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“Those are much more appropriate for a celebration in any case,” Aimee said. “Have you heard the felicitous news, Golda?”

“No,” Golda said, looking quizzically from Aimee to Trude’s tearstained countenance. “Old Ingrid never said owt.”

Privately, Aimee suspected it was because Ingrid was not impressed by the honor. Aloud, she said, “Mistress Magnatrude is to join the royal household as one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, no less.”

Golda gasped. A native of Caer Lyoness, she was a good deal more impressed. “You’ll need a page, Mistress Magnatrude, to take care of your errands and see your rooms is taken care of. Those palace maids are naught but slatterns,” she said scornfully, turning and motioning to Unwin who trotted dutifully forward to stand beside Trude’s chair. “Might I suggest you take this boy of mine with you. He’s a quick learner and – er – very discreet.”

Aimee was so surprised by Golda’s claiming ownership of Unwin that it took her a moment to notice how hopefully the boy’s gaze was fixed on Trude’s face. Magnatrude passed the boy a marzipan cake and nodded absently. “Yes, of course,” she murmured dazedly. “You make a good point, Golda. I will certainly have need of an attendant.”

“You would be happy to go to the palace, Unwin?” Aimee asked incredulously.

He nodded and lowered his marzipan cake. “Yuss, milady,” he whispered through a mouthful of crumbs.

Aimee gaped at him. She did not think she had even heard the lad speak before.

“You will need a haircut however,” Magnatrude said critically. “And a new suit.”

“Fulcher the tailor is coming to the house on Wednesday,” Aimee remembered. “He can measure Unwin then. You will also have need of new gowns, Trude. Indeed, you cannot join the queen’s retinue without them.”

Magnatrude accepted this as meekly as a lamb, and Golda bustled from the room, vowing the cook must be made aware that tonight’s meal was a celebratory affair. By the time Konrad joined them in the dining chamber a couple of hours later, everything seemed more or less settled. Aimee thought her husband was more surprised by his sister’s willingness to join the royal household than anything else.

“You’ve refused to leave the lodge for the last five years,” he pointed out critically. “Yet now you propose a permanent move down south?”

Magnatrude gazed back at him steadfastly. “Yes,” she said finally. “I do.”

“Well, if that is your will, sister, then so be it.” He lifted his goblet and toasted her silently.

Aimee thought her sister-in-law breathed a sigh of relief; certainly the atmosphere at table seemed to lighten. “Freda,” she said, turning to that lady. “You must take charge of the house next week in my absence. Trude will have far too many things to prepare for her move. You will have Matthews and Golda –” she broke off, a sudden thought occurring to her. “That is, do we take Golda with us to Beres Caple to wait on me?” she asked doubtfully of her husband who was carving up the meat. “How do these things work?”

“No,” he answered briefly. “We will take Jakeman who will be sufficient for both our needs.”

Aimee nodded and turned back to Freda. “You will have Golda, Matthews, Stirling, and Ingrid to instruct.”

“Yes, of course,” Freda answered, looking nervous. “Oh dear, I do hope I will not let you down.”

“Of course you will not,” Aimee replied bracingly.

“Did you invite Ankatel to dine with you yet?” Konrad asked, passing a plate of meat to his cousin.

Freda turned bright red.

“I’m afraid she has not yet had time,” Aimee interjected smoothly. “For we went to the marketplace this afternoon, did we not Freda?”

Fortunately, Trude interrupted at this point to tell her brother that she was the first prominent northerner to become a woman of the bedchamber, for though the Marchioness of Martindale was officially one of the queen’s circle, she was rarely in the south. Aimee and Freda covertly exchanged a look of relief that they were off the hook so easily.

Aimee’s gaze wandered to where Unwin stood behind Trude’s chair having already started his training as her sister-in-law’s page. She noticed with amusement that he was wearing the bright orange hose that Freda had purchased in the marketplace. It seemed already his transformation into a smart page was already beginning. Everyone seemed to be falling into their new roles with such ease, she thought with a sudden pang. Yet she still did not really feel a true baroness in any way.

No one had given her an update on Bartree Castle since the renovations had begun, not even her father. Certainly, her husband had not mentioned when they might be travelling north to visit his birthplace. In fact, she thought forlornly, the only reference he had made to it in her presence had been to tell her he considered himself master there, and her mistress here at the townhouse. She ran over the conversation in her memory and wondered if she had not attached the significance to this conversation at the time that she should have.

She was quiet for the rest of supper, not that she thought this would be remarked on, for Magnatrude was full of praise for the wit and vision of Queen Armenal. According to her sister-in-law, the queen was a woman ahead of her time. Trude was fulsome in her praise of a tapestry that had been completed that day to show the Countess of Twyford falling out of a balcony only to be caught in her husband’s arms below.

“Falling out of a balcony?” Freda repeated uncertainly. “That sounds an extremely dangerous manner of eloping. It is fortunate the countess was not hurt.”

“It was not her means of escape,” Trude corrected her impatiently. “But an incident that happened sometime later and demonstrated the sincere attachment of their union.”

Aimee frowned, wondering if the scene was a retelling of the stand collapse at Kellingford. If so, certain liberties had been taken with the facts. The earl had not, in fact, caught his wife or spared her from injury, but she did not voice this seeing that it would be an unwelcome interruption in Trude’s narrative. Privately, she wondered if the rest of the queen’s depictions played as fast and loose with the truth as this one.

After supper, Aimee visited the garderobe and was just walking along the passage back to the oaken parlor when Ingrid waylaid her. The old servant was brandishing the large carved spoon in one hand which Freda must have wasted no time in making her a present of.