Page 96 of A Most Forgettable Girl

“Oh, but certainly, how could he fail to be impressed by you? I am sure everyone must be who meets you.”

James thought fleetingly of the few facts he knew about Sir Aubron Payne. His father-in-law was known to be an admirer of knightly feats and held a tournament for them once a year at great personal expense and pother. James felt a conviction that the son-in-law Sir Aubron would have liked most of all would have been selected from among their number, not from court.

“After all, Hal and his friends have accepted you with open arms,” she reminded him lightly.

This was surprisingly true, James reflected. Gunnilde jumped up on hearing a knock on the outer door. James turned and rose to his feet hearing Bennett announce the tailor had arrived.

The next hour passed with a flurry of chatter and activity between Master Hughes and Gunnilde. He had brought along some sample cloth and a few drawings of his own which he was swift to modify on consultation.

“Something more along the lines of this, milady?” he asked, showing his amended sketch to Gunnilde. He had long ceased consulting James, who merely looked to his wife every time he was asked for an opinion.

“Oh yes,” she said, clapping her hands together. “That is the very thing! Oh well done, Master Hughes. I think we are now in perfect accord with one another.”

The tailor mopped his brow, looking relieved. James thought he might previously have been one of Master Hughes’s less exacting customers. Those days were clearly over.

“And you have need of this outfit by Tuesday?” the tailor said nervously. “I will need to prioritize the order above all other work.”

“You will,” Gunnilde agreed. “We will of course make reparation for such consideration.” A sum was agreed which made James wince, but after all, it was now a matter of urgency.

“Sir James will need to call into Roper Street every day until then,” Master Hughes warned, referring to his establishment. “We must have daily fittings.” James nodded, resigned to his fate.

Neville had drifted in at one point, eaten a good deal of toasted bread and fish and shown a lively interest in his brother’s new suit of clothes. Master Hughes had been invited to partake of the fare, for mercifully none of the squires had shown up that morning.

The tailor had joined them gratefully and listened as Gunnilde and Neville had debated the height of collars, the length of cuffs, and what best displayed a man’s legs to advantage, giving his own opinions cautiously when appealed to.

All the while James contented himself with watching his wife. What was it about her that made her stand out so much from everyone else? he puzzled. It was not merely her looks, or the willful peculiarity of her manner of dress. It was something else, something more elusive and infinitely more valuable.

The closest he could get to it was that she was always the only person in the room who did not trouble to attempt to hide her excitement or pleasure in things. All about the palace, the courtiers swanned about wearing practiced looks of sophistication or boredom.

They smothered yawns or complained about the crowds, even as they showed up and queued to attend every event. Even the scholastic, enlightened members of court pretended to a certain aloofness or detached indifference to their elevated status.

Yet, Gunnilde gazed about her with eager appreciation. She embraced every new experience with open enthusiasm. She was utterly unlike anyone he had ever known.

“Good fellow, that,” Neville said, breaking into James’s thoughts moments after the tailor bade his farewells.

“Who?” James asked.

“Hughes, the tailor. I’m tempted to throw some business of my own his way. When I next get my allowance, that is,” he said, casting a meaningful look at James. James ignored him. He had enough expenses at present, and it had not been so very long since he had last given his brother funds.

Neville’s eyes fell to the letter left neglected on the table. “Hie, what’s this?” He picked it up and turned it over. “It’s in our mother’s hand.”

James nodded. “I recognized the seal.”

“Yet, you have not broken it.”

“No, for I am not overanxious to hear news of home,” he admitted. “You may read it, if you are so keen.”

Neville speedily dropped it with a moue of distaste.

“Do you think your mother will be similarly affected as my father?” Gunnilde asked. She had finished her meal and was dabbing a napkin to her lips, which were shiny with butter. She had eminently kissable lips, James thought, then realized his wife and brother were waiting for his reply.

Speedily reviewing her words, James shrugged. “It little matters. What’s done is done.”

He did not know it yet, but in that sanguine belief, he was quite wrong.

32

Gunnilde went along to the Queen’s rooms that afternoon, feeling somewhat mixed emotions. She knew she and James had their own paths to follow. She had to hand out invitations to their banquet and also, hopefully, to wait on the Queen. James had to go off into Aphrany to spend the rest of his day working on his music.