Page 91 of A Most Forgettable Girl

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James rushed her into bed once he had helped her with her fastenings. After unpinning her veil, he urged her to simply leave her hair as it was.

“I rather think you like my scandalous hair arrangements these days, husband,” she ventured, sliding under the sheets in her thin shift.

“Oh, I do,” he murmured without shame as he stripped down to his braies.

“What would you say to one horn, if it was central to my head, instead of one at each side?” she enquired doubtfully. “Only, personally I think it might look a little odd.”

“I am not good at picturing such things,” he admitted. “But if you thought it looked well, then I am sure I would agree.” He plunged his hands into the basin of cold water and set about washing at a brisk pace.

“I suppose it would not look much stranger than a steeple hennin,” she mused. “Still, I think embroidering unicorns on garments would be a good deal easier.”

“Embroidering unicorns?” he echoed, casting aside the soap flakes and snatching up a drying cloth.

“For my outfit for the banquet,” she explained. “Only fancy, the Queen ever so kindly decided to make me a present of a new gown for the occasion. I was telling her my ideas and she insisted her seamstresses were the only ones who could fulfil such an order at such short notice.”

“And what will this gown be like?” James asked, crossing the room to join her.

“Purple velvet over an undergown of cloth of gold,” Gunnilde responded in an awed voice. “Does it not sound very grand?”

“And will you have slashes in the velvet to reveal the gold cloth beneath?” he asked.

“That would be my preference, but I do not know if the Queen’s dressmakers are familiar with such new techniques.”

“When do you meet with them?”

“The day after tomorrow. Can I borrow one of your family crests to lend to them?”

He nodded. “Maybe we should arrange for my outfit to match yours,” he said, climbing under the covers and taking her in his arms. He sighed against her hair. “I arranged for a tailor to come to our rooms tomorrow morn at nine.”

“Did you really?” She sounded pleased. “He must certainly get to work on a new doublet for you. Purple would look well on you, trimmed with gold. But then, everything looks good on you,” she sighed.

“Do you think so?” He did not care what he wore, so long as she was satisfied with it.

“Yes, it used to vex me, but now I take pride in the fact you are the handsomest man at court. Estrilda recommended a needlewoman to me this afternoon and I am to give her a pair of my tippets tomorrow for her to adorn. She was not sure about embroidering slippers as they must use much smaller needles for shoe leather.”

“We will likely have to visit a cordwainer for that level of expertise,” he said dubiously. “Do you recall the name of the one who made your favorite slippers?”

“Yes, but there is not time to get a whole new pair of shoes made up. The banquet is only just over a week away. In truth, I have been very remiss over the arrangements,” she said, sounding remorseful.

“Well, we have been busy,” he pointed out. “A lot has happened over the past couple of weeks.”

“True,” she agreed, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

“I also visited a jeweler this morning to order you a new posy ring.”

“Did you?” Gunnilde sounded pleased, then her face fell. “Oh, but Mistress Bartree told me today that she does not care to have her ring returned after all.” She lifted her hand to gaze at the gold band. “It seems it holds no positive association for her. She said I can keep it and welcome.”

James shrugged. “There is nothing to prevent you from wearing two rings. After all...” He reached across to take her hand and turn it so he could contemplate the ring. “This was the one used at our ceremony. I cannot show the love I owe,” he read aloud. “The inscription is on the outside of the ring.” He frowned.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“For some reason, I thought it was on the inside. The one I commissioned for you has the writing inside.”

“Oh, well, that sounds nice. Like a secret betwixt the two of us. Did you have the same thing inscribed?” she asked curiously.

“No.” He flushed. “In truth I do not know if you will care for the inscription I went with,” he admitted uneasily. “It was an impulsive choice.”