Page 59 of A Most Forgettable Girl

Gunnilde bit back the words that trembled on her lips. She had once thought James the same. Perhaps she had misjudged him. His hand still rested at her waist. It made her feel slightly breathless.

“I hope she does not write to your mother claiming you threw Constance over on the merest whim,” she whispered. “I think Lord Gilchrist believes you cast duty to the winds in marrying me.”

“There are doubtless rumors circulating,” James replied, sounding unconcerned. “It is unlikely many of them will be relayed to our faces.”

“You know what we ought to have done, James!” she said with sudden inspiration. “We should have invited them to our banquet!” She whipped around, dislodging James’s hand, but the Gilchrists were already too far away to hurry after. Gunnilde tutted. “It did not occur to me at the time but doubtless that would smooth Lady Gilchrist’s ruffled feathers.”

James shrugged. He did not look particularly taken with the idea. “If you have not already sent out your invites, then you can simply add them to your list.”

“No, of course I have not sent them out, for I wanted to consult with you first. You will surely have some friends and acquaintances you wish to invite along,” she said encouragingly. “Tell me, what do you think to taking the Squires’ Revels for our theme? The Revels are held on the twelfth and our party is the tenth, so we will practically be celebrating on the eve.”

James shrugged. “I thought your aim in throwing the party was to lord your new status over your former friends,” he said dryly.

Gunnilde flushed. “’Tis not just for that purpose!” she stressed. “I also want to formally introduce my brother and his friends to court and... Well, it will be the first event we host together as a married couple, will it not? You must certainly invite Master Gregory and his family, and anyone else you see fit.”

“Very well,” James answered. “I will consider the matter.”

Gunnilde looked relieved. “I should not wish to bear sole responsibility for the occasion being a success,” she admitted frankly. “The likelihood of the Conways or anyone else turning up on such short notice is extremely slim. At least now we have Earl and Countess Vawdrey as well as the Queen. That means we have prestigious guests enough in attendance.”

She glanced across at James, but he was frowning again. He did not seem keen to play the host, and she supposed she could not blame him. “I suppose we ought to be making our way to the poetry reading,” she prompted him.

17

“Are you sure about this?” James asked Gunnilde as they filed arm in arm into the small chamber for the afternoon’s poetry reading. “Last chance to flee.”

She nodded, looking resolute. “I am quite determined,” she said bravely. James knew she had been disappointed to have had only a couple of minutes conversation with the Queen that morning. Queen Armenal had been far too occupied catching up with Countess Vawdrey to give his wife much attention.

His wife. The phrase echoed in his mind. It was surprising how easy it was to think of her now in such terms. She was wearing one of her dresses with the slits all over the bodices again, showing the substance of her undergown. He supposed he must be getting used to her strange clothing choices by now for it barely gave him pause.

They found a bench toward the back of the room and settled there side by side, ensuring there was space enough between them and the next cluster of courtiers. He found he did not mind at all when Gunnilde shuffled up the bench to sit as close to him as possible.

“Your friends are here,” Gunnilde murmured, nodding discreetly in the direction of the other side of the room. “Lord Sniffington and Sir Puffed Up with His Own Consequence.”

He smirked. “They are not my friends,” he answered, lowering his head and matching her low tone. “No more than Harriet Portstanley is yours.”

She tipped her head to one side. “It turns out I am fonder of Harriet than I first realized,” she confessed in a whisper. “And of Winifred Hawes. I should have listened to Eden and given them a fair chance. I mean to make it up to them, now I am in the position to.”

“Oh? Does that mean you are inviting them to our banquet?” She nodded. “Well, I am not fond of Sniffington and Puffed Up,” he whispered back. “I do not care for their society, and I shall extend them no invite.” She laughed, and James noticed several heads turning their way.

He decided to ignore them. Let them stare, if they had nothing better to do. The first poet stood up and made his way to the middle of the room. Unfurling his scroll, he launched into his verse which told of a pair of seabirds, who hovered over calm oceans some days and choppy, turbulent waters another.

Verse after verse labored the metaphor as the pair of birds withstood the elements, always keeping the other in their sights and building their nest high up on the cliffs away from harm. James cast several glances at Gunnilde as the verses went on, for she wore a ferocious frown of concentration upon her face.

Finally, the poet concluded, “Oh, that we in our endeavors had the resilience of these poor creatures, buffeted as we are by life’s storms, then lulled with its blue skies.” A smattering of polite applause greeted his closing line, and James found Gunnilde regarding him expectantly. “Well?” she hissed, jabbing him in the ribs. “What does he mean by all that?”

James was slightly taken aback. She had not been exaggerating; Gunnilde, it seemed, struggled with even the simplest of poetry. “The last line gave away the poet’s true intent,” he replied quietly. “He compares the struggle of man with the habits of seabirds.”

She nodded. “And what is the significance of them being a pair? He said they built a nest. Is he speaking, then, of married life?”

“Quite possibly.”

“So then, what does he recommend we do? Live next to the sea? Remain ever vigilant of the daily movements of our spouse?”

James considered this. “I do not know that he purports to have any answers. He merely reflects that in some respect, dumb creatures have better instincts than we.”

Gunnilde looked dissatisfied. “If he does not have any wisdom to impart, then what pray was the point of his poem?”

“Maybe he just likes seabirds.”