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“What was ostentatious about it?” he bit out crossly.

“I went completely overboard with flaunting your crest in the early days of our marriage,” she answered with a gulp. “I – you must have seen how I embroidered it on every bare patch of cloth in my trousseau, Konrad! You were kind enough not to mention it, but you must have thought me quite ridiculous!”

He remembered the portcullises all over his bedclothes. “I did not think it ridiculous.” He might as well have held his tongue for all the attention she paid him.

“Since then,” she continued steadily, “I have observed that ladies of rank rather bear themselves with a quiet assurance than plastering their credentials all over themselves –”

“What ladies of rank? What are you talking about?” he interrupted irritably.

“Princess Una, for one,” she answered before correcting herself. “I mean, the Lady de Bussell. She certainly wasn’t swathed in pearls and sapphires like me, and she doesn’t need them. Her natural dignity is such that no one could mistake her for anything but highly born.”

“Bullshit,” Konrad interrupted her rudely. “When she was a princess, she was so decked in ceremonial garb she was barely recognizable. She avoids it now because she’s likely sick of pomp.”

Aimee’s expression wavered. “Well, but –”

“How do you think my ancestors seized power?” he demanded. “I’ll give you a hint, Aimee, it wasn’t through good manners. They simply took it because they were in a position of strength, and none could stand against them. I am damned sure the first Kentigern covered his wife in jewels and vastly enjoyed the spectacle.”

“I am sure you speak true, Konrad,” she replied after a moment’s stunned silence. “But I simply meant that ladies who have been born and raised to the role will not be judged harshly when they –”

“If anyone thinks you vulgar, it is out of jealousy or spite, nothing more.”

Aimee stiffened. “My sister has only ever sought to advise me for my own good, never to wound me.”

He lowered his washing cloth. “Are you saying Ursula called you vulgar?”

“Of course not!” she replied looking incensed. “She only meant to caution me against appearing foolish and gauche in public!”

He paused a moment, selecting his words with more care. “Your sister lacks your spirit, Aimee, but given time and Renlow’s encouragement, she will hopefully grow more spine. It seemed to me the other day that she was already well on her way.”

Aimee gasped. “What do you mean? The other day?”

Damn it. He gazed back at her stony-faced, realizing his error at once.

“Have you seen my sister? Since our marriage, I mean?” she persisted hotly. It seemed Aimee could read his expression, for she immediately burst out accusingly, “You have! And you did not tell me!”

He huffed out a breath and looked away. “I know you are used to getting your own way, Aimee, but you don’t always get to dictate how things are going to be anymore. Not as my wife. Your sister needed some time to find her feet and that is all there is to it. You are no longer her first concern, and you don’t get to tell her how to live her life anymore.”

Aimee sucked in a shocked breath. “What? When have I ever … ?” Words seemed to fail her.

“Picked out your sister’s husband, did you not? As well as your own. Decided she was going to get married the same day as you as well as everything else.”

Aimee’s eyes widened so far it was lucky her eyeballs didn’t fall out. “Ursula admired Sir Renlow excessively – !” she spluttered, but he cut her off again.

“Maybe so, but we both know that’s all it would have remained as, if not for your intercession. Admiration. From afar. Nothing more.”

Aimee’s chest heaved. “Ursula does not have the forthright temperament necessary –”

“Small wonder,” he interrupted, folding his arms across his chest. “With you in the same house, running rings around her. It wasn’t from Hilda’s shadow she needed to escape from, it was yours.”

Aimee reeled back almost as if he had struck her. The backs of her knees hit a wooden chair, and she fell onto the seat almost sprawling before she corrected herself, sitting up straight. “So!” she said hollowly. “This is what you think of me, then!”

He eyed her a moment measuringly. “Aye. You’re a damned managing woman. It’s small wonder your father never remarried. I doubt you ever let him.”

Aimee shot out of the seat. “How dare you! I would never try to impede my father’s happiness –”

“That’s good, as I think he’s steeling himself to take the plunge again.”

A struggle waged across Aimee’s face. “Say what you will, I cannot believe that the Widow Hemmings will make him happy!” she burst out hotly.