A rather distracted Gwen came to collect the tray. “They’ll be here soon, Miss Pratt,” the maid said. “The master said to remind you to keep to your room.” Wendy smiled in amusement. “I will. Though if he were really worried, he should have told you to take my crutches!” Gwen smiled in return. “He’s always a little nervous when the tourists come. Afraid they’ll break something, he is.” She left hurriedly, knowing she must be back in the kitchen before the tourists arrived. Wendy leaned back in her chair, holding an open novel, missing the music that they usually listened to in the evening. Without any trouble, she could picture Lord Richard standing on the terrace outside the great hall, waiting. He would be bored, but handsome for all that, and impatient. The guide, accustomed to this sort of thing, would soon be herding his group through the rooms, anxious not to miss dinner at the inn later. Was it only a week ago that she, too, had been trouping through the castle for the first time?
