Page 87

He snorted. “Pretty sure you should not refer to her as such anymore.”

Aimee lowered her hands. “What is her new title again?”

“Lady de Bussell,” he scowled.

Aimee regarded him a moment, her heart in her mouth. “You do not care for her husband?” she asked, striving to keep her tone light. Gods, she hoped it was that and not anything else.

“He’s wholly beneath her notice,” he growled. “Or should be.”

Aimee remembered de Bussell’s laughing countenance and undeniable good looks and held her tongue. To her eye, the princess had looked well matched. “She doesn’t look a thing like they depict her,” she complained. “She isn’t at all masculine, and her hair is quite different.”

Konrad shrugged. “She used to wear a wig,” was all he would say on that score. “Here’s Jakeman now,” he said.

Aimee sat up, tidying herself, for she was sure her hair must have come loose in the exertions of the past hour. Jakeman carried in a basin of steaming water with cloths over his arm. “There’s a table and two chairs outside the tent, my lord,” he said. “I will fetch them in –” But whatever he was going to say he left unsaid as his master went out to fetch them himself.

Jakeman hovered while Konrad found the most even ground for the table’s four legs, then set the basin on top of it.

“You wash first,” her husband said as Jakeman retreated, and Aimee made haste to make the necessary reparations to her disordered appearance. She washed, redressed her hair, and changed into a gown of royal blue which she thought showed off her brooch and its new sapphires to perfection. When she added her pearls and two little copper portcullis badges to secure them at either side of her neckline, she gave a nod of satisfaction. A short, gauzy veil with a gold embroidered border was the final touch, and she pinned this to her coiled braids with pins topped with blue glass.

It was only when Lady Howard exclaimed over her appearance as they were welcomed into the manor house that it occurred to Aimee she might be rather overdressed.

“Baroness,” the older lady exclaimed, her hawklike gaze raking over her. “You put us all to shame with your finery!”

Aimee glanced about with sudden misgiving and realized the only other ladies at the table were dressed a good deal more plainly. She gulped and sent a vaguely accusatory gaze up at her husband. He might have told her!

“Oh, to be a cosseted bride again!” Lady Howard continued as she led Aimee to a prominent seat at the table. “You must sit here to my left, Lady Kentigern, and then Lady de Bussell and Lady de Crecy can take their seats further down from us.”

Aimee looked up sharply at the mention of Lady de Crecy. Had Sir Jeffree brought his wife here too? It seemed strange how he was dragging her about the tournaments considering his open contempt for her. Sure enough, that lady stepped forward, emerging from the shadows in a dress just as shabby as the one she had worn at the last event. It was not brown this time, but a faded green which suited her just as ill.

“Is everyone acquainted?” Lady Howard asked, her gaze sweeping over the company that had been shepherded toward the dais. In addition to the guests, Lady Howard’s two sons joined them at the top table. As they were unaccompanied by ladies, Aimee could only assume they were unwed. As their mother received no immediate answer, she went ahead and introduced Aimee first to Sir Jeffree, who looked as mutinous and arrogant as ever. He gave her a rather hard look at their introduction as though committing her face to memory before he gave his short bow.

Aimee, whose confidence had dipped considerably, thought he must have been glaring at her over-ostentatious appearance. Perhaps the pearls and the brooch combined together were too much? Lady de Crecy acknowledged the introduction with a curtsey but otherwise avoided Aimee’s eye. To her discomfort, Aimee found herself wondering if that lady was recalling the business of the tourney crown and felt herself turn rather pink.

Sabina de Crecy’s features were regular enough, but she was clearly no outstanding beauty. Aimee thought she would look better with her hair worn in a more becoming style rather than scraped back under the stiffened torque that she wore to secure her opaque veil flat to her brow. She wore no ornamentation and seemed to give little if any thought to her appearance. Certainly, she made no effort to match her handsome husband in his doublet of orange and black.

The princess, or Lady de Bussell as she should think of her, bestowed a warm smile on Aimee and greeted her as though their previous meeting had not been a source of embarrassment for them both. Aimee returned her welcome as best she could with a horrible suspicion that the princess must be heartily pitying her. Either that or judging her as gauche for the fact she was strewn about with jewels when she, through whose veins royal blood flowed, wore no necklace or brooches at all.

Una de Bussell wore only a simple bronze circlet at her brow which kept her white veil in place, and this was studded with simple garnets. A single diamond ring adorned one finger, and Aimee felt even more ridiculous in her excessive finery by way of contrast.

Sir Armand’s eyes danced when their introduction was given, and Aimee found herself echoing his smile in spite of herself. He seemed eminently likeable, and as they took their seats, Aimee decided with a sinking heart that the only possible reason her husband could have to dislike him must be jealousy.

“Baroness Kentigern,” Lady Howard began, leaning forward from her position at the head of the table. “You must tell us about this extravagant love token,” she said gesturing toward Aimee’s brooch. “For surely it was a betrothal gift.” She cast an arch look in Konrad’s direction, but as he was looking elsewhere, he missed it. “You must prize it highly.”

Aimee cleared her throat. “It was a betrothal token, yes, but for my husband’s grandmother,” she explained. “It is an heirloom and was gifted to me by Mistress Freda Bartree on the occasion of my marriage.”

“But how generous,” Lady Howard commented, gesturing for the goblets to be filled with wine. Servants hurried forward to comply, and Aimee glanced at her husband, but Konrad seemed to have abandoned her to her fate, for he was absorbed in gazing about at the knights present, possibly trying to gauge his competition from those gathered within.

There were several burly looking fellows eating at the long tables that ranged throughout the hall. Aimee noticed that a good deal of them were gazing toward the high table with great interest. She guessed that Konrad, Sir Jeffree, and Sir Armand must be the persons to beat.

“Forgive me,” Una de Bussell said, leaning forward to address her with a faint pucker between her brows. “I did not think Lord Kentigern’s sister went by that name.”

Aimee waited a moment to see if her husband would answer, but he made no attempt. “No, indeed,” Aimee explained. “Freda is my husband’s first cousin. My sister-in-law’s name is Magnatrude.”

“Ah,” Lady de Bussell replied, her frown clearing. “That was it, and how is Mistress Magnatrude? Did she journey south for your wedding?”

“She did,” Aimee replied, making a concerted effort to be lively and engaging. All she really felt like doing was withdrawing into herself to lick her wounds. She almost envied Sabina de Crecy’s severe wimple which swathed her head so thoroughly that only her face showed. Her neck, chin, forehead, and even the sides of her face were concealed from her fellow diners altogether. It might be unbecoming, but at least it provided protection against attack!

No, that was not fair, Aimee conceded as the meal continued. Una de Bussell and Lady Howard were doing their utmost to keep conversation flowing at the table despite the general awkwardness. Konrad was taciturn, Sir Jeffree aloof, and Lady de Crecy stubbornly mute. As for the sons of the house, Chaucey and Darby Howard seemed tongue-tied in their exalted company and addressed themselves to their trenchers more than their guests.