about the cut of the dress. “It wouldn’t due to draw the grooms eye from his bride.” She laughed, picturing some unfortunate to-be husband blushing at Constance rather than his bride.

The neutrality of Westleys words was quite comforting, it emphasized that his intentions did not lie in her connections or emotions. She watched carefully the way he gazed at Lady Constance, assured there was something hey were working on with each other and decided it best to stay out of their business. The cold teasing of Canstance’s tone assured her yet again that they had had some sort of duel between them, whatever it was. She could not however resist a giggle.

The bantering between them was most pleasant, lifting her moods from the gloom of what they were shopping for. “Oh yes, a peach would be splendid, although I think daisies would be more appropriate than hearts my lord.” She teased, her attention suddenly caught by the purple fabric in Lady Constance’s hands.

A frown fell over her as she looked at the embroidery. “The needlework is quite fine, but I would recommend you request all embroidery by done after the dress has been sewn. It promotes a more rounded, fitting gown and you’re guaranteed the embroidery with fit.” She explained, glancing around for a bolt of the same material and near shade without embroidery. Leaning over a table as far as she could Esabell tried to reach a bolt of fabric, grasping only a corner of the material and tugging unsuccessfully.

Constance remained quiet as Esabell and Westley conversed, though there was a small smirk on her face, though her head was turned away. She knew that her cold demeanor had thrown him off balance, if for a moment. She was quite proud of herself in that fact, because that proved she was winning. He had to accomodate her mood. She turned, the smirk still on her face, though it had relaxed into a smile.

"That sounds clever. If I was here by myself, I'd buy something horrendous. Thank goodness I have good company." Constance confessed, her smile still on her face as they spoke. She folloed Esabell's gaze until she spotted what she was looking at. A fabric of similar colour, minus the embroidery. It was a beautiful colour.

"Shall purple suit my skin tone? Lord Westley?" she asked, as if reminding him. "You did say that if I needed someone to tell me I look horrible, I could come to you."

She had mood swings, Constance did. She could be happy and cheerful at one moment, but could be as cold and indifferent as ever, the next. Mood swings. It confused people, but it also confused her. She had heard Esabell's giggle, and she was left in no doubt that she and Westley's 'friendly' banter, was a competition.

She walked around the table towards the fabric, and rolled it around in her fingers for a few moments. She liked the fabric and she would keep it in consideration. The shopkeepers had been watching in amusement, and slight disbelief. Constance wandered towards a display of slippers. Oh, she'd need a new pair of those..

The sound of a giggle from the blonde he knew less made Westley's ego swell a bit more, if that was even possible. He felt like he had succeeded in something, as absurd as it sounded. In fact, now that his ego had grown to full capacity, it threatened to nearly make him pleasant. He mentally shuddered at the thought before looking over at Lady Esabell and hearing her comment about daisies. "Daisies, my lady? How positively absurd." Seeing her struggling to pull a bolt of fabric closer for observation, he took a few slow steps forward, speaking as he did so. "Obviously this dress of mine will be used to try to catch the eye of the King and win his heart. It would be so wise to be up front with what I desire from him...wouldn't you think?" He looked down at her face before reaching forward and grasping the bolt of fabric easily, tugging it towards her. Without waiting for a response, he looked up at Lady Constance and took a few steps backwards from Lady Esabell.

"Why, purple would suit you quite well, but as you have asked me, I can only assume that you wish indeed to look as horrid as a hag. Therefore, I would go with light green. You would look quite nauseating." He turned away, pretending to be observing another bolt of fabric. "You would draw the attention of village dogs everywhere." He reached up and ran a calloused fingertip over the satin fabric, his eyes moving to an assistant who was staring at him with a raised eyebrow. He narrowed his dark eyes slightly, and the assistant skittered off to the back of the store. "Then again I'm sure it would be a pleasant change from having to deal with lords such as myself."

Westley, for those past few minutes, could not find it within himself to be cruel. While he didn't sound particularily kind, he did indeed sound a trifle calmer. Perhaps it was because he had been able to pluck at his lute today for quite a bit of time without being interrupted. Perhaps it was the lovely meal they had served in the Great Hall. For whatever reason, he simply wasn't being...himself. He would need to change that.

For some unexplainable reason Lord Westleys words caused a most absurd rush of anger in her, as though he were trying to insult her with his idle comments. With a breath though the anger subsided and she smiled challengingly up at him. “I find that his Majesty prefers to jest and dance about a topic.” She returned, realizing he was pulling the fabric towards her. “Of course should you want I’m sure a little powder could ripen you to his fancy.” She was a woman of smiled, possessing one for every occasion and using them most sparingly. This particular one was a lopsided smile accentuated by a sideways motion of the head to create a sarcastic tone.

The words between Lady Constance and he though assured her that whatever the Lord said he meant only as a jest. It was clearly the way he was to put the darkest twist on his words and Esabell was certain that should she come to accept this she would be on friendly terms with him as the Lady seemed to be.

Turning away for a moment Esabell examined a bolt of a pleasantly lilac bolt of silk. The effect was quite soothing and immediately a picture of a simple dress adorned with ribbon came to her mind. “I rather think she enjoys your company Lord Westley.” She put in, not bothering to look back at him as she debated the fabric, completely ignorant of the Lady Constance’s migration to slippers.

Constance smiled, a different smile, than her regular smirk, or the full on smile. It was just a smile, of hidden intent. Her stormy eyes seemed to be laughing, though her mouth stayed in the same position as she examined a pair of silk slippers, adorned with pearls along the edges. Oh, those were pretty slippers. She would enjoy those..but she checked the price. Three hundred gold pieces? Not bloody likely.

She turned her attention away from the slippers, as Westley addressed her, and told her to wear pale green. She carelessly tossed a reply back at Westley, "Oh, I find no difference." Though her words were slightly harsh, her voice was teasing, with the musical lilt still in the words. Her eyes flashed mischeviously, wondering how both Esabell and Westley would reply. Whatever they replied, she would be perfectly fine. She was almost absoultely sure of their reactions. Esabell? Surprise. Either surprise, or anger. Westley? Skeptism. No surprise there, he knew how she reacted.

She grinned at Esabell's response to his teasing about trying to attract the king. He would have a handful, trying to deal with both Esabell and Constance. Both were strong willed and both had quick wits about them. Constance found herself moving back to the very back of the store, looking at some of the hair accesories. Oh..that pin was pretty...but that one was particularly antique looking. She gently blew the dust, and some of it tickled her nose. She let out a small little rabbit sneeze. "Bless me.." she murmured.

Westley looked back at Lady Esabell when she spoke, the challenging grin across her lips causing the smallest smirk to break out across his. His words had been chosen carefully, of course, just to pull a reaction from the blonde. Her reaction hadn't been the flash of temper and snarling words he had expected, and therefore amused him a little more, but now he was curious as to how far he could push the blonde. "You would find many things about his Majesty, wouldn't you?" he drawled, lifting one of his eyebrows. He let only a moment of silence pass before turning his back to her once again, now examining a bright pink bolt of fabric. "Powder, I think, would look rather odd on me. I have no plans to appear as an albino." He tossed his head a little, moving a few dark curls away from his face.

When he was about to respond to Lady Constance enjoying his company, he heard the reply nearly tossed over her shoulder. He closed his mouth abruptly, looked at the retreating blonde's head and calling out to her. "Oh, have no fear, Lady Constance. You're just like the rest of the ladies of the court, then." A bunch of painted peacocks, they are. He looked back at Esabell, that small smirk still drawn across his lips. "Oh yes, she positively adores me." he said sarcastically.

He took a few steps away from both of the ladies then, now pretending to be facinated by the collection of fans to the side. Hearing Lady Constance's sneeze and soft murmur, he smirked once again. "I think not, Lady Constance."

Esabell shrugged lightly at Lord Westley’s comment, deciding not to speak at all for fear she wouldn’t come up with an appropriately witty response. She could not however refrain a chuckle as he commented on his skin tone, always having found some ladies obsession with the proper tone of color quite inconsequential. If the precise tone of her skin was enough to scare a man off she didn’t wish to be in his company anyway.

As Lady Constance sneezed Esabell instinctually said “God bless” to the woman, simultaneously changing her gaze back to the hair accessories where the woman was and meandering her way towards her. Her hand found it’s way to a silver netting with lilac ribbons wrapped about the metal.

“Will you be participating in the tournament Lord Westley?” She asked quite abruptly as she turned to face him. Her whole figure was still, as if she were asking him a much more serious question than whether or not her played games of sport.