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“Of course,” she said. “I might have known.”

It was on the tip of Fen’s tongue to ask how she had earned a personal royal visit, but she did not quite dare to voice it. “I am very honored to have you join me this morning, your majesty,” she said instead.

“Yes,” conceded the Queen serenely. “It is not usually my practice to single out individuals in such a way.”

Fen blinked and waited for her to continue, but the Queen was looking around her with interest. “I do not usually venture down here,” she said. “Is it not rather draughty?”

“It can be,” Fen agreed. “I believe there are plans afoot to hang tapestries along the walls once they are completed.”

“Indeed?” the Queen sounded only mildly interested.

“Yes. Eden is in charge of that endeavor also.”

“Such a very intrepid young woman,” said the Queen, with a sigh. “I believe she puts us all to shame.”

“I am doing a panel with Mathilde Martindale,” Fen carried on. “We are planning roses intertwined with lilies and a border with cowslips.”

“I am sure that my good Lady Doverdale will insist on adding some improving text to this feast of flowers,” she said, with only a trace of gentle cynicism.

“She will find that difficult, not being consulted,” said Fen outrageously. As soon as she’d said it, she felt her face flood with color. Why had she said that?

To her relief the Queen burst out laughing. “And there it is,” said the Queen triumphantly. “The spark that I did not detect. I knew I must have overlooked something or you would not have so captivated one such as Lord Vawdrey. But perhaps you were deliberately pretending to be so dull when I met you that time?”

Fen struggled to make a reply to so rude a question. “I – er, no. Not intentionally, your highness. I was very overset at the time. Being thrown over by my first – I mean, by Sir Ambrose Thane.”

The Queen nodded. “Ah yes, I had perhaps overlooked the effects of abandonment on your temperament.”

Fen tried not to bristle, but it was hard. She looked sidelong at the Queen and wondered if she was being deliberately offensive. But she did not think she was.

“Of course, you could not have loved so inconsequential a man,” she said casually. “But one does get used to the status quo, I suppose.”

Again, Fen struggled with her reply. “At the time, I thought I was fond of him,” she said awkwardly. “Of Thurrold Manor, my home of those years, I was very attached.”

The Queen nodded. “Yes, naturally,” she said with more sympathy. “I still miss the home of my youth,” she sighed. “But I doubt I will ever visit it again. The truce between my brother Wilhelm and Wymer has been transitory at best.”

Fen suddenly thought of Trudy’s words that morning. If Wymer ever divorced Queen Armenal, would she be permitted to return to the Western Isles? It was possible King Wilhelm of the Western Isles would declare war at such an insult. She bit her lip. Were these the kind of things that Oswald had always to contend with, she wondered faintly? How hard it must be! It dawned on her that Queen Armenal was looking at her again with frank interest.

“I have always found the Vawdreys to be a family most interesting,” she said. “Mason, the middle son was very much in the mold of his father. And the youngest son too, Sir Roland, I would say is very much of the same impression. But,” she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Lord Vawdrey, he is how you say – a different kettle of fish?”

“Yes, I should say he is,” agreed Fen. He was superior in every way, to her mind.

“This is what dismayed the old Baron,” said the Queen, nodding to herself. “Mark my words. He would want his heir to be the chip off the old block.”

Fen brooded on this. “He’s tall and dark,” she objected. “Like his brothers.”

Armenal pursed her lips thoughtfully. “That he is, both. And yet, I believe it was not so much the physical resemblance I meant as much as the temperament. Sir Mason and Sir Roland they are forceful and brusque. A thought enters their heads and they give voice to it. Loudly and with conviction.”

Fen had not known either brother for long, but she could already see this was nothing but the truth. “But why should the old baron not want Oswald for his heir?” she asked, returning to their discussion. “He’s clever, everyone says so! And handsome…” Her words trailed off. In her view, he was by far the handsomest, though all the maidens swooned over Roland.

“Yes, he is all those things,” agreed the Queen. “But stubborn old men like to see their own reflections in their children. Oswald is something of a changeling, is he not? Cut from the different cloth. He is quiet, thoughtful. Baron Vawdrey did not know what this eldest son of his was thinking. And at times,” she held up a finger. “He has the very real suspicion that this son and heir is far cleverer than he is. This makes him uneasy. He likes to think that he alone knows best.”

Fen thought of that Solstice feast so long ago, when the Baron had addressed all the hall and called his nineteen year old son ‘a fine young peacock’ to the amusements of his guests. Had his father always tried to put him down in public? Her chest ached. “He should have been proud his son was smarter than he,” she muttered.

“Perhaps deep down, he was,” replied the Queen. “But the Baron was not the sort of man who liked to parade such emotions. Emotions in his book, they were for the women. I understand he mellowed a great deal in later life,” she added.

This seemed true enough, from all that Linnet had told her. Fen brightened, remembering that Oswald himself had told her the Baron would approve of her restored place at his side. She remembered too, the gold coins he had sent her and what Oswald had said about them standing under a sacred oak.

“It is so interesting, is it not” said the Queen in a change of subject. “How sometimes the unlikeliest matches seem to work out a good deal more successfully than ones you would anticipate?”