Page 45 of The Consolation Prize

Suddenly, Una felt foolish for putting on such a fancy gown. Was she making a spectacle of herself? She couldn’t quite meet his eye.

“Very nice,” he said slowly. “Well, if my wife is to be so fine, I can hardly appear below stairs in these old things, now can I?” She caught her breath and raised her gaze to his. He smiled. “Whatever you want me to wear, I will wear it.”

Una felt a rush of gratitude so strong, she could have kissed him. Then it flashed into her head that after what he had said that morning, she very likely should. Before she could change her mind, she surged forward and bestowed an impulsive peck on his lips, stepped back and would have hurried to fetch him a clean tunic, before realizing he still had a firm hold of her.

Una looked toward him questioningly, and he tugged her toward him. “Just a minute,” he said, drawing her closer and lightly clasping her waist. “I don’t want to get you dusty, but I need to know what that was for?”

“For … for giving me pleasure,” Una stammered, feeing she was on uncertain ground. “Is that not what you said I ought to do?”

He stared at her enigmatically a moment, before clearing his throat. “I suppose it was,” he said, sounding a little unsure himself.

“What about the burgundy tunic I made you?” Una asked eagerly. “With the matching chauses?” For a moment, she thought a look of displeasure flashed across his face, but it was gone so fast, she thought she must have been mistaken.

“Was not the gold legging ripped of that pair?” he asked.

“I mended it this afternoon.”

“Oh,” he swallowed. “Then yes, of course.” He smiled and Una felt reassured. He released her with a show of reluctance that was highly flattering and then started stripping off his black tunic and breeches.

Una crossed to the trunk and retrieved her handiwork, laying it lovingly on the bed for him, then hurried downstairs to see that Rose had set out the candlesticks they had retrieved from storage as she had bade her.

She need not have worried, for Rose seemed fully aware of the momentous occasion, or perhaps she just liked to see the room illuminated by candlelight, for by the time Una descended the staircase, the great hall had a blazing fire in its grate and at least fifty candles lit along the high table.

“Oh, you look beautiful,” Rose breathed, coming toward her, and taking her hands in what was no doubt a breach of etiquette, but Una found she did not mind at all. “What a lovely, lovely gown.”

“I made it myself,” Una told her, and Rose gasped with gratifying astonishment, encouraging her to turn full circle. Una happily complied.

“I so admire the sleeves,” Rose marveled, gazing at the long tips, which extended down to her knees. “And the matching cap. It all drapes so beautifully to show your figure to advantage. You must be extraordinarily talented with a needle.”

Una reached up to touch the small beaded cap that sat atop her coiled auburn braids. Though the fabric was rich and beautiful indeed, the gown itself still felt wonderfully elegant and fuss-free to Una, who was so accustomed to wearing padding and rolls and panniers. Perhaps she had a distorted view of what was considered formal wear?

The only aspect she found a little daunting was the neckline, which was cut in a square as fashionable ladies wore and showed rather more shoulder and skin than Una was used to. She had not dared to go as low as the Queen who was graceful and slender and a good deal less endowed in the bosom area than Una. She knew full well that what looked refined and stylish on Armenal, would look vastly indecent on herself!

They both heard a footfall on the staircase, and Rose hurriedly retreated to the kitchen to let everyone know the master and mistress were in place. Una walked to the foot of the stairs and felt her heart almost burst with pride when she saw Armand coming toward her in the outfit, she had made him.

Seeing him wearing it hurtled her right back to that first time she had seen him in it. She felt the emotion welling up that she had felt on that day she had escaped from the palace at his side. The tunic truly fit him to perfection, and the burgundy and gold chauses made him look as fashionable as any courtier in the Southern court. She mourned the loss of the matching cap but knew she had not been mistaken in thinking he had not liked it, so she could stand its omission.

When he reached the foot of the stairs, he held his arm out to her and she took it, and they made their way into the great hall and mounted the dais, as Otho came hurrying through from the kitchen, carrying a large flagon of wine and a tray of cups. Peter followed him with a large platter of three loaves of freshly baked bread and a dish of butter.

“The bread smells wonderful,” Una commented, as Armand pulled her chair back for her. He sat beside her as Otho plunked down the wine before them.

“I sampled the wine, and it tastes alright to me, but I’m no connoisseur,” Otho said with a shrug. “I don’t know how long it’s lain in the buttery.”

Armand poured two cups and passed one to Una, then passed the flagon back to Otho who poured it into the remaining cups. Una took a sip.

“It tastes fine to me.”

Rose entered the room, gracefully carrying two large dishes, one holding glazed root vegetables and the other of fresh peas with parsley, butter, and mint. Following her bounced Janet, proudly bearing a side of roasted beef covered with mushrooms and gravy. Last but not least, came the cook himself, a small man with large moustaches, carrying a large, decorative golden pie. He set this down with a flourish. “Roasted chicken, cooked in wine with saffron and served in a herb-crusted pie,” he announced.

“It’s a very beautiful pie,” Una said, gazing on its magnificence. Not to mention its enormous size. They would be feasting off such a pie for a week! Doubtless, Mr. Beverley was exerting his every effort to impress them with his culinary skills.

He executed a bow and hurried down the table to take his seat opposite Rose. Peter sat opposite Janet, and Otho sat himself squarely between themselves and the servants as a sort of barrier.

“I wish Otho would come and sit next to me,” Una murmured to Armand. “Why must he sit there in the middle on his own like that?”

Armand opened his mouth, either to reply to her or summon Otho closer, she could never be sure, because at that instant came the sound of a loud rapping, presumably from the front entrance. Conversation fell away as everyone looked from one to other in consternation. No one was invited for supper, yet only guests would come to the front door.

Armand and Otho exchanged a look and Otho sprang to his feet. “Peter, come with me,” he said and strode out of the great hall, closely followed by the brawny young man.