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“Milady,” came a brisk voice from the doorway, and Aimee turned to see Golda bustling into the room carrying a platter of fresh bread.

“Who has already eaten this morn?” Aimee asked.

“His lordship,” Golda admitted. “And gone out. Him and his manservant together.” She pursed her lips.

Aimee swallowed her pride. “Did they say where they were going?” she asked.

“To practice,” her maid responded. “For that royal tournament in four days’ time.”

“Oh, of course,” Aimee responded, feeling a little foolish. She had forgotten all about the summer tournament in the run up to her own nuptials.

“Where are you going, miss?” Golda called after her as Aimee exited the room.

“To fetch another chair,” Aimee called back over her shoulder. She moved too quickly for Golda’s objections to reach her. In any case, she wanted to have enough chairs for herself, Magnatrude, and Freda to sit together that morning. By the time she had returned carrying the chair, Unwin was setting down a platter of roasted fish.

Aimee gave him a quick smile and returned to the cluttered storerooms which currently housed all their furniture. She knelt down beside the first of her wedding trunks and slipped her hand inside to retrieve the two packages she had tied up with ribbon. Hurrying back to the dining chamber, she placed the gifts for her new in-laws next to the two empty place settings and only then sat in her own chair.

Golda re-entered the room with butter and a jug of ale which she set down. “What’s this?” she asked, eyeing the packages with disfavor.

“Gifts for my new sister-in-law and cousin.”

Golda sniffed. “Thought it was customary for them to welcome you into their family.”

“This is a custom of my mother’s people,” Aimee told her quietly.

“Oh,” said Golda, looking chastened, for she knew that Aimee’s mother hailed from lands east of Karadok. She likely would have said more, but at this point, the door pushed open and the servant Ingrid, who Aimee had met the night before, stood on the threshold.

Ingrid nodded her grizzled head. “Morning,” she said in clipped tones.

“Morning, milady,” Golda corrected her sharply. “It seems you have not yet been introduced to your new mistress.”

“Good morning,” Aimee said forestalling Ingrid’s need to answer this incorrect statement.

“Milady,” Ingrid mumbled and bobbed an approximation of a curtsey done by someone with very stiff knees. Likely her knees were stiff at her advanced age, Aimee thought, darting a meaningful look at Golda. Her maidservant seemed remarkably inclined to snatch up cudgels on her behalf.

Ingrid cleared her throat. “They’ll be wanting the butter dish once ye’re done with it and the rest of the loaf.”

“Who will?” Golda demanded, plunking her hands on her hips.

“The Mistresses Magnatrude and Freda,” Ingrid replied impassively.

Golda spluttered indignantly. “There’s only one mistress in this house!” she retorted darkly. “If they want to break their fast, they can haul their carcasses down here to take it like decent folk!” she burst forth angrily.

Aimee placed her hand gently on Golda’s sleeve, silencing her. “It is their wish to take their meal above stairs?” she asked carefully.

Ingrid jerked her chin up in an aggressive nod. “They’s set up camp in that oaken parlor on the first floor,” she admitted, before adding a belated, “milady.”

“Bloody cheek!” Golda burst out. “That’s your own retiring room, Miss Aimee. For you to do your needlework and such! Not for them to set up separate dining quarters.”

“It is of no matter,” Aimee said soothingly. “It is a large house and can accommodate all our needs, I am sure.”

“What will I tell them, then?” Ingrid asked, squinting at Aimee.

“You may present them with the butter dish with my compliments,” Aimee answered slathering a piece of bread and sliding it over to Ingrid. “Now that I am now finished with it.”

“Humph!” snorted Golda hovering at the table like a tigress in defense of her cub. As she had only been in the Ankatel’s employ for some two years, Aimee was a little surprised by her feudal attitude. Ingrid lingered a moment before taking up the bread and butter. She executed another approximation of a curtsey and scuttled sideways from the room, rather like a crab.

Golda muttered something under her breath that sounded venomous.