When we stepped into the carriage, a tangible disquiet immediately descended. The interior, usually a haven of soft murmurs and gentle rustling of silks, now thrummed with awkward tension.
I could not shake the sense that every gaze—from the discreet yet appraising eyes of minor nobles to the silent weight of our companions—spoke of an orchestrated display. I was almost certain that Laura had engineered it all, determined to create a spectacle for the gathering aristocracy by uniting the four of us in one confined space.
As the carriage's doors closed with a whispered finality, Laura broke the silence in a tone that dripped both condescension and feigned surprise.
"I did not know that you like to dress like that, Your Grace," she remarked, her voice airy yet pointed as she let her eyes travel over every thoughtful detail of my ensemble.
A small, sardonic smile tugged at my lips, its warmth a counterpoint to the chill settling in the cramped carriage.
