The Lady Margot leads against the smoothed stone walls of the chamber as you ask your question. She rubs at the abrasions caused by her long binding and sighs; not comfortable, but definately preferring to be uncomfortable and upright to laying in that bed. She has to blink through a little daze as you summon the idea of such a festivity.

"Oh.. Ah... I fear my skills, mademoiselle, are in courtly manners and wifery; but once we find some restoration for my poor Donalo, I would be glad to task Olivia to assist you. She is our house cuisinière; though I fear I... Do not know what has become of her, or the other staff." She blanches a little as she considers what may have been going on outside this dark, windowless bedroom for her internment.

Spoiler: Perception Check +20
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...But what she doesn't do is what you might reasonably expect; lick her lips, or consider her own hunger, or look about forlornly at the scraps of food hither and yon in the mess of the bedroom. A noblewoman denied good food for a long period of time seems likely to you to be sensitive to its absense and responsive in instinctive ways to its promise; one denied little but their (theoretically possessed) husband's clumsy kitchen fumblings for weeks ought to be very sensitive to the suggestion of quality food indeed. There is none of this, in her countenance; despite how undernourished she seems.