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Fen’s eyes widened, but she said nothing, though Roland gave an exclamation.

“You did it then,” said his brother with a low whistle. “I thought it was just a rumor!” He held out his hand and for some reason Fenella handed it to him. He unfurled it with interest.

“I think I might go and change my veil,” said Fen standing up. “I told Hester that I had one with a gold border and she said she was thinking of getting one.” She walked toward the bedroom and Oswald’s eyes followed her moodily.

“Does this mean you get Fen’s original dowry?” asked Roland, squinting at the script.

“No idea,” said Oswald distractedly. “I haven’t actually read the fine print yet.”

His brother looked surprised. “Why else did you do it, then?”

But Oswald was already walking toward their bedroom, after his wife. She was unpinning her veil when he entered the room. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. He shut the door and walked over to where she stood before the mirror.

She lifted a different veil, “Do you think this one will look as well?” she asked. “Usually I let Trudy choose. She has such a good eye-,” she broke off catching sight of his expression. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I suppose we do have to go to the Schaeffers?” he scowled.

Fen watched him in the mirror with a slight frown. “We did not make it to the Duchess of Horberry’s feast last week,” she reminded him.

Oswald found he did not much care. “Should you mind very much if we missed it?” he asked.

Fen placed down a hair pin carefully. “Hester is my closest friend at court,” she said. “And I should like to make a good impression on Lord Schaeffer for your sake.” She looked wistful.

“For my sake?”

“Hester told me that Lord Schaeffer was your mentor at court in the early days.” She tilted her chin up. “If I could just win over one person, and not show myself up as some awful countrified embarrassment of a wife…”

“You’re hardly that,” he interjected swiftly.

“It would be one big step toward becoming a lady-in-waiting,” she said, picking up her hair comb. “It is kind of you to say I am not an embarrassment, but I am not an asset to you at court either. And I should like to be. If I can.”

She looked so fiercely sincere in this wish, that Oswald knew not how to reply. Instead he reached inside his tunic and withdrew the box of rings, opening it and placing it on the surface before her. “Wear this,” he said, picking out the smaller ring. She held out her hand and he slid the ring onto her finger.

She gazed down at it a moment. “Vawdrey panthers?” she asked looking at the decoration on the blue enamel band.

“And Bernard bears,” he said holding up the box with the larger ring still in the box. “Like in your tapestry.”

Her startled eyes met his and she reached for the box and extracted the larger ring, slowly turning it over, before hesitantly holding it out to him. Instead of taking it, he held his hand out toward her. Catching his meaning, she slid the ring onto his finger, where it fitted snugly. Her hand slid into his, and they stood silently a moment, their hands clasped fast together, and Oswald found himself feeling strangely moved. The strangest feeling nagged at him that he had experienced something like this, once before. But when he tried to force the memory, it instantly disappeared.

**

Fen woke feeling groggy and disoriented. They had passed a pleasant evening with the Schaeffers and she had found herself relaxed and at ease for once at a social engagement. She had possibly had one more goblet of wine than she should have, but she had enjoyed herself and she flattered herself that Lord Schaeffer who had seemed tense and a little stuffy at the outset, had also warmed to her. She had gathered from the conversation that there was some delicate negotiation going on at present at court. She tried not to look too inquisitive or ask questions displaying her ignorance. She had of course, heard of Princess Una and her claim to the throne, but she had no idea that there were still plots being quashed and uprisings being quelled on a monthly basis! She had heard that the princess was a fierce creature, raised to join her father in battle, but according to Lord Schaeffer she was a poor, weary soul who had been dragged from battlefield to battlefield and longed for nothing more than to lead a peaceable life.

“’Tis said she both looks and acts like a man and rides a horse, astride,” Hester had told her in the hushed voice of one repeating scandal.

“What’s that Hester?” Lord Schaeffer had asked, beetling his brows at her.

“Nothing, Andrew dear,” his wife had replied, before winking at Fen.

Fen had been itching to ask Oswald if he’d ever met the princess, but she remembered only too clearly that he had been most displeased when she’d shown an interest in his work, so she had instead suppressed her curiosity.

When they had returned to their rooms, her husband seemed in a strangely reticent mood, though he was physically as affectionate as ever. If anything, he was more so than usual. After a bout of vigorous love-making, he immediately curled up behind her instead of the usual rolling away and then coming back together as they slept. When she first woke, his head was pressed into the back of her neck and he was gently stroking her hip. He shushed her, when she started to ask the hour, and turned her around so she fell back to sleep in his arms.

When she woke again, he was gone, but he had left his scarlet robe for her at the bottom of the bed. The first thing she did after washing, was to replace the heavy ring he had given her back on her finger, before dressing for another four-hour sitting with signor Arnotti. It would have been tedious indeed, if were not for Eden Montmayne who had kindly accompanied her this time. They talked of the Queen, who Eden greatly admired, and Eden’s many artistic pursuits - dancing; poetry; tapestry; music, there seemed no end to them. Fen noted how Eden apparently flourished at court with all her talents. She wanted to ask if she had no admirers or suitors, but something held her back. Perhaps the fact that Eden was an orphan, and her uncle was probably too busy fending off suitors for his beautiful daughter Lenora, than he was trying to find a suitable match for his niece. At midday, Signor Arnotti announced the light was no longer conducive to his aims and picked up his canvas and bag of brushes and left.

“He is very abrupt, is he not?” wondered Fen aloud.

“Oh yes. That is why he has not heretofore made it as a fashionable portrait painter,” said Eden. “He lacks the ability to flatter or amuse his patrons.”