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Oswald looked up from his plate. “Fasten your tunic,” he said. “No-one wants to see that when they’re trying to eat.”

Roland looked down in surprise at his own muscular torso. Fenella wondered if he had been sotted the night before. He had the confused air men wore on the morning after a heavy night’s imbibing. He fumbled a moment with his lacings, scowling the whole time. “Suppose I’ve got this to look forward to every morning now,” he complained before seizing a serving spoon and ladling food onto his plate. He attacked it aggressively. Roland had even worse manners than she remembered.

As if reading her thoughts Lord Vawdrey said: “This must be reminding you of old times, at least, Fenella. Roland putting you off a perfectly good meal.”

Fenella almost choked on her mouthful of fish.

“When the devil did I do that?” Roland demanded, lowering his knife.

“Our betrothal feast,” answered Oswald succinctly.

Roland looked aggrieved. “I was just a child,” he pointed out with dignity.

“A repulsive child,” his brother responded.

Fenella took a hurried sip of plum juice. The whole meal was starting to seem rather unreal to her, like a peculiar dream.

“So, it is you then,” said Roland abruptly. He was looking right at her.

“Yes, it is me,” she responded, unsure what else to say.

“Got what you wanted in the end, in any event,” he said caustically.

There was really no response she could make to that. Fen lowered her cup, seeing Oswald about to intercede. “I’m not sure I would have recognized you, Sir Roland,” she said hurriedly. “But you were only ten or eleven at the time.”

“You weren’t much older,” he pointed out dismissively and looked away at the clutter of her things at the end of the table. “What’s all this?”

“Fenella’s belongings,” answered Lord Vawdrey.

“That all she brings with her? Not much of a dowry, is it,” said Roland scornfully.

Oswald straightened up in his seat and a looked passed between the brothers. Roland lapsed into silence and started shoveling his food again.

Fen took a shaky breath. She was not sure she was equipped for life as a Vawdrey at all!

After breakfast, Oswald informed her that his assistant Bryce would be attending her that morning while the tradesmen called.

Fen glanced down at the scarlet robe fastened down the front with golden buttons. It was the single most exquisite garment she had ever worn, but the fact remained it was not an outfit intended for receiving visitors in. “But surely-” she started.

“You are entirely covered from neck to foot,” Lord Vawdrey forestalled her. “Come,” he said drawing out a chair by the fire. “Sit here. Keep your charming toes tucked under and there will be no impropriety I assure you.”

Fen found herself blushing faintly as she sat down. He was so much taller than she that the scarlet robe puddled into a train at her feet, entirely concealing the fact she was barefoot. Almost, she wished she could take another look at her toes. No-one had ever thought to compliment them before. Once he had washed and dressed he disappeared to his office in the main palace. Roland retreated to his bedchamber, she suspected to sleep off a bad head. Bryce turned out to be the rather reserved, plump young man in a cleric’s robe she had met the day before. He sat at the table with a piece of paper and pen and snubbed every effort she made to engage him in conversation. She was relieved when the first of the visitors arrived which was the shoemaker. He measured her foot and showed her various samples of shoes which seemed to be either long and narrow with a pointed toe or extremely round at the end like a horse-shoe. The one thing that they all had in common was that they were made of two colors. The outer leather was one color with lots of cut outs in either diamond or tear-drop shapes, revealing the second color of leather underneath. Fenella was charmed and after careful consideration ordered one pair of round-toed black shoes with cut out shapes showing green leather underneath. The shoemaker commended her choice and then looked at her expectantly.

“I already have a pair of boots,” she told him.

His eyes flitted to Bryce who cleared his throat. “Lord Vawdrey said you were to have at least two of everything my lady.”

“Two?” repeated Fenella. “Oh, I see! Perhaps – er-” She pointed mutely to a model of a narrow red leather shoe with black diamond contrast shapes and narrow red laces on either side.

“A popular choice, my lady,” murmured the shoe-maker.

“Oh good,” Fen seized on this eagerly. She breathed a sigh of relief and reached down to touch Bors as if he were her talisman in an uncertain world. He nosed her fingers reassuringly.

After the shoemaker came the glover, who bought in some beautiful samples of gloves in knitted and embroidered linen and silk. Fenella gasped over the beautiful quality and ordered one pair of short gloves in dark red knitted silk which were decorated at the cuffs in golden rosettes. They felt warm and would be ideal for walking out on cold days, but the longer gloves which went to the elbow confused her as to their functionality. When she glanced at Bryce for guidance, he blushed so vividly that she hurriedly ordered one pair of the long silk gauntlets in a cream and gold and left it at that.

A pouch-maker followed with a selection of purses on strings to hang from your girdle belt. Fen selected a deerskin purse with a pretty braiding detail for use by day, and one made of black silk brocade with a velvet trim for evening wear. She noticed Bryce was keeping a list of things ordered and felt comforted that he would tell her when she reached the end of her budget.

A leather worker came next with a selection of belts to choose from. Mindful that she already had a good belt at home, Fen selected a woven braid belt made of blue wool with brass buckles. The seller let her have this straight away which pleased her, but Bryce interrupted them to say that Lord Vawdrey would certainly expect her to order a leather belt as well. These looked very costly and were finely tooled with riveted silver mounts. When she finally chose a red leather belt with pretty silver trefoil discs, the craftsman looked pleased with her choice. Then he told her he would have to return to his workshop to stamp the correct heraldic device onto the silver casings before it would be ready. Fen thanked him and then wondered how much of Oswald’s coin she had spent that morning already.