Page 109 of A Most Forgettable Girl

Neville huffed. “Lady Harriet has an understated grace that needs no refinement,” he said coldly.

“In any case,” Gunnilde said with satisfaction, “he took a look at the construction of my and Winifred’s tippets and assured Harriet he could produce something along similar lines.”

“What of the banquet preparations?” James asked. “Have you heard any more from that quarter?”

A somewhat harassed look entered her eye. “The palace kitchens have assured me all is now in order,” she replied. “Monsieur Roche says the dishes will be dressed most elaborately and the palace steward has agreed to lend us the silver plate for the evening.”

“And what about Signor Castellar?” he enquired, naming the Queen’s tailor.

Her shoulders relaxed. “I will own that the gown is looking very well indeed,” she conceded. “I do not think anyone will find fault with me on that score.”

James frowned at her turn of phrase. Of course no one would find fault with her, the idea was absurd.

She turned toward him. “How many musicians must we now accommodate? I wonder if I should ask for a larger room to fit us all in?”

“At least eight,” he answered. “Possibly as many as ten.”

Gunnilde’s eyes widened. “It is difficult to anticipate when I do not know precisely how many guests will turn up. Many of the ladies’ attendance seems to depend on their whim of the evening.”

“Hah!” said Neville. “If the Queen will be there, so will they, never fear. They are merely pretending indifference.”

“Have you heard back from the Conways?” asked Hal. “I mean the Lellands or whatever they are called nowadays.”

“No,” Gunnilde admitted, worrying her lip. “But the letter might not have reached them in a timely fashion considering the time of year and the state of the roads. They may still appear on the day.”

James could not tell if this prospect appealed to her or not and the fact annoyed him. He should know, because Gunnilde should have told him. She used to tell him things all the time. Why the hells didn’t she anymore?

37

The door opened as Gunnilde lay in the round wooden bathtub, soaking in the herbed water. She always liked to wallow for as long as possible and that was even more true at present. Cocooned in the white sheets and warm, fragrant water, she could try to forget all about her manifold worries. Twitching the modesty curtains aside, she checked to see who had entered the room.

“It’s me,” James said shortly and crossed the room toward the bed. Hearing the mattress rustle and dip, she guessed he had lain down, as the curtains obscured her view of that part of the room.

Silence reigned for all of a minute as she furiously considered various topics she could raise, only to dismiss them as unworthy and beneath his consideration. The banquet preparations were too dull, her concerns over his mother’s letter, too contentious. Everything was so difficult now she had realized her own feelings and how ill-suited they were. If only she could have continued in blissful ignorance of the fact!

He cleared his throat and Gunnilde stilled. “Do you ever find yourself missing your...your former matchmaking endeavors?” he asked, startling her greatly.

“Sometimes,” she admitted truthfully, then wondered if she should have lied. But after all, what would be the point in denying it? James must have realized their incompatibility long before she had.

“When I said what I said—” He broke off with a frustrated huff.

Gunnilde propped her elbow on the side of the tub. “When you said what?” she asked curiously. It was somehow easier to ask when she could not see him, only the plain white sheets hanging down from the ceiling.

“That it was not fitting that my wife should be involved in such things,” he supplied in a rush.

“I have not done it since, James. Not once,” she assured him.

“I know. But what I mean to say is I should not have dismissed your interests so out of hand. It was inconsiderate of me.” He paused. “Arrogant, even.”

Gunnilde blinked. “Oh,” she said. “Well...”

“And you have you missed it,” he said ruefully.

“A little, yes. Did you—?”

“Why have you—?” They both spoke at the same time, stopped, and then halted. “You speak first,” James said.

She gave an awkward little laugh. “I was just going to ask if you noticed how prickly Neville became over Harriet earlier? When Hal was critical of her manner of dress.”