She blinks. "But this Jesterel works for the King, and wears a, wotsit; 'by the diamond drape he'd sport.' Isn't that you?"
She puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes. "See, y'say it's nothing, but I ken full well you're exercised about it. This sheet sets your blood a-sizzle, and you just don't want to talk about it."
You continue to deflect, but Audrey saw a glimpse of truth in your humors that makes it too late for any artifice to undo. You part company a bit cooler than when you met, and you're not at all certain you did anything to help tamp down the inevitable gossip about the true identify of this damned Jesterel. [-Audrey] [-Surety]
Onward