Page 61 of A Most Forgettable Girl

“Well...” She bit her lip. “It must be a little or you would not have leaped to such an interpretation.”

She looked so apologetic that James had the strangest impulse to laugh. “Did not someone else tell you that Mr. Shadbolt’s poetry was lewd?” he enquired reasonably. “Do they also have a dirty mind?”

“Who, Constance?” Doubt had clearly crept into her mind at so unlikely a possibility. “I hardly think so. Unless...” She looked down and started absently pleating her skirts.

“Unless what?” he asked, nudging her foot with his.

“Well, unless highly respectable people have secretly unwholesome minds,” she said primly, rendering James quite speechless.

18

It was crowded in the Great Hall. The high table was not occupied, so it looked as though there was to be no royal presence this evening. Gunnilde felt a stab of disappointment, but this was quickly dispelled when she noticed how much busier and noisier it was than usual. It seemed that a good few more tables had been inserted into the throng.

“All the tournament rabble are turning up,” Neville said cheerfully. “Now tourney season is done for the winter.”

Tournament rabble? Gunnilde was surprised by this remark, for were not knights lauded wherever they went? Certainly, they were welcomed with open arms at Tranton Vale, where her father considered it an honor to host them. Something whizzed past her ear and hit an unfortunate lad to her right smack in the face. Luckily it was only a bread roll.

A roar of laughter went up from a nearby table, and James towed her in the opposite direction. “We’ll sit here, I think,” he said, glancing about with a hunted expression. “I can find no quieter spot.”

Gunnilde, Kit, Cuthbert, and Neville sat themselves down. She wondered if Hal would turn up anytime soon. He had returned to his quarters to see if his mentor had any tasks for him to perform before supper. Maybe Sir Ned had him polishing boots or running errands down at the stables.

“It is certainly very crowded tonight,” she said, noticing a bunch of ladies-in-waiting at the next table who were tutting and primming their mouths to see such antics.

“Disgraceful!” Millicent Everidge pronounced loudly to her neighbor Lucy Melvin, but for all that, Gunnilde thought her eyes were trained avidly on the newcomers, and there was a good deal of whispering going on. None of their number thought to look across at Gunnilde, she noticed, or to send a nod or a wave of acknowledgment her way.

She could not see Estrilda nor Mistress Bartree and supposed they must be dining with family or other friends tonight. Presumably the Queen was dining privately with the King. A servant halted beside her, setting goblets and wine down on their table for them.

Gunnilde had scarcely thanked him when she heard her name shouted. It was Hal, making his way toward them, waving and looking animated. Though he had spotted them, he still appeared to be looking for someone else in the hall.

“What are you waiting for?” Kit quipped as Hal halted beside their table. “A written invitation?”

“I am just looking out for Sir Ned,” Hal said, swiveling round. “He said he would join us anon.” Gunnilde almost choked on her wine. James produced a handkerchief, and she dabbed it to her lips.

“Keep it,” he muttered when she tried to return it.

“Sir Ned won’t join us tonight,” Cuthbert said with quiet confidence as he poured out three more cups of wine. He looked straight at Gunnilde. “You need have no fear of that, my lady.”

Gunnilde felt herself flush. Why did Cuthbert have to be so damned perceptive? A horrible suspicion crossed her mind that Cuthbert might know something of the embarrassing occurrence at Vawdrey Keep. He was Roland Vawdrey’s squire after all. Could Sir Roland have repeated something of the event that occurred in September? Surely not.

She did not think for one minute that Eden’s husband would have pieced together what happened, with her running off to court afterward. To Sir Roland they would have been two separate events entirely. Half the time she was sure he would forget her name if not for Eden briskly reminding him of it.

No, he would have forgotten all about his friend’s insensitive remarks that day, she reassured herself. He certainly would never dream of repeating them in front of his squire. Would he have repeated them in front of his wife though? She considered this a moment. This was a good deal more likely, for husband and wife were very close. Somehow though, Gunnilde could not quite believe it in this instance.

Knowing Eden’s directness, she had to believe her friend would have addressed it with her frankly and at once. She would certainly have demanded that Sir Ned apologize, and as no apology had been forthcoming while she remained under their roof, she could not believe that Eden had ever been apprised of the matter. Reassured, she relaxed once more. No, Cuthbert must be acting on uncanny instinct alone.

“Why do you say that Sir Ned will not come?” Hal grumbled. “I tell you, I heard him say so with my own ears.”

“He is not coming,” Cuthbert repeated sagely.

Hal huffed and rolled his eyes. “Kindly drop the prophesying for one night,” he begged but he sat down all the same, as though he took it for fact. “Come, Dustin, sit on my lap,” he coaxed his little dog. “I can’t eat soup with you teetering on my forearm.”

“Is it soup?” Gunnilde asked, for now the specter of Sir Ned was dispelled, she found she was hungry.

“Aye, root vegetable and salted bacon, if I’m not mistaken,” Hal replied, for he had a keen nose to match his appetite. Moments later, a large tureen of soup was placed down upon their table, and the servant started ladling it out and passing it around.

“Do you take your dog everywhere with you, Payne?” Neville asked critically as Hal dropped a piece of bacon into Dustin’s tiny waiting jaws.

“I do,” Hal responded promptly. “What else is a dog’s purpose, if not companionship?”