Page 72 of A Most Forgettable Girl

“Next you will be telling me he gives alms freely and is a friend to injured animals.”

“Well—” Gunnilde started but Viscount Bardulf held up one elegant hand.

“Please, no more. I cannot bear it. And now I must hasten away and tell Jane of our budding friendship, so that she will forgive and reward me accordingly. Really, she has been holding me at arm’s length these past few days and it has been very hard to bear.”

“Because you had offended me?” Gunnilde was startled.

“Yes, quite frankly. There is something very terrible about incurring my sweet dove’s disappointment.” He winced. “Somehow, you know, it is far, far worse than her wrath.”

These words dismissed any fears she might have had that Lady Jane might be displeased before they had even formed. It also answered her unspoken question of how their friendship would be mutually beneficial in any way, for Gunnilde knew her own social consequence to be far below that of Viscount Bardulf. He had befriended her purely to appease his wife. She found she could live with that.

22

James lowered the sheaf of papers he had been holding. “You and Viscount Bardulf have decided to be friends?” he repeated, frowning. “Why?”

“He said it would be mutually beneficial,” Gunnilde explained. “He said we could gossip with one another with perfect impunity and count on each other for high praise before others.”

While James pondered this, she added, “After he spoke to me, Osanna Spencer and Patience Stanhope both condescended to head my way and make polite conversation for a while. They were really very nice and complimented me on my tippets.”

“How nice of them,” James said sarcastically. He was not sure how he felt about Viscount Bardulf consorting with his wife. Bardulf liked clothes and shoes and making an exhibition of himself. What if Gunnilde found she liked the flamboyant viscount better than she did her own husband? The thought was a disquieting one.

Gunnilde drew her toe across the floorboard. She was wearing her flimsy court shoes and through the cutouts he could see her stockings today were of brightest yellow. “Do you have any objection to my being friends with Lord Bardulf?” she asked. “If you do not want me to, then I will, of course, decline the offer.”

James huffed out a breath. “There is no need,” he said shortly. “I have not the smallest objection, why should I?” His query came out more belligerently than he had intended, but Gunnilde did not seem to notice, for she relaxed and sent him a grateful smile. Perhaps it was not an outright lie. He did want to please her after all.

It should not be so difficult to earn a wife’s approbation, James reflected. Though, perhaps others found such things easier than he seemed to. “I suppose you can now invite him and Lady Bardulf to your banquet,” he ventured.

Gunnilde gasped, looking up with shining eyes. “Of course! What a good idea!” She beamed at him. “Oh, well done, James!” Stupid to bask in such praise, but he could not seem to help himself. “Wait, I must start a list,” she said, reaching for ink and quill.

“Perhaps not right now,” he reasoned. “We said we would meet your brother and his friends in the Great Hall for supper.”

“Oh, is it time to go down already?” They both walked toward the door and awkwardly halted before it. James made a grab for the latch and held it open for her. “Thank you,” she quavered. Outside in the corridor, she looked rather flustered taking his arm. Why was she so on edge? Usually, she was the one who made these small gestures easy while he was the one who hesitated and turned awkward.

“Did you spend much time with Her Majesty today?” he enquired, as they started walking.

“Oh, er, yes. She was very kind and apologized for overlooking me for the past couple of days. She has not been feeling quite herself, she said, and that she has been prioritizing the company of her married ladies of late. So, it was through no fault of my own that I have been excluded.”

“You are also a married lady,” he pointed out, unable to stop himself.

“Oh yes, but so newly that she perhaps does not think that I count.”

He frowned. “I wonder that Mistress Bartree has not also been left out in the cold, in that case.”

“Well, I would not be surprised if she has been,” Gunnilde replied. “She has been attached to the Queen’s side at all times, but I fancy she has been rather ignored. She has looked bleaker than ever these past few days.”

“Hmmm.”

“What?” Gunnilde asked, looking up at him with flattering attention. “What are you thinking of, James?”

“It’s just...did not Neville say the Queen was well-known to favor her unwed ladies? I wonder what has changed of late that she is now seeking out the married ones among their number?”

She nodded slowly. “To be sure, it is something of a puzzle,” she agreed. “In any case, she said things will be back to normal soon and that I could come and help her dress on the morrow, which is a high privilege indeed.”

Something about her manner seemed a little off, James thought. Surely, she should be aglow with excitement at this new development? Yet her smile looked forced and her manner strangely offhand in the retelling.

She must merely be pretending to be unaffected, he decided. Her jitteriness this eve was probably a betrayal of her true feelings. Deep down, she was nervous about further advancement and assuming new duties to the Queen. It was the only explanation that made sense. How to give her husbandly comfort, that was the question.

Clearing his throat, he reached across to pat the hand resting on his arm. Gunnilde’s gaze flew to meet his own. “Do not worry,” he said, hoping he sounded like he knew what he was talking about. “Her Majesty is sure to be pleased with your attentions,” he said, wishing he sounded smoother in his assurances.