Page 71 of A Most Forgettable Girl

He frowned. “Is it possible you think I consider you stupid or clumsy? For I assure you I do not.” She gave a faint gasp at this, turning to look at him. He smiled at her, and she turned back to face the dais where the Queen sat with his wife, the Lady Bardulf, while Magnatrude Bartree hovered behind them. “It is the only explanation for your being so offended,” he added.

“What about people with overlarge teeth or imperfect figures, do you imagine them contemptible also?” she persisted, a nasty suspicion in her head.

“Certainly not. Why should I?” She shook her head, unwilling to elaborate on the subject. “I know a good many people with unfortunate looks and I do not hold that against them. After all, no one can help an unfortunate physiognomy.”

“You lay so much emphasis on beauty that I do not know whether to believe you.”

“In my own appearance, you mean? While it is true, I hold myself to the highest standards, I do not expect others to achieve my own dizzy heights. It would be unrealistic.”

“James reaches them though, does he not?” A look of annoyance flashed over his face, and Gunnilde felt embarrassingly pleased with herself. “Without even trying,” she added calmly.

“Now that, Lady Wycliffe, was just plain cruel.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “You were annoying me.”

A smile lit up his face. “Come, let us be friends,” he said suddenly, taking her quite by surprise.

“Friends?” she repeated in startled accents.

“Yes, for I have decided I like you, and really I think it would be mutually beneficial.”

“How so?” Any budding pleasure she had felt disappeared as a sudden suspicion crossed her mind. “Oh, you just mean because it would irritate James.”

“That is not what I meant, though I admit that would not undesirable. Would he really be so irritated by our budding friendship?”

She considered this. “I’m not sure but probably not. In truth, he does not really understand why you dislike him so much. When he does think of it, he is mostly just bewildered by it.”

“Of course he is,” he sighed.

“When I told him my suspicions, he dismissed them out of hand, saying men do not think like that.”

Bardulf laughed. “Such a pretty innocent,” he said, shaking his head. “I do think it is a good thing he has a clever wife, for his sake.”

Gunnilde felt a rush of pleasure that he should think her clever. “If we were to be friends, what would such a friendship entail?” she asked cautiously.

“Seeking one another out in a crowded room,” he answered at once. “Talking of our wider acquaintance in a wholly abandoned manner and in the perfect understanding that we may lower our guards around each other without repercussion. Making it known far and wide that we hold one another in the highest esteem.”

Gunnilde’s eyes widened. “Really?” Try as she might, she could see no downside to such an arrangement; indeed, it would likely serve her extremely well if she could count on Viscount Bardulf’s friendship, for he was both popular and influential. She glanced about the room and found almost every single lady-in-waiting had their eyes trained upon them. They either looked envious or wildly curious. “In that case, my lord, I accept.”

“Good,” he said simply. “And now, quickly, for I need to be somewhere else, tell me as a friend. Is Wycliffe really so negligent of his appearance as I suspect or is he simply a shockingly bad dresser?”

“He spends no time on it. He does not even possess a looking glass,” she confided.

He looked appalled. “But this is even worse than I suspected,” he said hoarsely. “How does he arrange his hair?”

“At most, he drags a comb through it,” she answered.

He closed his eyes as though pained. “I suspected as much but still it rankles.” Gunnilde eyed him sympathetically. “I once tried to start a rumor that he had scrawny calves,” he admitted, “but even Jane would not support me in it.”

Gunnilde clicked her tongue. James’s calves, much like the rest of him, were perfect. “It is too bad,” she said in a conciliatory tone, “but we must simply accept that some people are...”

“Beyond all hope?”

“Naturally flawless in their beauty,” she corrected him firmly.

“Mmmm. I will have to console myself with his character defects, I suppose. You can’t confide in me some undesirable habits that none know of?” he asked hopefully. “Such as the biting of his toenails or the picking of his ears. I promise I will not divulge them to anyone. It will be for my own personal satisfaction only.”

“No,” Gunnilde responded firmly. “He is not disgusting in any way.”