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Gunnilde considered this as she chewed on her mouthful. “I knew Mistress Bartree was current favorite, for ’tis common knowledge,” she said once she had swallowed. “But the others must have their own opportunities to serve Her Majesty, surely?”

“Oh aye,” Neville agreed airily. “They fetch and carry as they’re bid, but as for opportunities...” He shook his head. “No, it’s no wonder they’re always eloping or falling into deep disgrace. The Queen is not overly fond of any of them and gives them scant regard.”

This was disheartening to hear, and Gunnilde darted a glance at James to verify this statement. He, however, did not appear to be listening. Instead, he was absent-mindedly nibbling on a piece of cheese. There, she knew he must be hungry really!

“Having said that,” Neville began thoughtfully, “it’s a rare thing that she arranges matches for any of them, I can really only think of one other such.”

“Who was that?” Gunnilde asked with interest.

“The Lady Jane,” he replied, picking up another slice of bread. “Armenal arranged her wedding to Viscount Bardulf last year. Still, it came with a price.”

“It did? What was it?” Gunnilde asked, wide-eyed.

“Well, she’s not her favorite anymore. The Bartree slid right into her place. Her Majesty doesn’t like her ladies to get married. Before Lady Jane, it was Lady Eden that held the position but as soon as she fell from grace by running off with—”

“Neville,” James cut in, lowering his cheese, “you are perhaps unaware that...Gunnilde is great friends with Lady Eden.” Again, before pronouncing her name he gave the tiniest pause, as though it did not spring readily to his lips.

“Oh really?” Neville seemed quite unabashed. “Oh, well, you will know all about it, then.”

Ignoring this, Gunnilde leaned forward. “Does the Queen have no married ladies-in-waiting apart from Lady Bardulf and Viscountess Vawdrey?”

“Oh, she has a few,” Neville admitted. “But once married, they have other priorities which keep them away. She favors the Duchess of Cadwallader, but she so rarely comes to court, and Marchioness Martindale but she lives in the north now.”

Other priorities? “Lady Bardulf is much at court though,” Gunnilde pointed out uneasily.

“And so will I be.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt a sudden panic.

After all, James had not actually told her that he would not send her packing to Wycliffe Hall.

What if that was what the two brothers had been discussing when she walked in on them that morning?

Turning to him in sudden alarm, she was relieved to see him meet her searching gaze with no trace of guilt or discomfort in his own.

Gunnilde relaxed. No, she was being foolish.

Had they not made a pact of sorts last night?

She had promised him that she would help secure him success.

He had no reason to get rid of her already.

Not before she had the chance to even try.

Seemingly picking up on her disquiet, James cleared his throat.

“It’s not really the same in any case. For Gunnilde did not serve the Queen before her marriage.

” This time he managed to say her name without stumbling.

Gunnilde beamed at him, and his eyes fell away.

He almost seemed surprised when he caught sight of a piece of cheese in his hand.

Once the food disappeared, Neville announced his intent to meet with some friends to view some new portrait in the King’s state rooms. The newly married couple were left alone together. “Does your brother have any means of earning his own income?” she asked as the door shut after him.

James snorted and shook his head. “He has a good singing voice,” he said begrudgingly. “But he would not dream of lowering himself by making money from it.”

“Does he intend to marry an heiress too?”

James shot a hard look at her, as though suspecting some slight before answering. “I do not know. He has many friends and acquaintances here at court, but he has yet to show any inclination for matrimony.”

“He is pretty enough to catch a lady’s eye,” Gunnilde said thoughtfully. “Though not as good-looking as you, it’s true.”

He made no response to this, his gaze dwelling once again on her impromptu robe. “Is that my bed cover?” he asked abruptly.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I had nothing else to wear.”

His fingers tapped against the tabletop. “I won’t venture out today,” he announced with sudden decision.

“No?” Gunnilde lowered her cup of ale. “What will you do instead?” she asked with interest.

“What we will do, madam,” he said sternly, “is set about moving you into these rooms. Then this afternoon we had better...make an appearance together. As a couple. Let everyone see we are...amicably wed.”

“Oh, I see!” She nodded slowly. “Yes, that would probably be just as well. Our sudden union is bound to cause quite a stir, and we should get ahead of the gossips as soon as we can.”

She fancied he winced slightly at her choice of words but aloud he voiced no objection to them. “Do you have much by way of possessions in the Portstanley quarters?” he enquired.

“Nothing that could not fit into one trunk.”

He looked relieved. “We should probably enlist their services.”

“The Portstanleys?”

“It would look better if they appeared to sanction the match. You were under their protection before our marriage.”

“Yes, that’s true, but you need not worry they will say anything indiscreet for they are quite scrupulous when it comes to their reputation. They would not dream of besmirching their family name with any implication of scandal.”

“I am glad to hear it,” he said, turning all proper again.

Gunnilde suppressed a sigh. She had thought that no one could be stuffier than the Portstanleys but James almost managed it at times.

A knock at the door interrupted these depressing thoughts.

They gazed at one another in open dismay.

Who could that be? “You had better go back into the bedchamber,” he recommended.

“Why?” Gunnilde glanced down at her covered body. “I am quite decent.”

He snorted, leaving his seat and making for the small hallway. Hearing muted voices, Gunnilde stood up, undecided whether to bolt for the bedroom or not. Suddenly she recognized Harriet’s voice, and, to her great surprise, felt a rush of gladness to hear it.

“Harriet, is that you?” she called impulsively. “Come in, and welcome.”

There was a moment’s silence before Harriet appeared in the doorway, looking extremely uncertain of herself. “I just came to—”

“I’m so glad!” Gunnilde cried, and strange to say, she really meant it.

Leaping from her seat, she hurried forward to draw her old roommate in.

“Will you sit and take some ale?” She seized hold of the jug before Harriet could make a reply.

Looking rather dazed, Harriet sank down upon one of the hard wooden chairs.

Really, they could use some cushions. The Wycliffe quarters were somewhat lacking in comforts.

“I brought your trunk with me. Or rather, Farson did,” she said, naming the Portstanleys’ manservant.

“That was good of you. I did not intend to put you the trouble of packing up my things.”

“Oh, it was...no trouble,” Harriet said, flushing. “Mother, well, she thought we had better do it, sooner rather than later.”

“It was very kind of you,” Gunnilde insisted. “I am very grateful for all you have done for me.”

Harriet could not meet her eye as she accepted the cup of ale and sat perched on the edge of her seat like a little bird prepared for flight.

She sat gazing around the room, though truth to tell there was precious little to look at for it was sparsely furnished.

Her eye fell on Gunnilde’s improvised robe.

“Is that the Wycliffe crest?” she blurted in stunned accents.

Gunnilde glanced down at the embroidered sheet. “I don’t know, is it?”

“Yes, it is,” her husband answered from the doorway. He and Farson were carrying her trunk through to their room.

“Oh, I did not realize.” She peered at the badge picked out in golden stitches. “What is it? A goat?”

“A unicorn,” James corrected her loudly as they crossed the room.

“Oh, that’s nice, but I think it could do with a bigger horn,” Gunnilde decided.

The Portstanleys’ servant muffled an amused snort. “Farson!” Harriet reproached him faintly, blushing a delicate pink.

Oh! Belatedly, Gunnilde realized the joke. “I have no complaints on that score, I assure you,” she said firmly.

“Right glad I am to hear that, milady,” he responded good naturedly, and shot James a wink. “No husband would like to hear such a sentiment, the morning after the bedding.”

Both James and Harriet looked like they did not know where to put themselves, but Gunnilde nodded, satisfied she had put that rumor to rest, and turning back to Harriet, she took a deep breath. “We were wondering if you and your mother would care to accompany us this afternoon,” she began.