Master Hartwell had been an excellent idea. Livia would have to thank Henry for it later. After nearly an hour of political smiles, Livia felt she could finally breathe. With Master Hartwell, there were no sharp inquiries about her family, no polite attempts to place her accent, no women asking where exactly in Florence she had been raised while clearly hoping she would misstep and reveal something scandalous.
Livia enjoyed him. Truly enjoyed him. She spoke animatedly, forgetting for several blessed minutes that she was being inspected by half the nobility in England. Hartwell listened as if her thoughts mattered. She could feel Richard's eyes on her.
Constantly.
A fixed awareness from across the ballroom that followed her even when she turned her back. Livia tried not to look. Looking would encourage something she did not know how to manage.
Then a young woman stepped towards her and stood at her side.
"Lady Livia."
Livia turned.
The woman was striking.
