Page 124 of A Most Forgettable Girl

Instead, he discovered Gunnilde stood in the distance in a small group comprising of Lady Portstanley, her daughter Harriet, her bookish friend Winifred, and Magnatrude Bartree. They all seemed to be having some earnest discussion.

Making his way in their direction, he found his brother-in-law surrounded by a group of twittering ladies-in-waiting.

“Oh, Master Payne,” Mistress Culmington sighed in failing accents. “When I think of the ignominy of all I’ve suffered this evening, I feel quite wretchedly faint!”

Immediately Hal whipped a handkerchief out of his cuff and started fanning her face whilst slipping an arm about her waist to support her. The rest of the ladies stood around watching avidly and whispering. Estrilda Rheinholdt and Emma Thackeray stood a little away from the others, arm in arm and wearing matching expressions of disapproval.

“I would not be able to show my face from the shame of it, if I was her!” Emma whispered angrily. “After the way she has carried on with poor Sir Symond! And him with a betrothed stashed away in his home county!”

Estrilda tossed her head. “Some of us are quite dead to shame!” she declared dramatically.

Another of the ladies, James did not know her name, seized hold of Hal’s other arm. “I, too, have come over all a-quiver!” She pouted. “It is so hot and overcrowded in here!”

“Hold fast to me, Mistress Stanhope,” Hal recommended warmly. “I will lend you my strength, now and always, if you will only let me.” His voice dipped low and intimate over the last few words and the young lady’s expression instantly transformed to one of blushing coyness, while Penelope Culmington lifted her drooping head to glare at her rival.

Deciding he had seen quite enough of Hal’s wooing, James forged grimly on to reclaim his wife.

41

The first day of the Revels’ finals dawned crisp and cold. Gunnilde slipped from the bed and padded over to the window to gaze out at the December morn. It looked like a hard ground frost, though mercifully no snow had fallen to spoil the events.

Picking up her mantle, she threw it over her shoulders and returned to the bed where James was still sleeping. Bennett had not yet lit the fires and the room was chilly. She turned to look down at James’s sleeping face, brushing his curling auburn hair out of his eyes. She felt so terribly proud of him.

They had not actually returned to their rooms until the early hours, as their guests had shown a remarkable reluctance to disperse. There had been much excitement over the evening’s entertainment, the excellence of the food, Hal’s scuffle, which to Gunnilde’s surprise many ladies seemed inclined to view as the height of chivalry, and lastly the debut of “I Dare Not Show the Love I Owe,” whose reception had surpassed even her wildest dreams.

There could be no doubt that this would bring an influx of new patrons. Even last night, several courtiers had approached her with a view to engaging James’s services. Others had enquired when next his masterpiece was being performed, as they wanted friends or family to hear it.

Gunnilde was certain that he would soon be in great demand, and it was all down to his own merit. Even Mistress Bartree had been quite won over by his music. She had been most gracious to the musicians and when asked, had professed herself both honored and humbled by his work.

James stirred, and Gunnilde held her breath. Mistress Bartree had not been the only one who had been uncharacteristically quiet the night before. At the latter end of the evening, James had appeared quiet and reticent. Mayhap the music sapped all his energy? He rolled onto his back and flung out an arm. “What time is it?”

“Early. Bennett has not come yet.”

“Hmm.” He opened one eye. “Of course, he could be neglecting us again, after giving his undivided service yesterday,” he suggested.

“True.” Gunnilde touched the tips of her cold toes to James’s leg, and he frowned.

“Have you been up already?” he asked, reaching down to seize her feet in his warm grasp. “Why are your feet so cold?”

“I just went to look out of the window,” she confessed. “I wanted to make sure it had not snowed. ’Tis the first official day of the Revels after all.”

He snorted. “They’ve been rumbling on for at least two weeks now.”

“Yes, but the winners will be crowned at the end of this week.”

“How do you feel this morning?” he asked, still rubbing her feet. “Happy with how it went last night?”

“Of course, how could I fail to be?”

He shrugged and looked evasive. “Bevan and his witch did not show up.”

“No, they didn’t, did they?” she ruminated. “But I do not think we can take offence for his invitation was issued quite late.” He slanted a glance her way but made no comment. “Why do you look at me like that?”

“No reason. I was just considering the original intent of the occasion,” he responded.

“The original intent?” Gunnilde queried.

“Well, yes. It wasn’t to debut my music, or even celebrate the impending Revels, was it?”