Page 70 of The Consolation Prize

Armand rolled his eyes. “Sure to,” he answered. “They’re stiff-necked with family pride and past glory.” He regarded her with sudden suspicion. “I don’t want it emblazoned across my new tunic, mind.”

Una smiled. “I would be a bit more subtle than that,” she assured him. “Perhaps a small badge might be acceptable?” When he made no reply, she asked, “can I help you locate what you are looking for?”

“I have it,” he said, brandishing several wooden poles. At her curious look, he explained briefly. “It’s for training the new men.”

Una nodded. “Did you really mean what you said about my making you another suit of clothes?” she asked, choosing not to dwell on the fact he thought their outside servants would need to bear arms.

“Of course,” he replied lightly. “I think another hat too, while you’re at it.”

“A hat?” she looked at him quizzically, wondering if he was merely trying to keep her busy instead of worrying over impending Northerners. “Only … I received the distinct impression that you did not favor the hat,” she admitted.

He frowned. “When?”

“At that first inn.” She paused. Pointing out he had seemed happy to lose it did not seem terribly diplomatic. “You did not seem devastated by its loss,” she replied instead, with tact.

Armand lowered the lid of the trunk. “I think it’s a bit much that I’m expected to stand by hatless,” he said sternly, “While Fulcher swaggers around, bragging it is the best made hat he ever owned.”

Una blinked. “Fulcher said that?” she uttered, feeling suddenly a lot more charitable toward the weasel-faced Fulcher.

“He did. He is inordinately proud that he owns a garment made by a princess’s fair hands. Meanwhile my own wife refuses to make me another,” Armand said in an aggrieved tone, climbing to his feet.

“Of course I’ll make you another!” Una protested. Armand crossed the room to kiss her briefly on the lips. “I’ll see you at supper,” he said, and Una realized he must be taking the new men’s training very seriously if he meant to be about it all day.

She spent that afternoon in the solar and sent for Rose to keep her company. Mrs. Brickenden pulled a face, but Una was firm. “Rose has duties as my companion to fulfill also,” she told the tight-lipped woman. “I would have you put out word in the village that we require another servant to pick up the buttery and kitchen duties.”

When she imparted this to Rose, however, the girl did not seem as pleased as Una would have expected. In contrast to that morning, she looked suddenly pale and wan. She helped carefully cut the pattern pieces with Una, but was quiet and subdued and declined the opportunity to demonstrate her skill with the harp.

Una left the window, where she had been watching Armand and Otho briefing the new men and returned to the pieces of fabric she had already cut out and left ready for sewing. “I have not yet heard you play.”

“I’m putting that behind me, milady,” Rose said, looking up from where she was kneeling, smoothing the fabric out. She gave a sad smile. “And all such frivolous things.”

“Is all well with you, Rose?” Una asked with sudden concern. “You do not feel ill?”

Rose shook her head. “I am quite well,” she assured her, but Una saw how Abelard circled the girl and sat at her feet gazing up at her with concern. She was not the only one to notice Rose’s spirits had plummeted since that morn.

“I do hope that Master Roger’s apology did not distress you,” Una ventured, resuming her seat opposite Rose. She was reassured to see a look of genuine surprise flit over her face.

“Oh no, he apologized most prettily,” Rose answered with apparent truthfulness, and they spent the afternoon quietly sewing the pieces for a replacement black and gold hat for Armand and a new blue tunic.

At supper, Una noticed a good many new faces along the table, which seemed to be filling up more at every meal. These assorted men had a more hardened edge, though they were as country-born and local as Peter. It did not take Una more than a few assessing glances to realize they had a look about them she recognized well. It was one born of experience. Soldiers, she thought and glanced at Armand who was seating himself next to her. Armand had employed soldiers to work on their estate.

It was not that they were grim or dour, for when Armand stood and gave a short speech welcoming the new men to his table, they sent up a rousing cheer. When Mr. Beverley presented a large game pie and a side of roast beef, a spontaneous round of applause went up that made the cook quite flustered, as he took his bow.

No, they were not morose Una thought, but that they were determined to seize on any celebration or good fortune that came their way, for they knew too well the harsh reality of bad times. Armand bade the cups to be filled with wine for a toast and Lynwode was proposed and drunk to.

“Everyone seems to be settling in well,” Armand said, as he waved aside the task of carving to Otho and instead poured Una another goblet of wine. “What say you?”

Una accepted the cup and took a sip. “I agree,” she said with satisfaction. “I liked your speech and the fact our table is growing by the day. ’Tis only Mrs. Brickenden I am not yet sure of.” She eyed the expressionless housekeeper who was out of earshot.

“What do you find amiss?” he murmured back, arching a black brow at her.

“She is too distant. Too reluctant to share any village news with me, or discuss her family or—”

“She is from round these parts?” Armand asked, suddenly sharp.

“Oh yes,” Una assured him. “For several generations I believe.” He relaxed. “Though I had to thank Janet for that fact.”

“Well, if Mrs. Brickenden talks too little, then Janet talks too much,” Armand responded dryly. “You should not encourage her.”