Page 104 of A Most Forgettable Girl

“Oh yes, of course,” she agreed absently, as though her mind were pondering other matters. “Do you really think you could repurpose one of your previous compositions for Lady Schaeffer?” she asked suddenly.

“Quite easily,” he admitted, “though I have never thought to do such a thing before. And quite honestly, I would rather continue work on this latest piece than look at tinkering with an older one. Still, we need the money.”

“No, but...it will not compromise your personal integrity, I mean?” She looked anxious.

“Well...” He shifted awkwardly. “Some pieces you feel stronger about than others. This latest one for instance. I would not like to lie about its origins.”

“About its inspiration, you mean,” she asked.

He hesitated. “Yes.”

“Even though Mistress Bartree is unlikely to ever commission such a piece?”

“Even then,” he agreed.

She lapsed into silence, considering this. “Perhaps we could obscure the subject matter somewhat?” she suggested. “Say it is based on the story of a lady left to molder in ruins. We need not necessarily state it is Mistress Bartree’s story.”

He mulled this over. “Yes, I was thinking the same thing. It would not seem right to, well, broadcast that lady’s tale unsanctioned.” She gave a small smile by way of reply. “What? Why are you smiling?”

“It is just...you are very nice in your notions. You are considerate. I like that about you.”

“You do?” He paused. “You do not...think me somewhat stuffy and uptight?”

“A little,” she admitted, “and...I think I like that too. It makes me feel quite adventurous and bold by way of comparison.” He spluttered. “I like how I feel when I am with you,” she said in a strange voice. “How I feel about myself, I mean. You make me feel like I have a strong and distinctive personality. Like I am not at all forgettable.”

“Forgettable?” he echoed in surprise. She had voiced that thought once before, though he could not remember when. Oh yes, that was it. She had overheard Bevan say it about her that time at Vawdrey Keep.

“Yes.” She gave an embarrassed-sounding laugh. “Like I am not some entirely forgettable girl.”

“Gunnilde,” he said, catching her chin and looking straight into her eyes. “You are far, far from that. The furthest I could imagine. You are not remotely forgettable,” he told her firmly.

Her eyes when they finally met his own were shy, uncertain. “You mean that, James?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“I do. Anyone who has ever given you that impression must be the veriest fool. You are remarkable,” he breathed and pressed a firm kiss upon her mouth. “The most remarkable girl I have ever met.”

Gunnilde’s cornflower-blue eyes went very wide. “James... Even if you are just saying that to make me happy—” she began in a shaken voice but could not continue.

“I’m not,” he said gruffly, kissing the tears from her eyes. “I mean every word. Every word of it.” Then he set about convincing her of it with his eager body.

35

It was a bustling day in Aphrany. Gunnilde looked about with interest as they exited the tailor’s premises. Master Hughes had been assiduous with his attention to detail, and James had dutifully stood about while pieces of cloth were pinned to him, then swiftly removed for other pieces to take their place. She had been most impressed by his patience, for she knew full well that matters of dress were not a passion of his, as they were for her.

“Where next?” she asked. “Which direction is Master Gregory’s house?”

“This way.” James took her hand in his and led her down a side street to a tall, crooked building which seemed to be divided into three different residences. He rapped smartly on the door, which was duly opened by a sensible-looking woman hefting a broom. “Oh, so it’s you, Sir James. And this your lady wife, I take it?” she said, turning to Gunnilde.

“Yes, this is my wife, Lady Wycliffe,” James said, helping her to lower her hood. “Gunnilde, this is Justina Gregory, Master Gregory’s daughter. She keeps house for him.”

“I am very happy to make your acquaintance, Mistress Gregory.” Gunnilde smiled, removing her mittens.

Justina Gregory bobbed a curtsey, looking her up and down, her eyes widening as she took in her red leather boots and unusual hairstyle. “Likewise, Lady Wycliffe. I’m glad to see someone has the managing of him. I’ve seen a marked improvement of late in his habits. No more dossing down on that mattress while he scribbles down tunes and forgets to take his meals or keep track of his days like a decent man should!”

James cleared his throat, looking faintly annoyed, but Gunnilde was most curious to hear how he used to disport himself as a single man. “How very irregular,” she commented, giving him a sidelong look. “I certainly should not tolerate such behavior from a spouse!”

“No more you should!” Justina Gregory agreed. “I put up with a lot from my last husband but sleeping under another roof I would not abide. That were the final straw and so I made it known! Showed him the door quick smart. Not that your man was keeping indecent company like mine,” she conceded. “I wouldn’t stand for any harlotry under this roof, not for twice the rent we charge him for that attic room. Not for any price!”

“Such sentiment does you credit,” Gunnilde assured her.