Page 53 of A Most Forgettable Girl

“And how old were you?”

“Sixteen. His cousin approached my friend Muriel, and Ted and I fell in step behind them. We started talking as young people do, about our likes and dislikes. I don’t remember much about him except he was very fond of mulled cider and had an amiable manner.”

“Then what happened?”

“We talked some more and ate hot pies. He bought me a ribbon from a peddler and I...”

“Repaid him with a kiss?” he suggested. She laughed and nodded. “What happened to the ribbon?”

“I wore it till it fell apart.”

“Hmmmm.” He was not sure how he felt about that. “What about market day?”

“It was much the same, only this time I was eighteen. We had traveled to Greater Derring in a large party to attend the May Day market. I was invited to dance around the May pole with the other maidens.”

“Your friend Muriel was with you?”

“Yes, and a few others besides. We all danced and afterward we tarried awhile in the town square.”

James looked at her face, imagining her four years younger and dressed in white. “What was your swain’s name this time?” he asked, careful to keep his expression impassive.

“Dickon,” she replied promptly. “He was there with his uncle to buy a horse. I think my friend Rachel was his first choice in truth, but she picked another, so he made do with me.”

“Dickon sounds like an idiot,” he said dismissively.

“Yes,” she agreed. “He was a good kisser though.” Her eyes dropped to dwell on James’s lips a moment.

“Was he?” Why did his voice sound like that? He cleared his throat. “What about his kiss was good?”

“Well, he did not seem in any great hurry about it. It was as though he had all the time in the world.”

So...she liked being kissed slowly, James thought. That was worth knowing. “And what about the feast day?”

“The what?” She looked flustered.

“The kiss you had at a feast day.”

“Oh, that.” Gunnilde’s eyes averted, and she turned rather pink. “That was, well, a bit different.” Curiously, after being so open about the first two kisses she seemed reluctant to discuss the third.

“It was someone you knew?” he guessed and heard her faint gasp.

“How did you—?”

“Who was it?” he demanded, propping himself up on his elbow so their noses practically touched. “Conway?”

Gunnilde sighed. “Yes,” she admitted reluctantly. “You’re far too good at guessing games.”

“When and how was it?”

“James...”

“Tell me,” he insisted. “If I had any experience to speak of, I would share it with you.”

This caught her attention, and her lips formed a silent oh. She took a deep breath. “Very well. I was nineteen and it was somehow...both better and worse.”

“Better in what way?” he asked immediately.

“Well, I suppose because I had always been invested in my future husband, as I thought of him then. I believed him to be a significant person in my life. After all, the other two I had no expectation of ever seeing again.”