Page 6 of A Most Forgettable Girl

Constance cleared her throat. “I am so pleased to see you and your brother could make the lecture,” she twittered. Really, if Constance was not careful, she would be losing her reputation for composure, for she looked quite rattled. “I was afraid you might miss it, and Master Mullins sets off on his travels on the morrow not to return until spring.”

Sir James appeared to consider her words with a frown. “Why would I miss it?” he asked with what Gunnilde thought a most ungallant abruptness.

Constance blinked. “I had heard that Sir Neville was indisposed yesterday,” she replied in a low, sorrowful voice. “As he so often is.”

His dark brows snapped together, and he gave a short callous laugh. “Oh, you mean with one of his maladies. We are fortunate that Neville was not afflicted today.” His words dripped with sarcasm, and Gunnilde could not help but marvel that Constance could prefer such a suitor to earnest Sir Douglas, who was so open and artless.

Despite his good looks, Sir James was clearly in possession of a heartless, unsympathetic nature. “You are not a fond brother, Sir James, evidently,” Gunnilde remarked disapprovingly.

Constance’s eyes widened, and Sir James turned his gaze upon her again. “You hold perhaps an idealized view of brothers, Mistress Payne,” he said with a sneer. “Not possessing one yourself.”

“Quite the contrary on both points, I assure you,” Gunnilde responded at once. Sir James stared at her, as though stunned by her contradicting him. “I both possess a brother and precious few illusions about his character. It does not alter my affection for him one whit.”

There was a pointed silence as they sized one another up. To Gunnilde’s surprise, she noticed his focus dwell a beat too long on the bodice of her gown. She glanced down, wondering if her modifications had gone awry. She had been rather enthusiastic about taking the shears to it.

The “pinking” of one’s sleeves and bodice was said to be the very latest in Lasconian fashion, and Gunnilde had been keen to get ahead of the crowd. Had the new seams burst? But no, everything looked as it should. Or at least, as Gunnilde envisaged it should after hearing of the fashion.

Constance cleared her throat. “Alas, I have no brother,” she sighed, striving to fill the hostile silence. “I have often lamented the fact.”

“If you had a brother, you would hardly be so impressive an heiress,” Sir James replied absently, his gaze still on Gunnilde. Constance drew in a sharp breath at so tactless a remark, and Sir James tore his gaze from Gunnilde to turn to his affianced with a look of some dismay.

Belatedly, it seemed to occur to him that he had blundered. A harassed look entered his eyes, and Gunnilde strove to hide her satisfaction when instead of smoothing his betrothed’s ruffled feathers, Sir James made things rather worse by withdrawing even further into his habitual aloofness.

Constance, two bright pink spots appearing on her cheeks, responded in kind, and who could blame her? The man had as good as announced his attraction to her lay solely in her fortune. He had not one chivalrous bone in his body, and finally Constance seemed to have noticed as much.

“Well!” Constance muttered as Sir James retreated, cold and stilted till the very last. “Perhaps you were right,” she said bitterly. “Perhaps I have been misled by a handsome face. That remark...” She bit her lip angrily. “It is not one I can forgive in a hurry!”

“I know,” Gunnilde murmured, lowering her eyes to hide her brimming glee. At last, Constance would give sweet Sir Douglas a chance! “Sir James is clever to be sure, but as for his polished address, I am afraid I have never seen much evidence of it. He has always seemed to me a calculating and rather cold sort of man.” She paused to let this sink in. “How very different he is to a stalwart knight such as Sir Douglas, whose regard a lady might depend upon,” she concluded brightly.

Constance looked much struck by her words. “Yes,” she pondered slowly. “Yes, I think you may be right after all. I believe I will go back now. I have...much to consider.”

Inwardly rejoicing, Gunnilde retired from the field.

2

Three Days Later

“Gunnilde, what have you done now?” Harriet Portstanley hovered in the doorway looking pale as milk and practically wringing her hands.

Gunnilde turned from the looking glass where she was trying to achieve the “ram’s horn” hairstyle she had heard so much about recently. Sadly, having heard only a thirdhand account of it, her efforts were largely guesswork. She regarded Harriet blankly. “Naught that I am aware,” she said, lowering her hair comb. “Why?”

“You must have! Mother is simply beside herself!”

“Well,” Gunnilde ventured cautiously, “I did not attend that talk on black and yellow bile that she recommended, but she knew about that for I told her as much at supper last night.”

Harriet waved this aside. “It’s not that! She’s used to you skipping improving lectures by now. No, it’s something else this time. Something far worse!” Her voice swooped low with horror.

Gunnilde considered this as she thrust another couple of hairpins into her rolled up braids. In her experience it was better to be safe than sorry when it came to the potential of her hair experimentations to tumble down. “I really cannot think,” she admitted. “Shall I come now and see what vexes her?”

“It’s a little late for that!” Harriet’s voice wobbled. “There’s a royal attendant waiting to escort you at once to the Queen’s presence chamber.”

“The Queen’s presence chamber,” Gunnilde repeated in astonishment. She had never penetrated further than the outer rooms previously. “Really?”

“You need not look so gratified! It is hardly an honor when you are called there in disgrace!”

Gunnilde’s careering spirits plummeted at once. “Disgrace?”

“Why pray do you imagine Mother is so put out?” Harriet asked, sounding exasperated. “It is one thing that you are not high-minded, Gunnilde, but it is quite another to—to court scandal and dishonor as you do!” Poor Harriet’s voice cracked over the last words and she gave a suppressed sob.