Page 27 of A Most Forgettable Girl

“Who were the others?” he demanded.

“The others? Well...” Gunnilde considered her past matchmaking endeavors. “There was John Fulsham, of course. And before him, there was Sir Thomas Crowle and Master Becker.” She tried to dredge up the names of the others, but James was looking so put out that she could hardly concentrate. And they had been getting along so nicely too!

His dark brows snapped together. “I’m afraid that my wife will not be expected to conduct herself in such a manner,” he said stiffly. “It would reflect poorly on my family name.”

“Oh.” This was disappointing as Gunnilde had enjoyed her role as a confidante very much, but she supposed she had a new focus now. “They’re not at court anymore anyway,” she said philosophically. “And I doubt I will come across them again anytime soon. They all moved back to the country after their respective marriages.”

“I see.” He retreated into silence, though he was clearly still out of sorts.

Gunnilde sighed. It seemed she had obtained a difficult sort of husband of uneven moods. It happened, she knew. Sarah Nesdin, a friend from her youth, had married an old widower with gout, well-known for his tetchiness.

At least James was young and pretty. She supposed it was his artistic temperament that was to blame. Presumably her duty lay in trying to coax him out of his sullens.

“I was wondering earlier if you might be composing some tune,” she said brightly.

He flashed an impatient look her way. “What?”

“When you fell silent after we viewed the portrait.”

He blinked at her. Really, his eyes were very pretty, a sort of greenish blue, with such spiky, thick dark lashes. “No,” he answered shortly.

“It doesn’t happen like that, then? With inspiration taking you unawares,” she persisted.

“It can, sometimes,” he admitted grudgingly. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just curious.”

They had reached their quarters and James opened the door. “We had better dine here tonight, just the two of us,” he said, gesturing for her to enter before him.

“Why?” She had been looking forward to sitting at a more prominent table in the Great Hall.

“Because we need to talk about our plans,” James said heavily.

9

James suspected Gunnilde was disappointed she would not be mingling with her fellow courtiers in the Great Hall at supper, however she accepted his pronouncement without argument.

“Will Neville come back for supper?” she asked, brushing past him as she entered their rooms.

“No,” he replied. “He won’t be interrupting us. He prefers the company of others and never takes his meals up here if he can help it.”

“Hence the Ashdowns,” Gunnilde murmured thoughtfully as she walked over to the fire and plunked herself down before it.

James sent her a quizzical look. “The Ashdowns?” he repeated.

“Your neighbors across the corridor.”

“Yes, I know who they are, I was just surprised that you did.”

“You share your manservant, Bennett, with them, do you not?”

“Oh yes.” She had a good memory for trivialities, he would give her that.

“I’ll just go and find Bennett,” he said, first checking the bedrooms and finding the fires unlit. Undoubtedly, he was over with the Ashdowns again. Once he had located him, Bennett returned with the utmost reluctance and set about lighting the fires. James busied himself setting out ink and parchment on the table. He glanced at the empty wood bucket.

“We will need more firewood, Bennett.”

“So soon?” Bennett stood up and examined the small pile of coins on the mantel. “That’s the last of them allocated for this month,” he said pointedly.