Page 86 of A Most Forgettable Girl

Gunnilde gave a start. “What do you mean?” To her embarrassment she felt her face flame bright red.

His eyebrows shot up. “Are you not an acknowledged champion of lovers? I quite understood you espoused the cause of the lovelorn in the palace.”

“Oh.” Gunnilde relaxed. For one horrible moment, she had thought he was asking if she had managed to secure her own husband’s affections. “I had to give all that up when I married,” she explained. “James did not think it fitting that his wife should be instrumental in such a role.”

“Beneath his dignity, was it?” he asked dryly. Gunnilde shrugged. “And how is Sir James navigating married life?”

Gunnilde thought fleetingly of James passed out cold the night before and shivered. The whole thing had given her the most awful shock. “He is coping remarkably well,” she said, lifting her chin.

Viscount Bardulf’s eyes gleamed. “Is that so? I thought I caught a glimpse of him in a common tavern the other evening but perhaps I was mistaken. It certainly does not sound like something Sir James would partake in.”

Gunnilde’s eyes widened. “Did you not notice his companion?” she asked.

A smile played about his mouth. “I hope I am not so indiscreet as to speculate on her identity.”

“It was me,” she said bluntly, in case he had thought James had been consorting with some other woman. He laughed. “I am not remotely discreet,” Gunnilde admitted. “I think that is why the Queen likes me.”

He looked thoughtful. “You could be right.”

Gunnilde frowned. “I wonder that you did not introduce yourself.”

“I did not think you would appreciate me interrupting the two of you in that moment. You seemed very...occupied with one another.” His eyes held a distinct gleam, and it occurred to Gunnilde that he might have seen James fondling her feet. She cleared her throat. “I take it that Lady Bardulf was not with you.”

He shook his head. “My Jane would not care for such an establishment. She is a jewel which shines brightest in the right setting.”

Gunnilde considered this. “Lady Bardulf is very lovely.”

“She is,” he responded at once. “She is my greatest treasure.”

The soft way he said it almost took Gunnilde’s breath away. “How did she win your love?” she heard herself ask before she could stop herself. “I ask for academic reasons, you understand,” she added quickly. “Though I no longer dabble in affairs of the heart for others, I confess it is still an arena that interests me.” Stop talking, Gunnilde, she upbraided herself.

He tipped his head to one side. “In truth, Jane stole my heart before I was even aware of its existence. It was quite disconcerting at the time. But she sustains its survival outside of my chest through a hundred daily gestures.”

“Such as?” Gunnilde asked, clasping her hands together.

He gave her a considering look. “You are fond of apparel, are you not? Why don’t you try getting a gown made up with some device from your husband’s coat of arms,” he said, surprising her greatly. “Jane surprised me once by having serpentine devices beaded into her bodice.”

The memory seemed to carry him away for a moment and he smiled dreamily to himself before coming back down to earth. “It was most efficacious. Now, tell me, what beast does your husband’s family adopt for their crest? Some domestic animal perhaps with dull plumage and an uninspired appearance.”

Gunnilde eyed him sternly. “You are quite wrong, my lord, for the chivalric beast of the Wycliffes is a unicorn.”

“A unicorn, no less!” he exclaimed, looking impressed. “That is certainly far more imaginative than I should have supposed. Well, henceforth, Lady Wycliffe, you must have your mittens embroidered with unicorns, your slippers emblazoned with unicorns, your buttons engraved with unicorns, your...” He paused as though struck by some notion. “I have it! You must affect a unicorn’s horn as part of your hair arrangement! Only think how striking it would be! And you are particularly known for your horns, are you not?”

“A unicorn’s horn?” Gunnilde repeated skeptically. “How do you imagine I would go about affecting such a thing?”

“I have not the smallest notion, but you are a resourceful woman and could doubtless come up with something.”

“I think I prefer the idea of unicorn mittens and slippers,” she confessed. “Perhaps I could get some embroidered on my sleeves or bodice.”

“What about these things?” Viscount Bardulf suggested, flipping one of her snowy white tippets. “Could they not be adorned?”

“My tippets?”

“Is that what they are called?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Do you not know? But...how funny! They originated here in Aphrany with you, did they not?”

“With me?”