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“What did you call me?”

A slow smile spread across Carleton’s face. “What? You think I don’t know the Quality when I sees it, Mr Roberts?”

“A word of caution, old friend,” said Oswald leaning across the counter. “Be a little less curious when it comes to me. Do we understand one another?” He hesitated. “I would be very sorry to have to cut my connections when your work has always been so satisfactory.” He let his words sink in before adding, “I’ll be in touch shortly about the commission.” He left the gold where it sat and swiftly left the store.

**

“We're here to see Sir Oswald Vawdrey himself,” repeated Fenella loudly to the third servant who had come their way and tried to hurry past them, avoiding eye contact. She was starting to think it was the mud-splattered cloaks and boots that were doing them a disservice.

He looked them up and down doubtfully. “Earl Vawdrey, you mean?” he asked.

Fenella drew in a sharp breath. “He's an earl now?”

The servant blinked at her.

At her side, her brother Gilbert shuffled his feet. “Fenella…” he mumbled awkwardly.

Fenella cleared her throat. “Yes, of course. Earl Vawdrey,” she corrected herself. “We’re old neighbors of his. From Sitchmarsh.”

The servant's glance flickered over her once again. Fenella felt a twinge of anxiety about her mustard-yellow wool dress. It was the best one she had. The servant's nostrils flared and he gave a brief bow before retreating from view.

“Maybe we should just leave,” grumbled her brother. “I don't believe these fellows are even passing along the message.”

“Of course they are, Gilbert,” Fenella assured him with a confidence she did not entirely feel. “Doubtless it will take a little time to locate him. This palace is so very large after all.” She looked nervously over her shoulder at the vast stone corridor. Large was not the word. The royal palace was huge. Much grander than she'd ever imagined it would be. She fixed a bright smile on her face as another set of footsteps drew near and then retreated without approaching them. “Oh dear,” she muttered her face falling.

“Fenella,” her brother began, squaring his shoulders. “I'm beginning to think this a fool's errand. Perhaps we should ask instead for Ambrose’s whereabouts…”

Fenella’s stomach lurched. Ambrose. Her treacherous husband. When she tried to think of what she would say to his face, her imagination failed her. A quiet cough behind them had Fenella whirling around. A plump young man in what looked like a monk's robe stood surveying them with vague disapproval through his pale blue eyes. Fenella's face fell. Even after twelve years, she knew this was not Oswald Vawdrey. “Yes?” she asked expectantly when he did not speak. “Have you brought some message to us from Lord Vawdrey?”

The young man looked slightly affronted by her eagerness. He pinched his lips and directed his gaze toward Gilbert. “Earl Vawdrey will see you privately in his study,” he said in a clipped, concise voice.

Fenella's heart thudded in her chest and she gave a faint gasp. She glanced at Gilbert who had turned rather red and seemed rooted to the spot in horror. She widened her eyes at him and nodded her head.

“Ah yes, yes of course,” stammered her brother. “Delighted to…er... lead the way.”

The young cleric seemed to give a faint shudder and then gestured for them to follow him with a sweep of his arm.

“I hope you’ve thought through what you’re going to say to this man,” said her brother in an urgent undertone. “You certainly haven’t shared it with me! Damned awkward business!”

Fenella felt her stomach roll again. Her desperate stratagem had seemed worth a try back at Thurrold Manor, but here at the royal palace, her nerves were quaking.

“I shall appeal for his mercy of course, as an old family acquaintance,” she croaked back as they swept along the cold flagstones. “Our fathers were friends, after all.”

Gilbert looked unconvinced. “Not for years and years!” he objected. “Why, father had barely a good word to say about the old Baron after your betrothal was broken off.” He pulled on his blonde beard self-consciously. “You don't suppose he'll be-” he hesitated. “Out of sorts about being bothered with this business?”

Fenella nearly lost her footing. “My abandonment you mean?” she asked a little shrilly.

Her brother winced. “Ambrose may have come to his senses by now,” he whispered hoarsely. “Just because he bought some doxy back from the north with him, doesn’t mean he meant to marry the wench. How could it, when he’s wed to you?”

“But Orla said….”

“Orla’s a foolish old maid!” burst out her brother in frustration. “What the devil does she know about what goes between a man and a woman?”

Fenella shook her head resolutely. “You didn’t hear the letter Ambrose wrote to her,” she insisted. “Besides, Ambrose is not the kind of man to be interested in … doxies.”

Her brother made a rude noise.

Fenella noticed the contemptuous twist of the cleric's lips at their hushed conversation and realized their every word was overheard. She forbore to answer her brother's insensitive words and instead tried desperately to think of a way to ingratiate herself with Lord Vawdrey. Perhaps she would not need to break out the paperwork at all? She would rather she did not have to coerce him to act on her behalf. Perhaps the past association of their families, would be enough to sway him to her cause? She devoutly hoped so! After all, she had merely been the first in a long line of ladies who had been betrothed to Oswald Vawdrey over the years. She had certainly been the most humble and obscure in origin. Her father's estate, now Gil’s, butted up against the borders of Vawdrey Keep. The old Baron had struck up their engagement as a means to execute a land grab and extend his boundaries. She had been a mere twelve years old at the time, and Oswald Vawdrey had been a young man of nineteen. She remembered vividly how tongue-tied and awed she had been in his presence on the handful of occasions they had met. She could scarcely believe that she was to wed such a godlike youth with his dark hair and green eyes. And she had been right not to believe it, for after three years, it had all come to naught. True, he had been patient and kind to the tongue-tied child with puppy-fat and mud-brown hair. Much kinder than her own brother, who had not appreciated her in those days and barely tolerated her presence. She remembered well the Solstice Eve they had been promised. Oswald Vawdrey had spoken to her quietly when the rest of the high table was roaring with boisterous laughter and loud jests she did not understand. He had taken the care to draw out the nervous child and ask what gifts she had been given for the Winter Solstice, what games her family always played on Solstice Eve. He had bowed his head to listen to her and smiled at her hesitant replies. When a toast was raised to their future marriage, he had raised his goblet and covered her hand with his as if being engaged to an awkward, plain girl of twelve was not the supreme embarrassment their brothers seemed collectively to think. When he had handed her up into her family's conveyance at the end of the evening and bade her good night, she did not think he could have failed to see the hero-worship shining out of her own eyes. It had not dimmed for a good three years after that, if not longer. Even after her father had brusquely informed her the betrothal was at an end, her regard had limped on. It had been with each announcement of his subsequent engagements that her admiration had flickered and fizzled away. Each successor had been higher born than the previous noblewoman. Each one had a larger dowry. And yet, still he did not marry. Ambition, over-weaning ambition would lead to his downfall, her father had predicted. But he had been wrong. Oswald Vawdrey's fortunes had flourished. Even the periods of fighting in the north had not slowed his ascent. Injury, imprisonment and being held to ransom had been mere steps in his journey to the top. And here he was, at the very pinnacle of success. An earl, one of the King's most trusted advisors no less and a powerful lord in his own right. He had out-stripped his father's rank and forged his own way at the royal court. Indeed, no one could say he was not an outright triumph. Their home county spoke of him now with a sense of awe.