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The Watkyns were instantly all smiles. “If your ladyship would permit me,” murmured Mr Watkyns approaching with delicate white veil which he held up for Fenella’s inspection. She took it from him gingerly. “I am sure you can see the quality of this piece of linen for yourself.”

Fenella looked it over. “Linen?” she asked with surprise. “Why, it’s so delicate I would almost have thought it silk…”

Mr Watkyns bowed with a small smile. “It is of the very best material, my lady.”

Fenella turned it over in her hands. “It has no seam,” she exclaimed looking at Mr Watkyns in wonderment.

“You are in the right of it,” he answered. “It is made in one piece.”

“One piece?” she echoed. “Remarkable…”

Oswald cleared his throat and nodded meaningfully at Mr Watkyns who caught his meaning at once and laid one aside with all haste.

“Mayhap her ladyship would care to try wearing her veil with a torque or a templar instead of the wimple?” suggested Mrs Watkyns. “Or perhaps a padded head-band? You will find they are very fashionable at court these days and you wear your veil suspended from it.”

Fenella looked back at her blankly.

“Perhaps you could demonstrate this headwear for us,” suggested Oswald, resigning himself to a good hour of the Watkynses company.

“Of course, we’d be only too glad to,” beamed Mrs Watkyns. Oswald steeled himself for the ordeal, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d anticipated, mostly because he spent the time watching his wife. She had pretty manners. A little old fashioned perhaps, but in general he liked the way she conducted herself. It’s true, she was a little more animated than fashion dictated, he conceded, his eyes wandering over her heart-shaped face. Certainly she was not conventionally or fashionably beautiful, but he did find her appealing.

By the time they had left Fenella was the owner of no less than four veils. In addition to the seamless one she now owned a stiffened and frilled veil, one edged in gold thread and pearls and one barely-there silk gauze veil which Fenella looked vaguely scandalized by. To wear along with these, she had a gold netted caul, a black and gold damask coif that tied under the chin, and a pretty fillet-band decorated with semi-precious stones. She also had a velvet and brocade padded headband which she wore now as Mrs Watkyns had helped her put it on and then pin the veil from the back.

“At court you must dress as if every day is a feast day,” marveled Fenella as the Watkynses departed. “I shall hardly recognize myself in so much finery.” She touched her head-dress self-consciously.

“You will soon become accustomed to it,” Oswald told her. “It looks well.”

She smiled. “Perhaps a little strange paired with your dressing robe?” she said looking down at herself.

Oswald let his eyes flicker over her again. “I can see nothing amiss,” he said lightly and cleared his throat.

A rap at the door told them the final craftsman of the day had arrived. Meldon scuttled across the room like a spider and admitted them. “The Antonys of Aphrany,” he announced flatly and waved them in. It was an old man and a young boy with him carrying two large wooden cases and a ledger. “Welcome Mr Antony,” he said hailing the jeweler. “And this must be your apprentice?”

“And grandson,” the old man said with a bow.

His grandson bowed likewise and then nodded toward the table. “Do you permit, my lord?” he asked in a clear, childish voice.

“Please,” said Oswald with a quick gesture.

The boy set the cases down carefully on the table.

“I believe my assistant will have outlined our requirements,” said Oswald. “My wife requires some betrothal and wedding jewelry.”

Fenella shifted in her chair. “Perhaps a brooch?” she suggested brightly.

Mr Antony senior’s eyes flew to her and then back to Oswald.

“We will need several pieces,” he corrected her. “Starting, I think, with a betrothal ring.”

Mr Antony’s tanned face wrinkled into an approximation of a smile. Not for one moment did he betray even a flicker of surprise at a man buying his wife a betrothal ring. “But of course,” he said. “We are sure to have the very thing.” He looked to his grandson, who sprang forward and opened the case to the left. He looked up expectantly at his grandfather.

“Perhaps,” the old man hesitated and looked back at Fenella. “The second tray.”

The boy extracted a tray from the case and then walked toward Fenella with it extended.

“What is in the first tray?” asked Oswald dropping his voice as Fenella started chatting with the boy.

“Examples of commissioned pieces,” answered Mr Anthony in a matching tone.