Page 12

Gerold Ankatel immediately looked evasive. “I have never given it much thought,” he said blowing out his cheeks. “A new broom always sweeps clean, is that not what they always say? Well, I’m vastly comfortable in my own house with my own ways. I doubt Burchard would like a new mistress. Very gently and respectfully Ursula has always treated him.”

Aimee snorted, “That’s because she’s afraid of him!”

Her father chuckled. “Well, Burchard’s previous master was a very learned man. They do say as he was once tutor to the prince before the old man retired.”

“And Burchard’s current master is sponsor to a king,” Aimee reminded him. “And equally bragworthy.”

Gerold Ankatel laughed, though he looked gratified by his daughter’s words. “It is true, the king has been good enough to meet with me now some half dozen times,” he reflected. Aimee held her tongue between her teeth. Surely, granting an audience was the least the king could do for the privilege of dipping into her father’s funds!

Her father frowned. “I had hoped to take you girls to court with me before you were married,” he admitted. “But alas, thus far I have only attended one banquet and the other times were in his majesty’s private chambers.” Aimee nodded, but made no reply. “Still,” her father brightened considerably. “When you are the wife of a baron, no doubt you will attend court on your own merit and will not need an introduction from your old father.”

Aimee smiled, though she did not think Lord Kentigern looked very much like a polished courtier. Then again, her only experience of such things had been the two months she had spent with the Wycliffes over the spring. They had been a very cultured family who applied themselves diligently to the study of literature, art, and music.

Even mealtimes at the Wycliffes had been accompanied by earnest discussions of these topics and a new guest invited each night to supper who would provide some fresh point of view or lecture them on some subject of interest. Lady Wycliffe had been most shocked to hear neither girl could play an instrument and had insisted that both Aimee and Ursula take up lessons immediately.

“What did you think of our playing the other evening, Father?” Aimee asked now, with a trace of unease. She knew full well her fingers had fumbled over the notes in the middle section of her solo and shrank with embarrassment to think of it. She had neglected practicing now Lady Wycliffe was not there to insist on it. Lord Kentigern was sure to have noticed that Ursula’s playing was far superior to her own. Ursula never shirked her duty.

“Very pretty, my dear,” her father assured her. “Only I much prefer it when you stick to the old country tunes. Why did you not sing that one your mother taught you? About the tree, the moon, and the lover’s promise.”

“Lady Wycliffe did not think that one suitable for mixed company,” Aimee admitted.

Her father looked startled. “Eh?”

“She explained that there is – um – a hidden meaning behind the absent lover and the tree that bursts into blossom and then bears fruit with the waxing and waning of the moon,” Aimee said turning red.

Her father scratched his gray hair. “Ah,” he said clearing his throat. “But the young man returns in the last verse and weds the wench, so where’s the harm in it?”

“I do not know,” Aimee admitted. “But Lady Wycliffe said Ursula and I were not to sing it anymore.”

Her father blew out his cheeks and grumbled something under his breath. “Well, well,” he said after a moment. “I suppose sacrifices must be made if my girls are to be fine ladies.”

Aimee eyed him uncertainly. “We could still sing it for you, Father. When no one else is around to be shocked, I mean.”

He reached across and patted her hand. “Rest assured, child. I am not so easily offended. I know full well what manner of man I am, and you and Ursula must not fear I will embarrass you once you are set up in your new lives.”

“Whatever can you mean, Father?” Aimee cried, looking up. “Such a thought never entered my mind!”

He shook his head ruefully. “I know that, Aimee, but you must learn to feel differently when you are a baroness.”

“I hope I shall never grow ashamed of where I come from!” she argued hotly.

“Not ashamed, no,” her father agreed painstakingly. “But there is no denying these nobles feel differently about such things than plain folk like myself. You will need to heed their ways in future and be led by them in such matters.”

Aimee gazed at her father in consternation. She had not considered before that marrying her true love could have such repercussions. “Father …”

Gerold Ankatel blew his nose. “There now, I’ve said enough,” he said stoutly. “Do not let it trouble you. You girls have plenty to see to over the next three weeks. Gowns to be made up and your dowry items to be picked out. Those wedding chests I commissioned were delivered this morning. All that remains is for you to fill them with your trousseau items.”

“They have been delivered already?” Aimee asked, startled. “I did not realize.”

“Fit for a king they are too,” her father said proudly. “Painted and glazed all over and gilded with gold leaf.”

Aimee clapped her hands. “I cannot wait to see them, Father!”

He nodded sagely. “You are good girls, you and your sister both. You deserve the best.”

Aimee rose impulsively from her chair and embraced her father. “You are so very good to us, Father,” she said feeling choked.

He patted her back. “And now you must go and rouse your sister from her mopes. Tell her she may have first choice of whichever of the chests takes her fancy. Maybe that will put a smile on her face.”