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Oswald paused. “Neutralize her threat,” he said simply.

The King exhaled noisily “And how would this be achieved?”

“How you take any woman’s power,” Oswald said wryly. “Marry her off. To a man whose loyalty you would never question.”

Wymer’s hand flew to his golden beard. “Marry her off, you say,” he ruminated, fingering the hairs thoughtfully.

“To a man who has no ambition to rule,” reiterated Oswald.

The King coughed. “To some lower level noble, you mean?” he suggested warily.

“Maybe even, to some obscure knight.”

Wymer wheezed. “A princess of the blood?” he echoed in shock.

Oswald refrained from pointing out the King was talking about chopping her head off not mere moments ago, and merely nodded.

“This is a radical suggestion indeed,” the King agreed. “Have you discussed it with the privy council?”

“No. I wanted your agreement before proceeding any further with it.”

The King fidgeted in his seat. “I must think this over,” he prevaricated.

“Of course.”

“It is not a decision that can be taken rashly.”

“Indeed not.”

“Let me ruminate on this a while.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

Wymer considered him out of the corner of his eye. “Too bloody clever for your own good,” he murmured. “What was the other matter?” he asked suddenly remembering.

“Other matter?”

“You wanted to ask me about,” said the King, clicking his fingers. “You mentioned it previously.”

Oswald took a breath. “I want to get my wife’s previous marriage to Thane legally annulled.”

“Do you indeed?” grunted Wymer. “Why, in the name of all that’s holy?”

Oswald was silent a moment. The King’s beetling brows rose. The excuses withered on his tongue. “For my own sanity,” he admitted slowly.

The King leaned forward in his chair. “Indeed?” he said. “Now this, I have to hear!”

**

Fen made her way down to the lower gallery in a somber mood. She had read the account of her former husband’s courtship of his new wife with a feeling of strange detachment. There had been no seal on the paper and she did not recognize the handwriting. It was not Oswald’s, she knew that much. Had he asked one of his informants to put it together? And why, she wondered dazedly, would he have done that? I thought you might find it edifying, he had said. But she found her curiosity these days was more taken up with her current husband, than her past one. On the page she had found a rather dry account of the acquaintanceship of Sir Ambrose with the Edland family, who resided in the county where he had been based during his time in the north. A list of dates reeled off the numerous occasions he had dined with the Edlands at their home. It looked like once a month had escalated to once a week in the last six months. Was it really so recent an infatuation? She was surprised. Ambrose had never been terribly impulsive. After reading it, she had sat a moment in quiet contemplation, and then approached the fireplace and thrown it in. She watched as it blackened and curled and then she had gone and dressed. That was that, she thought. And then with relief, well, according to Oswald, I was never really married to him anyway. It was a liberating thought. She didn’t have time to hanker after the old days in any case. She had far too much else to be going on with.

Sometimes she questioned if she was ever going to get the hang of life at court. It seemed such a bizarre existence to her. Take the Vawdreys, for instance. Oswald apparently had so much wealth, that he could afford to build his own palace. Yet to all intents and purposes, he lived in three rooms with his brother and one manservant! The life of a courtier seemed so strange after running a comfortable household in the country. She seemed to have no particular function, and could discern no obviously useful role that she fulfilled for her husband. Of course, Oswald had made it plain to her from the outset that he would be eventually sending her down to run his country estate. And once in situ there, she would know exactly what to do. But this business of his building a palace alarmed her, and he had still said not one word to her about it. Clearly, it was known at court as not only the Schaeffers knew of it, but also Bess Hartleby. Yet still, he had not seen fit to mention it to her. Perhaps, a disagreeable voice whispered in her ear, she had no place at this palatial estate of his dreams. Her step slowed, as she considered this. After all, what was she but a forgotten detail from his youth? She really had no place at his side, in this illustrious position he had carved out for himself. Would it be so very surprising if they were to inhabit separate residences in the future? No, she realized, it would not. In fact, she thought hollowly, it made perfect sense. Once she was pensioned off to the country he could set about planning his dazzling future without her. She felt a pang in the region of her chest and touched a hand to it lightly. Today she was wearing the newest gown to arrive from signor Pezzini, a rose-gold gown with wide gold embroidered bands at the cuff, neckline and down the front of her dress. It was form fitting with long buttoned cuffs which showed glimpses of the chemise underneath and sweeping skirts. In truth, she felt as if she were dressed for a banquet rather than a tapestry morning. At least the neckline was up to her collar bone this time and revealed no cleavage. She reached the lower gallery with no mishaps, though on entering she immediately recalled this was the venue where she had glimpsed Ambrose’s celebratory wedding feast. Strangely enough, her second thought was that Oswald’s office must be located somewhere hereabouts. It was strange to think that only two weeks had passed since she had stumbled into that room in a mud-stained wool dress with her foolish request for his intercession. Her memories were a little hazy, and had the quality of a half-remembered dream. Had there really been a secret passage behind a wall-hanging in his study? she wondered curiously. Or had that particular memory been induced by her fever? Her thoughts were interrupted, when she was hailed by Eden Montmayne who was approaching her with another lady, whose looks were so fair that Fen blinked.

“Lady Vawdrey,” Eden dropped gracefully into a curtsey. “I am so glad you are joining us this morning. I would like to introduce you to my cousin, Lenora Montmayne.”

“The famous beauty,” said Fen without thinking. She had to force herself not to stare at that flower like face. Her skin was like soft petals and her eyes like forget-me-nots. “I can see you are full deserving of your reputation Lady Lenora,” she said curtseying.

Lenora Montmayne gave her a gracious smile. “You are too kind,” she demurred politely, but clearly knew it was nothing more than her due. She yawned delicately.