Page 2 of A Most Forgettable Girl

Optimistically, she had thought with such a well-connected friend as Viscountess Vawdrey, new and exciting doorways would become opened to her. Instead, it was the same old story. They simply slammed shut in her stupid, provincial face.

Here she was four years later, scorned and found wanting, yet again. She would never, ever put herself in such a humiliating position again. From now on, she would stick to the role of confidante and matchmaker. It suited her far better. Flinging her pillow bearer across the room, she collapsed onto the bed and succumbed to a hearty bout of tears. When the storm was over, she rolled onto her back and stared listlessly up at the timbered beams above her.

She would face facts squarely. She, Gunnilde, was not some dainty lady to be offering her token to the premier knights of the land. Clearly marriage was a lost cause for one as stout of limb and strong of tooth as she. She needed new ambitions, she told herself with a doleful sniff. Ambitions that did not include matrimony, but what else was there?

Even as fed up as she felt currently, she knew a nunnery held no appeal for her. She sat up. Eden had promised to introduce her at court. And Gunnilde had kept putting it off. She had so much preferred visiting her friend in her home, and spending time with her baby goddaughter, Agnes.

But, after all, she had always wanted to meet the Queen. She wiped her eyes. Eden always insisted that Gunnilde would benefit from some of the many opportunities at court. She suffered a moment’s misgiving. But had Eden just meant the opportunity to meet eligible suitors? No, she thought, she wronged her friend. Eden spoke of court as a place of learning and culture, a place where intellect could be broadened and like minds discovered.

Before she had married, Eden had resided chiefly at court and been a member of all kinds of societies and even a patroness of the arts. She had been one of the Queen’s favorite ladies-in-waiting, no less. Gunnilde’s heart quickened. Could she aspire to climb such lofty heights? She had never been much of a scholar, but Eden always maintained she had much to offer. Was she right? Could Gunnilde catch the Queen’s eye, and become one of her attendants? Her pulse raced. There was only one way to find out...

1

Two Months Later

The Royal Court at Aphrany

“Who the hells is that girl anyway?” James Wycliffe asked his brother irritably.

“Girl?” Neville glanced around, smothering his yawn. “Which girl?”

“The one with all that tow-colored hair!”

Neville eyed him with surprise. “Not like you to notice girls,” he remarked, then took a look in the direction his brother was glowering. “She seems to be some connection of the Portstanleys. I think her name is Payne,” he said, the effort of remembrance causing a pucker between his brows.

“Appropriate,” James remarked acidly, causing his brother to look even more intrigued.

“Why? What has she done to irk you?” Neville directed a puzzled glance her way. “Looks an inoffensive sort of girl to me.”

Inoffensive? James thought with a hollow laugh. Nothing could be further from the truth! “I suspect she has some personal vendetta against me,” he muttered.

“Good Lord!” Neville looked even more startled. “Why should she?” He turned about to give the girl another look. “She has the reputation for being a most sympathetic listener. I’m sure I’m thinking of the right one. Someone was speaking of her only the other day. Said Mistress Payne had been disappointed in love at a young age or some such thing and now devotes herself to helping spurned lovers.”

“Disappointed in love?” James echoed incredulously. “What rot. And as for a sympathetic listener, I’d wager she is merely collecting gossip.” Neville seemed amused by his cynicism. “Every time I try to pay court to Constance lately, she’s there, sticking her oar in and getting in the way.”

Neville gave a choked laugh. “Perhaps she’s vying for your attention, brother. You know how the ladies love to sigh over the perfection of your profile.”

James gave an impatient gesture. “It’s not that at all! The way she looks at me... Well, let us just say it is far from admiring.”

Neville guffawed. “Disapproves of you, does she? I wonder why? Your conduct has always been disappointingly staid.” He dug James in the side. “Found you out in some secret dishonor, has she?”

To his annoyance, James found himself coloring hotly. “Of course not!” he snapped, but the damage was done. Neville was intrigued. He should never have brought him along to this gathering. He could never depend on his younger brother to behave himself.

“Do you think that’s all her real hair?” Neville mused.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know ladies will sometimes employ a little artifice in these matters. With hair that color, at least half of it could be flax.” He laughed at James’s startled expression. “You really know so very little about women, brother.”

“Whereas you know altogether too much,” James retorted. “Who have you been talking to?”

“Did you not hear the Bishop of Badsbury bemoaning the fraudulent practice from his pulpit only last week? Fie, for shame! To think that I would pay closer attention to his holiness than you. Truly our roles have switched of late, you ogling women and me listening to bishops.”

James dismissed this with the contempt it deserved and returned to his current concern. “I think she is trying to put a spoke in the wheel,” he said, dropping his voice, “regarding Constance.”

For the first time, Neville looked alarmed. “No, really? Your betrothal? But why would she want to do a thing like that?”

“I don’t know, but I have a...bad feeling about her.”