The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok #3) - Alice Coldbreath Page 0,66

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.

Una’s heart raced as she was suddenly filled with an irrational fear that whoever it was had come for her. As though picking up on her inner turmoil, Armand’s warm hand covered hers. “It’ll be nothing,” he said calmly, but Una could already hear raised voices in