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“You are very kind,” said Oswald. “But I did not intend for you to bring it in person.”

“It was no trouble,” said Lady Anne approaching his desk. “Besides, I did not want to give Jenny another opportunity to gossip. That girl is becoming quite incorrigible.” She gave him a sidelong look and Oswald wondered if she suspected that Jenny was also in his employ these days. After all, spies were needed in the servants quarters as well as the banqueting halls.

“Quite,” he answered. “Though sometimes I wish Bryce would take the trouble to indulge in a little gossip. He would be so much more useful to me then.”

“I think you will find that Bryce is not the gossiping type,” said Lady Anne. “But then, that is why you employed him after all.”

“True enough,” agreed Oswald, wondering when she was going to get to the point of her visit. Lady Anne was flitting about his bookshelves now. Clearly she had something she wished to share, but Oswald found himself itching to get back to Fenella's letters. He had reached a crucial part where Ambrose was devoting page after page to a slight cold he had contracted and was bemoaning the inhospitable northern weather for prolonging his suffering. He found there was a sort of horrible fascination to reading Ambrose Thane's private letters to his wife. They were as dry and dusty as if he was writing to his housekeeper. The main body was taken up with complaints about his position as a junior ambassador and the lack of respect with which he felt he was being treated. He perceived slights in the most innocuous of utterings and took umbrage at the drop of a hat. It seemed he expected his wife to enter into his petty feuds, as he spent several paragraphs berating her for suggesting various people meant no insult or harm. His second favorite topic was haranguing her over the accounts she sent him of the household spending. He suspected she was not using the cheapest candles available merely because she did not like the smell of them and he did not think the fact they made her eyes water when she tried to read at night to be a valid argument. With the master away, he saw no need for the household to indulge in roasted meats or pastries. He thought the cook should manage without a full kitchen staff and the same went for the buttery. In fact, he pulled her up with some criticism of almost every line of her inventory. From scanning the dates, it seemed poor Fenella was expected to write to him every month with a full account of the household monies. And she had done this for no less than two years. In fact, Oswald was deriving considerable satisfaction from finding that Ambrose Thane was the most tiresome sort of husband possible. He was a whiner and a tight-fisted domestic tyrant. Only a strong sense of duty could induce a wife to love such a man. And he had sent her no scrap of affection, no word of written praise or encouragement in the whole time he had been away, that Oswald could see. Of course, he only had sight of one side of the correspondence, but it was hard to imagine such letters could inspire much by way of spousal devotion.

“Someone brings you glad tidings,” said Lady Anne, interrupting his thoughts. She had rounded his desk and was peering archly at the bundle of letters.

Oswald swept them into his top drawer. “There is something I can help you with, Lady Sumner?” he asked politely.

She sat in the seat opposite him with a charming smile. “It is rather something that I can do for you, my dear Lord Vawdrey,” she replied.

He looked at her expectantly. “You are planning a trip, perhaps?”" he prompted. “You mentioned the possibility of travel to your husband's northern estates?”

She waved a hand airily. “Oh, I have no immediate plans for that,” she said dismissively. “No, it is here at court that I thought to be of service.”

Oswald's eyebrows rose. “Go on.”

“With your wife, the Countess Vawdrey. You are doubtless far too busy to introduce her around and about. See that she cultivates the right friendships, that sort of thing. But I, on the other hand, can devote the time to make sure she meets the right sort of people. Take her under my wing, so to speak.”

Oswald felt himself stiffen. “You are too kind,” he said. “But I will not be too busy to introduce my countess to the company she needs to keep.”

Lady Anne hesitated and traced a finger across the desktop. “She seems a very sweet, wholesome sort of girl. Wholly unspoiled.”

“She is twenty-six years of age,” said Oswald dryly. He could tell that Lady Sumner was trying to say Fenella was hopelessly unsophisticated. And while she might have a point, it irritated him that she was making it.

“The poor dear must have been simply crushed after last night,” began Lady Anne again. “She will need the comfort of friends to cushion her from the consequences of such a social mis-step.”

“She has her husband to comfort her,” said Oswald brusquely. “And I trust I perform that function adequately. As for friends, I do not doubt that Fenella is equipped to make her own, without an employee of mine fulfilling that function.”

Lady Anne's face tightened. “You misunderstand, my lord. I did not offer in the role of employee.”

Oswald looked up at her steadily. “But you have no other role to me, Lady Sumner.”

She gasped faintly at his bluntness and rose from her seat. “I see I am decidedly in the way this morning. I will take my leave of you now, Lord Vawdrey.” she said, “I hope your wife will find the cloak warm.” With only the shallowest of curtseys, she whirled around to make her exit.

Oswald stared at the door as it shut behind her. In truth, he was not quite sure why he had been so abrupt with Lady Sumner. She was a very useful person to him at court, and it seemed unlikely he had been rude to her simply because he felt an implied insult toward his wife! He rubbed the side of his jaw and considered this a moment. Up until now, he had imagined that Lady Anne Sumner was the epitome of the perfect polished female courtier. She was discreet, sharply observant, had the knack of being in the right place at the right time and was an extremely efficient spy. Why then, had it rubbed him the wrong way when she had suggested she was the ideally placed person to guide Fenella in her court debut? Something told him he did not wish to look too closely at the answer, so instead he re-opened the drawer and extracted Thane's letters to find out if that gentleman ever did get rid of his putrid sore throat, or if Fenella was ever allowed a decent candle to read by.

A knock at the door interrupted him just as he was finishing Thane's final letter, dated just over a month ago. He dropped it with a frown onto his desk, and aloud said “Yes?”

Bryce appeared around the door with a tray of refreshment.

“Ah Bryce,” he said. “Take a seat a moment. I have some tasks for you to add to your list.”

Bryce set down the tray and whipped out some parchment and a pen and sat in the seat Lady Sumner had vacated an hour before. Oswald also reached for pen and paper. He dipped his pen and started writing, as he simultaneously gave Bryce his instructions.

“I want you to have this letter hand-delivered to the steward at Vawdrey Keep. I believe his name is Knowles. On receipt of this letter he will hand over his accounts to be brought straight back and delivered to my wife for her perusal.”

Bryce made a note, then looked up expectantly.

Oswald was still writing with a steady hand. “There is a cloak, lying over the chair next to the door. You will deliver it to Lady Vawdrey for her use. You will convey her message to Lady Schaeffer regarding a walk in the palace grounds this afternoon. You will then send word to Harris to have him follow at a discreet distance behind them.”

Bryce nearly dropped his pen. “You will have them placed under surveillance, my lord?” he asked in horror.

“My wife does not have an attendant maid or page to accompany her at present, Bryce. Unless you are volunteering for the task?”