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“Fenella,” he said softly. “I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you the significance of you spending last night in our marital bed.” Her gaze darted to meet his, stunned. “If the King should ask, I know I can trust to your discretion.”

Fenella watched him as he left the room, her startled brain wondering what on earth he meant by that! The grumpy manservant knocked loudly on the door moments later and then brought her fresh water. He murmured something that sounded like ‘milady’ as he set down the basin of warm water so he must have accepted the truth of his master’s claims at any rate. She washed and dressed quickly, lamenting that all she had was her mustard dress which looked all the worse for being travelled in yesterday. In truth, it had never been a handsome garment. Now it looked positively frightful. She speedily braided her thick dark hair into a single braid and looped it over her shoulder as she mourned the fact she had no head veil with her. In her haste yesterday, her cloak hood had sufficed. Today was an altogether different matter. It was unlikely that Lord Vawdrey would have such a thing lying around, she thought sadly and resisted the urge to peek in one of his large chests. She wondered if half of it might be taken up with midnight black and the other half with surprisingly colorful dressing robes. Oswald Vawdrey was a man of secrets and surprises. Squaring her shoulders, she marched out of the bedroom and into the wood-paneled adjoining room, which seemed to be a communal area with a fireplace, large window and dining table.

Oswald was seated in his scarlet robe in the window seat, slicing a pear with a small fruit knife. “Meldon will be in with breakfast presently,” he said looking up briefly.

She hesitated a moment, and then sat down at the table where she found a jug of ale and a jug of water. Helping herself to a cup of water, she tried not to stare at Oswald Vawdrey who looked almost extraordinarily exotic to her. It boggled her mind to think that she could be expected to get used to such a display of masculine beauty, every morning. “Um, where is Gilbert?” she asked after taking a sip. “I don’t really remember him leaving yester’een…”

“You fell asleep and he left after dinner,” said Oswald. “His reasoning was, he could be home by midday tomorrow with very little bother.”

The door slammed and in stumped Meldon carrying a tray of pickled herring, smoked anchovies, a round white loaf and a dish of butter. “Those palace kitchens will be the death of me,” he complained as he rattled the dishes down on the table. “That bloody manservant of lord Bardulf’s insisting his master has the best pandemain for his morning ‘sop in wine’. I ask you!” He looked from Lord Vawdrey who made no response, to Fenella and stuck his chin out aggressively.

She cleared her throat. “It certainly sounds foolish to use the finest bread if all you intend to do with it is soak it in wine,” she conceded.

“Exactly what I says to him! And do you know how he answered?” Fenella shook her head. “Says his master is accustomed to the best, if it please you!”

“I expect he probably is,” said Lord Vawdrey.

Meldon clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“It must be a very strange set-up if all the personal servants apply to the palace kitchens for their master’s meals,” puzzled Fenella. “How do the palace kitchen staff cope with such demand?”

“The majority of courtiers will eat in the main hall,” responded Lord Vawdrey, taking the seat next to hers.

“I see,” she said feeling foolish. Of course. The Vawdreys were important enough to dine in their own chambers. She wondered briefly about her own kitchens at Thurrold. This week she had planned to order the pear trees stripped in the Orchard, and taken to the kitchens to be preserved in honey. Then she remembered with a pang that this was no longer her concern. Thurrold had a new mistress now. The rattle of a plate set down before her, brought her out of her reverie. Lord Vawdrey had sliced her some of the bread himself. “Will you take some fish?” he asked her politely. “You will need your strength,” he reminded her with a glimmer of a smile. “To face our monarch.”

Any inclination to smile withered on her lips at the mention of King Wymer. “I haven’t got a head covering,” she worried aloud as Meldon carried in her ankle boots which looked a lot cleaner than when she’d last seen them. “Oh thank you. They look much better.”

“I’ll need to take a dry brush to your hem and all,” he said disapprovingly. “It’s looking in as much of a state as your boots were!”

“Meldon,” said Lord Vawdrey mildly.

“I’m afraid he’s quite right,” said Fenella biting her lip. “This dress really isn’t fit to be seen in. Especially not by the King.”

“Eat your breakfast.” Lord Vawdrey told her, tucking into his own.

Fenella sighed and did as she was told. Her head was still swimming and ached, but if it was the onset of a cold, then you were supposed to feed a cold after all. She couldn’t afford to get ill. Not now she had to fend for herself in a strange place. She couldn’t really taste the food, but she managed to eat a slice of bread and butter.

The only indication Lord Vawdrey gave that he’d paid any attention to her, was just before they left his rooms. Meldon was sat kneeling at her feet scrubbing her hem with a dry brush when Oswald stepped back in the room holding a rectangle of white linen. “Will this do?” he asked passing it to her.

“Oh yes, thank you,” she shook it out and then wrapped it around her head. Without any pins or brooches, the most she could do was a few very simplistic passes, before securing it with a knot behind her braid. She then looped her thick braid so it tucked neatly under the linen instead of hanging down to her waist. “How does that look?” she asked feeling slightly self-conscious under the scrutiny of both Lord Vawdrey and his manservant.

“Very wifely,” said Lord Vawdrey with an encouraging smile. He held his hand out to her and she rose wondering if that was a nice way of saying matronly or frumpy. Unbidden, an image in her head rose of Ambrose’s new bride. She hadn’t had the best view of her the night before, but she’d been young and slim. Her blonde hair had been caught up in a horned-headdress that was no doubt the height of fashion. A comparison between them right now would be laughable, she thought. The cast-off dumpy wife and the young, pretty bride in all her finery. She hoped no-one would be cruel enough to remark on it. Her emotions felt raw and bruised.

It was perhaps not surprising that Fenella was a quaking bag of nerves by the time she was swept along the royal corridor to the outer chamber of the King’s state bedroom. Her new – or was it old – husband, saw her seated by the fire and then left her there with a bunch of strangers, while he breezed on in to the inner sanctum. The guards fell back at once to admit him reminding Fenella uneasily that Oswald Vawdrey was a very important person indeed in royal circles. She stared down at the hem of her woolen dress and tried not to fret about the darker patches from where Meldon had brushed away yesterday's dried mud. She felt acutely aware of the fact she wore no adornment and yet every other person in the room was decked out in jewels, velvets and furs and hats dripping with feathers. She smiled glassily in the direction of the curious onlookers and tried not to worry about the fact that no-one would actually meet her gaze. They didn’t even know who she was yet, she told herself, trying to check her own rising panic. Maybe it was because everyone else waiting for an audience was male, she thought, staring at her ankle boots. Meldon had polished the scuffs from them without even a grumble, although he had kept a beady side-eye on her the whole time. She wondered why there were no other women waiting to see the King. The truth was, she was ill-prepared to be presented at court. This had been a crazy idea and she had been out of her mind to have even thought of it. She certainly had not a clue how it would turn out. Which was just as well or she never would have dared to set one foot outside of Thurrold Manor house. No-one could have anticipated that she would end up married to a completely different man before day break! She shivered in spite of the proximity of the fire. Perhaps this was all just a bad dream and she would wake up any moment now, in her four-poster bed at Thurrold with Bors lying at her feet and a piece of half-eaten cheese on the night-stand.

The door opened and a guard from inside stepped out. “The King requests the presence of Lady Fenella Vawdrey,” his voice rang out.

A low murmur started through the room as Fenella forced herself to stand, instead of sinking down in the chair in mortification. The ten or so steps across the room were some of the most torturous Fenella had ever taken as she forced herself not to trip or run and look like a fool. The guard stood aside to make room for her and she slipped into the vast room, her gaze darting about until she saw the tall figure in black that she recognized. Lord Vawdrey was stood over by a window with a stocky man of medium height with tow-colored hair who was dressed in a royal blue robe and had a look of peevish indignation on his face. "Approach, approach," he said testily. “Let's have a look at this troublesome female who dares to overset my plans!”

Fenella felt her face flush and looked to Lord Vawdrey for guidance.

“Come Fenella, and meet your King,” said Oswald holding out a hand to her and she scuttled to his side, her face turning a dull red of embarrassment.

“Aye, you may well blush,” scolded the King as she sank into a hasty curtsey. “I've heard of your ill-advised deeds of yesterday!”

Fenella gulped and forced herself not to glance at Oswald as he took her hand in a reassuring grip.

“Your majesty,” he murmured in slight reproach. “As I explained, the documentation is beyond doubt...”