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“He would not be such a good man of business if he were not.”

It was on the tip of Konrad’s tongue to point out that if Aimee could be thought overwhelming, then her sister could be considered distinctly underwhelming. However, it was at this point that Ursula entered the room, followed by a plump woman carrying a tray of refreshments.

“Hilda and I have brought you wine and cakes, though you must mix water with yours, my love,” Ursula informed Renlow in an indulgent tone. Konrad observed Hilda with interest, remembering Aimee’s disapproval of the servant accompanying her sister into her new household.

The woman looked to be in her mid-fifties, with a mild, benevolent face and neat appearance. She set the tray down carefully onto a side table. Certainly, she made no overt attempt to usurp her mistress’s authority that he could see. Indeed, she consulted Ursula most scrupulously as to how much water she should add to Renlow’s cup.

“Yes, that will be excellent, Hilda,” Ursula murmured approvingly, as she moved to smooth Renlow’s pillow bearer. “I hope you have had a pleasant catch up.” She looked from her husband’s face to their guest’s with a faint question in her eyes.

“Very,” Konrad responded promptly. He knew for a fact that he would find Ursula’s conscientious solicitude irksome, but Renlow seemed entirely at ease with it as she passed him his watered wine. Yes, he thought, things certainly had worked out for the best. Though, how much of that was down to Ankatel’s astuteness, he was not so sure.

He passed another hour or so in their company. Ursula seemed pleased to hear that Aimee was accompanying him to Beres Caple. “She will enjoy that exceedingly,” she had replied with an approving smile.

He had the strangest impulse to shatter her newfound serenity with the news that Aimee had not enjoyed the one tournament she had attended since her marriage one bit. That, in fact, she had suffered a scalding humiliation, thanks to her thoughtless husband.

He squashed the notion as ignoble and absurd. He was the one that needed to atone for that mishap, not Ursula. The fault was his and so should the remedy be. Besides, he was not at all sure why he felt so unaccountably annoyed with his sister-in-law’s tepid attitude toward his wife’s wellbeing. It stood to reason that Ursula d’Avenant was wrapped up in coddling her new husband.

Maybe he should be flattered that she was so confident in his abilities to keep her sister happy? She could not know that Aimee would have to contend with disagreeable in-laws on top of a difficult husband in her new household.

It only occurred to Konrad as he walked out of their house at midday that he did not know if Aimee owned her own horse. If not, he would have to purchase her one, for it was half a day’s ride to Beres Caple. Turning about, he made for the house in Lime Street instead of the practice ground and was just striding down the passageway in search of his wife when he heard a strident voice from the dining chamber that he did not recognize.

“Well, you girls certainly got your money’s worth out of your father,” said the person disagreeably. “I only hope you do not rue the day that you got ideas above your station. If one of you had seen fit to accept my Willard’s proposal … but there! Clearly, you imagined yourselves a deal too good for an honest man …”

Konrad flung the door open, and Aimee, Freda, and the unpleasant widow from the wedding feast all spun in their seats to look at him. “Is someone casting aspersions on my honesty?” he asked dryly and watched the woman turn rather pink. What was her name? Stimson? Leeming?

“I’m sure his lordship must realize that was not my intent,” she answered with two spots of high color in her cheeks as she rose to perform her curtsey.

He glowered a moment before turning resolutely in his wife’s direction. “Have you a horse of your own, wife?” he demanded. “Or do I need to buy you one?”

“I already have one,” Aimee replied hastily. “The Widow Hemmings was just paying us her compliments.” She made a vague flapping gesture with her hand toward the old hag.

Hemmings, that was it. Konrad ignored the empty social pleasantries. The woman had come to vent her spleen and for no other reason. He wasn’t about to squander any more words on her, and he certainly had better things to look at. He scanned Aimee’s face. “You have sent word to that tailor yet?” he asked.

Aimee’s chest heaved, and he saw a spark of indignation flash in her eye. “I have been rather busy this morning, my l –” she bit off the word. “Konrad,” she corrected herself with a slightly self-conscious air.

He felt a surprising lurch in his chest when she spoke his given name and darted a quick glance at his cousin. Freda’s head was tipped to one side, and she was watching them rather like an inquisitive bird. Konrad cleared his throat. “Aye, well, make sure you do,” he said brusquely, then glanced about the room. “Where is my sister?” He directed the question at Freda, and she gave a guilty start.

“Oh,” she responded breathlessly. “It is the most fortuitous thing. The queen sent a messenger again this morning and, well, Trude answered the summons from the palace.”

Her words startled him. “Trude went to wait on the queen?”

“She did,” Freda agreed, looking faintly furtive. “She is most intrigued by the queen’s avowed task.” She paused and plucked at her skirts. “I only did not accompany her because well – er – needlework is not something I really excel at.”

“And I had too many arrangements to make for our upcoming tournament,” Aimee put in hurriedly in the manner of one also making an excuse.

Both of them were avoiding his eye, and he realized that neither of them had wanted to go to the palace. He gave a short laugh. “Well, if Queen Armenal will be content with Trude’s presence, then so be it.”

Aimee’s shoulders relaxed, and she and Freda exchanged a conspiratorial look.

“I must take my leave of you, Baroness,” their visitor cut in, sounding annoyed at the fact she no longer had Aimee’s undivided attention.

“Please give my compliments to Willard,” Aimee murmured as the older woman stood, gave a shallow curtsey, and stalked to the door.

“Why are you sending your compliments to Willard Hemmings?” Konrad asked testily before the door had even shut after her. “Is he ill?”

“No,” Aimee responded mildly. “But I have known him all my life.”

Konrad snorted.