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But Aimee could not answer. Her gaze was riveted to Lord Kentigern’s dirt-streaked face. She felt love’s arrow pierce her to the quick as tears flowed from her eyes and cascaded down her cheeks unchecked. Most noble Lord Kentigern!

Finally, she, Aimee Ankatel, knew what it was that poets wrote of in their rhyming couplets and celebratory verse. The clouds rolled back. Trumpets blasted. Birds sang. She had fallen in love, suddenly, wildly, madly in love. Not with handsome Sir Renlow, but with the mighty Lord Kentigern.

She had spent the rest of the day in a daze. She did not even remember her sister leading her out of the bustling crowds to meet up with their sponsor, Lady Wycliffe, for some refreshment. She could not have told anyone what she ate or drank or even what they had sat and watched for the rest of the afternoon.

The sisters had been transported back to Wycliffe Hall, and Aimee had been strangely silent as Ursula regaled their father and Sir Maurice at supper with the tales of the knightly prowess they had seen that day. Sir Renlow featured heavily in her sister’s narrative, and Ursula’s shining eyes and flushed cheeks were not lost on Aimee as she praised that knight’s impressive victory. It was not like her sister to gush or speak so freely, especially in front of a table full of strangers. Sir Renlow’s performance had evidently moved her greatly.

“And you, Aimee? Did you enjoy the tournament also?” her father asked, turning to her. “You are quiet, my child. It is not like you to fall silent as your sister chatters away like a bird.”

“Father!” Ursula protested, coloring hotly.

“I would think the two of you had swapped temperaments this day!” Gerold Ankatel joked.

“Nay, Father,” Aimee hurried to reassure him. “I am only thinking of – of some household matter I have left neglected at home.” She saw her sister’s surprise at this, for it was Ursula and not Aimee who was the conscientious one when it came to keeping house for their father.

Her father, however, saw nothing amiss with her hasty reply. “Well, well,” he had said kindly, patting her arm. “You must not fret about that now. We will soon return to Caer Lyoness, but I want you to make the most of your opportunities here. You are meeting many fine people, good nobles all, yes? You remember what Papa said about how our prospects are changing?”

“Yes, Papa,” Aimee hurried to assure him. She noticed the pointed look Lady Wycliffe exchanged with her husband. To mention such things in public was considered vulgar by people like the Wycliffes, even though they were happy enough to take Gerold Ankatel’s money in exchange for introducing his daughters to their circles. Seeing Ursula bite her lip, Aimee realized her sister was also aware of their host’s disapproval of their father’s frankness.

“Good, good.” Gerold Ankatel beamed at his daughters as they bade him goodnight and climbed up the stairs to the guest bedroom they were sharing at present. “That’s my good girls, making Papa proud.”

As she and Ursula had undressed for bed, Aimee cast many looks her sister’s way. Ursula washed and brushed her hair, sweetly oblivious to Aimee’s regard. As soon as the servant withdrew, Aimee sat on the edge of the bed, braiding her own long black hair. She asked lightly, “Do you suppose that Papa meant it? What he said about our being able to look in high places now for friends and acquaintances?”

Ursula set down the silver-backed brush. “I believe so,” she said gravely. “For you must realize, Aimee, you better than anyone, that Papa is now …”

“Immensely wealthy,” Aimee finished off for her.

Ursula nodded. “It hardly seems possible,” she continued in an awed voice. “But as you know, Papa now even boasts connections at court.”

“Yes, but –” Aimee bit off what she had been about to say, selecting her words carefully. “Money is not … everything.”

Ursula looked up quickly. “To be sure,” she agreed. “Papa may sponsor even the king himself, but …”

“He is still a merchant,” Aimee finished off heavily.

“Yes. And that is nothing for us to be ashamed of,” Ursula said in a rush of words. “For he came by his fortune honestly and is moreover an excellent man of business.”

“Oh, I agree! Wholeheartedly!” Aimee concurred hastily. “It is just that, to people like the Wycliffes, we will never be palatable company.” She hesitated. “It never occurred to me to enquire before, but why does Papa not accompany us on the visits we make with Lady Wycliffe?”

Ursula hesitated. “He does not want to ruin your chances, Aimee. Father intends a fine match for you,” Ursula said softly. “You are young and beautiful and will be heavily dowered. You can have your pick of all the land for husbands.” Her sister rose and crossed the room to climb into the canopied bed they were sharing.

Aimee fastened the end of her braid and did not speak the words that hovered on her lips. What of you, sister? Instead, she flung her braid over her shoulder and made her way around to the other side of the bed, climbing under the covers to lie beside her.

Once she was settled, Ursula leaned over and blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness.

“What of you, Ursa?” Aimee asked using the pet name from childhood. “Why should you not take your pick of husbands also?” It was somehow easier to ask that question in the dark.

“I am better at home with Papa,” Ursula answered swiftly without pause. “You know that when I was younger, I worked at Papa’s spice stall in the marketplace.”

“But Papa has so many assistants now. You have not had to serve spices in ever such a long time.”

“That is true,” Ursula agreed mildly. “But I still keep his books for him and make sure his home is comfortably run.”

“Papa could take a steward now and a bookkeeper,” Aimee persisted. “There is no longer any need for you to sacrifice yourself and run things for him.”

“I am happy to do it,” her sister said simply. “You must never imagine that I am not. Besides, I am good at it.”

Aimee frowned into the darkness. “And what about when I have left and am settled into my own house? Will you not be lonely without my companionship, sister? When Father is sat with his cronies, drinking wine, and sends you to bed so that they may speak freely?”