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Konrad agreed cautiously, and after the older man had taken a punctilious leave of a clearly flustered Freda, they started down the staircase together. It wasn’t until they were out on the street below that it occurred to him that his cousin might have been telling tales of yesterday’s marital strife. He shot a wary glance at his father-in-law, for the other still looked gravely thoughtful.

Side by side they started off down the cobbled street toward the city center. Konrad was just casting about for some opener to conversation when the other cleared his throat.

“Your cousin is a kindly soul,” Gerold observed. “It must be hard for her to navigate life among a family as such as yours. She is your sister’s companion, is she not?”

Konrad stared at him. “Yes,” he managed after a moment’s heavy pause. What the hells did

Ankatel mean by that? A family such as yours? “I might remind you that you married your daughter into my family,” he pointed out with an edge to his words.

Ankatel waved this aside. “As to that, Aimee will have no problem with plain dealing. She does not shrink from brutal fact. Mistress Freda, however, is of an altogether different nature.”

Konrad grunted. He could not disagree with a plain statement of fact. “She’s always been like that,” he conceded. “For as long as I can remember.”

“A gentle creature,” Ankatel nodded. “You have never considered marrying her off? She has a … a sweetness a certain type of man might find agreeable in a wife.”

Konrad nearly missed his footing. “No,” he admitted, wondering what type of man would appreciate taking his meals with watery eyes blinking at him across that table, constantly on the verge of tears.

As though aware of his skepticism, Ankatel added, “Perhaps a man in the later stages of his life who no longer has an appetite for fire and fury but still has much to offer? A widower, for instance.”

Konrad was quite frankly flummoxed by the turn their conversation had taken. “No one has ever approached me about Freda’s hand,” he answered, frankly.

“Curious,” Gerold shrugged. “But then, the war … So many things were put on hold.”

Konrad made a noise of agreement, though as far as he was aware, the war had not put a stop to weddings, far from it.

“Jewels are used to denote a high-born status,” Ankatel said suddenly. “That was what your cousin was struggling to express. I could have bought my daughters many jewels, several times over, but if they could not wear them in public, what would have been the point?”

Konrad turned his head sharply. Oh. “Well,” he said, rallying. “I will see to it that she will have plenty hereafter.”

Ankatel nodded approvingly. “Quite right,” he beamed. “And if you are looking for suggestions, might I propose that you add two of the smaller gems to Aimee’s brooch?”

“Her brooch?”

“The one your cousin gifted to her.” It was news to Konrad that Aimee had received any such gift. As he hesitated to admit this, Ankatel took pity on him. “It was handed down from her grandmother. A betrothal gift, I understand. Is Freda your first cousin? If so, then it would have been your own grandfather’s gift to your grandmother, on the occasion of their betrothal.”

Konrad cleared his throat. “Freda is my first cousin,” he confirmed. He had not thought to give Aimee a betrothal token, but clearly Freda had. Probably the only piece of jewelry she owned. “It has jewels missing?” he asked gruffly.

“Yes,” Ankatel responded. “There are three eyelets along the base of the brooch. I already gave donated a pearl, but two vacant spots remain.”

“Perhaps you should come along with me,” Konrad suggested, feeling suddenly ill-equipped for his mission. “I know nothing of … women’s trinkets.” Perhaps, it suddenly occurred to him, he ought to have brought Freda along with him. He glanced back over his shoulder to see the house was still in view.

“An excellent notion,” said Ankatel, clearly guessing the direction of his thoughts and clapping a hand to his shoulder. “I am sure Mistress Freda remembers exactly what shape the Bartree jewels used to take.”

18

It had been a strange afternoon, Konrad reflected on their way home, the culmination of a strange day. Freda had been almost incoherent with gratification at her inclusion on their expedition. She had made a good many exclamations and ramblings off subject on their way, which had almost made Konrad regret the impulse to invite her. Her nervous chatter had always annoyed him, and her timid manner around him somehow made it ten times more irritating.

Once sat in the goldsmith’s workshop, however, she had proved invaluable. Freda remembered, in what Konrad considered to be astonishing detail, the various pieces that had made up the Bartree collection. She painstakingly sorted little piles of gems for the different pieces. One pile of emeralds and opals was designated for the diadem, or coronet as the goldsmith referred to it, another for a necklace of rubies and pearls.

Freda conferred with the goldsmith, a short man with intelligent eyes and a long white beard, as he sketched out small designs from her various descriptions. However, even after she had set aside several stones for remembered rings and brooches, there was still a pile of random jewels remaining. Freda had eyed them anxiously. “Oh dear!” she had exclaimed turning to him. “So useless of me, but I really don’t remember any more, try as I might. I have an idea there was a sapphire brooch that my aunt owned, in a sort of bar design with a pearl on either side, but …” She bit her lip. “I cannot recall it precisely to mind just now.” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “It is most vexing, for I feel as though my memory of it is enshrouded in a sort of fog.”

“You have done very well,” Konrad assured her. “Far better than I expected. And in any case, he has enough to be going on with for now.”

Blyfield looked up from where he was poring over his sketches to nod vigorously. “Quite so, my lord.”

“Perhaps you could confer with Mistress Magnatrude this evening?” Ankatel suggested helpfully. “It may be that, between the two of you, you could shed some light on the matter.”

“Oh yes!” Freda said turning to him with enthusiasm. “What a very good notion! For Trude is sure to recall with greater accuracy than I her own mother’s brooch.”