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“She ain’t blood of his in any way,” Douglas pointed out with disgust. “Her mother was barely married to Leonard’s sire before he keeled over.”

Sir Leonard hunched a shoulder and scowled. “I still maintain her company is far superior to that of any of the others.”

“Strictly speaking, she’s not your actual sister though!” Fulke grumbled.

“No, she is not,” Leonard said with such vehemence that Konrad paused in the act of lifting his tankard to his mouth. He was filled suddenly with the strangest suspicions about the nature of feelings Sir Leonard harbored for this Sybil. He eyed the man askance and saw the guilty flush mounting his neck before he pushed back his chair.

“I’m off to the privy,” the younger knight growled and sloped off.

“Leonard can be a trifle morose sometimes, though he is the best of good fellows,” Fulke confided. “He has a lot to contend with at home, his father having died two years ago and left him with a lot of debt to cover. I’ll order us another pitcher, shall I?”

Konrad nodded as he watched Sir Leonard cross the room. He supposed, on reflection, that his own problems could be a good deal worse. The afternoon passed with surprising swiftness, and after leaving the other knights at the town square, Konrad swung by Bulwark Lane to check on the jeweler’s progress.

A blue sapphire now hung either side of the teardrop pearl, lending the silver brooch a far grander air. Blyfield only had a few more touches to add before it would be ready for collection. The jeweler showed him some new sketches he had made for other pieces. He had lately received a note which Magnatrude had sent around with her own recollections of her mother’s collection. These had proved a considerable help to him in his work.

Konrad approved the sketches and arranged to collect the brooch before they left for Beres Caple, when a sudden thought occurred to him. “By the way, can you recommend somewhere I can buy a strand of pearls?” he asked the goldsmith.

Blyfield considered the matter, pursing his lips. “Of what quality?” he asked.

“The finest.”

The jeweler nodded and named an establishment three streets over.

21

Aimee did end up sending word to Master Fulcher, though she had no intention of requesting a new particolored gown. Still, her husband had raised a good point about both Freda and Magnatrude’s wardrobes needing refurbishment. When she received an answer that the tailor would call at her house the following week on Wednesday, she relayed this news to Freda with perfect calm.

“Oh, but – er, will that be acceptable?” Freda started awkwardly. “That is – my cousin seemed to think ’twas you that stood in need of some particular garment.”

Aimee lifted her chin. “Freda, do you honestly think anything could induce me to wear another gown in his colors?” she asked hotly. “When you know how – how humiliated I felt that day?”

Freda’s eyes widened. “Is that the gown he wants made up?” she asked sounding bewildered. “Whatever happened to the one you already owned?” Aimee’s heightened color seemed to dissuade her from pursuing the subject. “I am sure none could blame you,” Freda quavered. “But Konrad can be so very difficult to dissuade when he gets an idea in his head.”

“Well I, too, have a stubborn streak,” Aimee said with resolve, and she wasn’t sure she didn’t toss her head. Poor Freda looked very alarmed. To distract her, Aimee suggested they walk to the Thursday market with Matthews for an escort. Freda brightened at this suggestion, and they ambled along the stalls arm-in-arm and had a very jolly time picking over the wares.

As Freda had no money of her own and refused to accept any, Aimee was forced to take Matthews to one side while Freda was distracted talking to a woman with two chubby babes. She pressed a purse into the burly manservant’s hand.

“Can you make sure you spend this on anything my cousin shows a particular interest in?” she murmured. “Discreetly?” He nodded and Aimee returned to Freda’s side, agreeing the children looked healthy and bonnie and did the woman credit. As they moved away, Aimee was pleased to see Matthews hand the proud mother a coin to treat the children in Freda’s name.

“The gods bless you, ma’am!” the woman called after an oblivious Freda.

“What lovely people you meet hereabouts,” Freda commented, nodding and smiling. “Do you know, Aimee, I blush to say this, but when we were travelling here, I had the most foolish misgivings about the south. It just goes to show, doesn’t it? I daresay I could be just as happy if I ne’er set foot in Vettel again.” She glanced about nervously as she said this, as though someone might spring out and denounce her for lack of loyalty to the north.

Aimee laughed. “We will make a southerner of you yet, cousin.”

Freda gave a nervous titter and promptly got lost in rhapsodies over some embellished head coverings. Aimee turned to give Matthews a significant look but found him already watching to see which ones Freda favored.

It wasn’t until the final row of stalls that Aimee was tempted to make a purchase for herself. She had been drifting along, wondering if the items she had requested from her father’s warehouse might yet have arrived, when her eye caught sight of the cheap looking trinkets scattered over a dark blanket and glittering in the sun.

“Let me just take a look at these, Freda,” she murmured as an unholy idea started forming in her head. Her husband had told her he looked forward to seeing how she would reward him for his continued presence in her bed, she remembered, stepping forward to look at the shiny tin and lead alloy tokens. Why not reward him each time with one of these?

They were fashioned in all sorts of fancy shapes: hearts, flowers, shields. She picked up one, which looked to be a pair of kissing cupid heads, and wondered what her husband would make of it.

“Oh!” muttered Freda. “I suppose they are rather pretty, though.” She coughed delicately. “I believe such things tarnish very quickly or get bent out of shape, for they are fashioned so thin.”

“How many designs do you have?” Aimee asked the stallholder who was picking his teeth with a twig.

“An ’undred,” he answered, casting a desultory look over them. Clearly, he had decided these ladies were unlikely to buy and wasting his time.