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With this startling announcement, Orde turned on his heel and made his way out of the hall. Konrad gazed after him blankly. The whole world was going mad, he thought. Then he noticed Douglas Farleigh making a beeline for him and helped himself to another flagon of mead. The feast had not turned out to be the distraction he had hoped for.

11

Aimee woke the next morning and turned her head to look at the empty space beside her in the large bed. Lord Kentigern had not joined her the previous night. She had not really expected him to, but even so, it was a disappointment. While the loss of her virginity had not been exactly pleasurable, Old Janet had told her that such things improved with practice. But how were they supposed to practice when her husband now shunned her bed?

She washed and dressed slowly, admiring her new canopy which the carpenter had set up the previous day. Her green and gold bedcurtains were now hung, giving the room a cheerful and feminine air. She would buy some matching cushions and place them in her window seat, she told herself, in an attempt to lift her spirits.

Such thoughts did not distract her for long. Again, the uncomfortable reflections that had kept her awake into the early hours flooded back to haunt her. Lord Kentigern had thought he was marrying her sister and not her. It had been the offer of Ursula’s hand that he had accepted, not Aimee’s.

The realization was a blow. After all, Ursula was quiet and discreet, attributes much admired in a wife. Aimee was neither of these things. Would he have turned down the offer of her hand had he known he was being wed to the younger and not the elder sister, she found herself wondering with a sick feeling in her stomach.

Golda’s head peered around the door. “Tailor’s here, milady,” she announced. “I’ve shown him into that small chamber at the end of the passage.”

“The tailor?” Aimee repeated blankly, lowering her hair comb. Then she remembered she had sent a message around to Mr. Fulcher the previous evening. “Oh, of course.” He had responded awfully quickly, she thought with surprise. Although she and Ursula had been good patrons this past two years, she certainly did not remember him responding the very next day to a summons. Then she remembered her new status of Baroness Kentigern.

“Golda, could you please inform Mistresses Margaret and Freda that the tailor awaits them?”

A martial gleam entered Golda’s eye. “I’d be happy to, milady,” she said with relish and disappeared.

Aimee finished arranging her hair and made her way below stairs to break her fast. Five minutes later, a harassed looking Freda came tripping into the dining chamber.

“Oh dear, has the tailor indeed arrived?” she asked, practically wringing her hands at this news.

Aimee looked up from where she was sat. “Does my sister-in-law not wish to engage his services?” she asked calmly. “If so, then my husband’s wishes were made quite plain. You must consult with him instead, Freda.”

Freda bit her lip. “Oh, but I am sure she is merely in need of some persuasion,” she said looking anxious.

“Not from me,” Aimee pointed out wryly. “I doubt there is anything I could say that would induce Magnatrude’s cooperation.”

Such straightforward speech was plainly too much for Freda, who looked quite appalled by her words. “Oh, but she would never mean to give offence to Konrad’s wife,” she said vehemently, two spots of color appearing in her gaunt cheeks.

“If that were the case,” Aimee found herself retorting smartly, “then she would not have rejected my gift out of hand. Neither of you would have.” Aimee pressed her lips together resolutely. She knew one thing for certain and that was that she would be making no more overtures of friendship toward haughty Magnatrude.

Freda looked to be on the verge of tears. “I never – that is, it was not my intent to cause offence, I do assure you, Aimee!”

“What else did you think it would do? To return both gifts unopened?” Aimee asked, genuinely flummoxed.

Freda sniffled. “It was only that – well, it is the bride who should receive gifts from the family she goes into, not the other way around.”

The answer to this was so obvious, Aimee did not feel the need to point it out. Aimee had received no such gifts. She lowered her cup of ale, directing a very level gaze at the nervous woman. “Be that as it may, another such opportunity lies in front of you now, Freda,” she said gravely. “You are free, of course, to similarly reject Lord Kentigern’s gift of new gowns ‍–” An involuntary sound of distress burst from Freda’s lips, interrupting her.

“Oh no! I could not possibly do that!”

“Then your way forward must be clear to you,” Aimee told her. “You must walk into the chamber at the end of the passage and consult with the tailor forthwith.”

The color on Freda’s face ebbed and flowed as she considered this. “Yes,” she muttered after an agonized minute or two. “Yes, you are right.” She flung back her head and straightened her narrow shoulders to make for the doorway. Once there, she halted and turned back with an agonized expression. “’Tis only that I should not have the smallest notion what to ask for,” she confessed. “It has been so long since I have had anything new, and I never did have the smallest notion of taste.”

Aimee looked at her with surprise. She had not thought that noble families worried overmuch about such things. After all, no fabrics or trimming were barred to their exalted status, save perhaps for ermine. “Should you wish me to accompany you?” she asked, hesitant to make the offer only to be rejected again.

“Oh yes!” Freda said, turning toward her gratefully. “Oh, would you, Aimee?”

Rather than speak an affirmative, Aimee rose at once from her seat, pushing away the remains of her toasted bread, and accompanied Freda out into the corridor.

They then spent the next two hours with Mr. Fulcher and his two assistants, looking at sample fabrics and discussing the most flattering silhouette for Freda’s tall, rather stooping frame. Mr. Fulcher had been keen to urge a particularly beautifully patterned sleeve, but Aimee had deduced these would only be woven after Freda’s measurements were taken.

“The first gown will need to be made from fabrics you already have woven on your premises, Mr. Fulcher. For Freda has need of it in three days’ time.” As expected, this reduced the tailor to impassioned denials that such a thing was even possible. As Freda held her breath, Aimee alternately soothed him with promises of renumeration and reminders of the many gowns she and Ursula had purchased from him over the last two years.

Mr. Fulcher climbed down off his high horse and grudgingly gave a promise that one finished gown decorated at the neck and cuffs with finger-woven braid would be delivered on the eve of the first day of the tournament. Freda was ecstatic and even shed a tear or two over the news.