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J ames suspected Gunnilde was disappointed she would not be mingling with her fellow courtiers in the Great Hall at supper, however she accepted his pronouncement without argument.

“Will Neville come back for supper?” she asked, brushing past him as she entered their rooms.

“No,” he replied. “He won’t be interrupting us. He prefers the company of others and never takes his meals up here if he can help it.”

“Hence the Ashdowns,” Gunnilde murmured thoughtfully as she walked over to the fire and plunked herself down before it.

James sent her a quizzical look. “The Ashdowns?” he repeated.

“Your neighbors across the corridor.”

“Yes, I know who they are, I was just surprised that you did.”

“You share your manservant, Bennett, with them, do you not?”

“Oh yes.” She had a good memory for trivialities, he would give her that.

“I’ll just go and find Bennett,” he said, first checking the bedrooms and finding the fires unlit.

Undoubtedly, he was over with the Ashdowns again.

Once he had located him, Bennett returned with the utmost reluctance and set about lighting the fires.

James busied himself setting out ink and parchment on the table. He glanced at the empty wood bucket.

“We will need more firewood, Bennett.”

“So soon?” Bennett stood up and examined the small pile of coins on the mantel. “That’s the last of them allocated for this month,” he said pointedly.

James nodded and went into the bedroom in search of his coin pouch. Gunnilde jumped out of her seat and followed close on his heels. “Wait, I have some coins I can contribute,” she said, hurrying to her trunk. “It is not much but—”

“Keep it,” James said, turning and chinking some coins in his hand. “I have enough here.”

“It is only fair,” she insisted, throwing open her chest and rummaging within it. “For I suspect you usually do without or light your fires but sparingly when you are alone.”

“Keep it,” he reiterated. It stood to reason that the household’s costs would increase along with its members. “I think you’ll find I am the one who is expected to provide for a wife.”

Gunnilde straightened up and regarded him with apparent dismay. “So, I am to become one of your pensioners now too?” she said, surprising him.

He shrugged. “Did you think your father would continue to pay your expenses?” he asked. “Obviously that obligation is now mine.”

She flushed, dropping her eyes. “Mayhap I will receive an allowance as one of the Queen’s ladies?” she suggested hopefully.

James looked skeptical. “Doubtful. The role is one of prestige and not profit. The royals do not keep their coffers full by giving with an open hand.” He walked back and gave Bennett the money and instructions about fetching their supper.

Once the servant had been dispatched, he turned and found Gunnilde stood in the doorway watching him. She had thrown a dark wool mantle over her dress and looked somber. “You are used to shouldering responsibility for your family, are you not?” she observed quietly.

“I am,” he said simply. “Come and sit closer to the fire. I have put out writing instruments on this table. You need to write to your family and apprise them of our marriage.”

“And will you write to yours?” she asked, coming slowly into the room.

“I will,” he said shortly, and sat down at the table. It was not a task he was looking forward to.

Gunnilde advanced into the room, sitting down opposite him and setting the ink pot between them. “Do you think your news will bring them to court?” she asked a little nervously.

“Who? My parents?” She nodded and he shook his head. “They never come to the winter palace. Wycliffe Hall is just outside the summer capital, and when the King is in residence there, they are at court every day. During the winter months they stay at home.”

“Oh.” She dipped her quill. “My stepmother would dearly love to come to court,” she volunteered though he had not asked. “There was some talk of it a couple of years ago, but it came to naught as my father dragged his heels. He is not so keen to leave Payne Manor nowadays.”

“He is older than your stepmother?” James enquired without much interest.

“She is three months younger than me,” Gunnilde admitted.

James looked across at her, unsure how to respond. Did she resent that and dislike her stepmother? He did not know how to approach such things. “I see,” he said instead.

She sighed, propping her cheek against her hand. “I am sure I do not know how I will explain the past two days,” she exclaimed. “Such tidings are sure to be shocking to those at home.”

“It might be best to keep things brief and strictly factual,” he suggested, for that was certainly how he intended to frame things.

Gunnilde set her down her nib and started writing in very neat, round script with lots of loops and twirls, and James set about his own missives in his usual sparse manner.

For the next half hour, it was very quiet in their rooms, with nothing but the scratching of quills and the crackle of logs in the hearth.

James dashed off a terse letter to his mother, another to their steward apprising him of his marital status, and a quick apologetic note to his old tutor, Master Gregory, for missing today’s musical performance at Barnabus Hall, a thing he had not done since journeying to Aphrany.

The letter was really more for Justina Gregory’sbenefit, for she was the one who would have dressed the old man in his hat and cloak and set him on the bench by the door ready for James to collect.

Old Gregory would never have remembered what day it was, but his daughter would wonder at James’s nonappearance.

James described his reason as a “matter of unavoidable business,” then shot a look across at Gunnilde. Ridiculous to feel furtive. What else could he call it? “A highly personal matter” perhaps, or “a family matter”? None of them seemed to quite fit present circumstances.

He noticed with raised brows that Gunnilde had covered six sides of paper with her angelic writing and still seemed to be in full flow. So much for not knowing what to say, he thought wryly.

A knock on the door heralded Bennett’s return.

He was bearing an armful of logs and a disagreeable expression on his face.

He stomped over to the fireplace and threw them down, then turned and left again as abruptly as he’d entered.

Gunnilde pursed her lips but made no comment, looking instead at his folded pages.

“Have you finished your letters?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“They must have been very short. Did you really stick to plain matter of fact?”

“I did.” And he had skipped some of them at that.

“And pray, how did you describe me?” she asked impulsively.

Before he could answer, she picked up her own letter.

“I have described you as a prominent courtier of standing and influence, who is both a man of learning and culture and heir to a considerable estate in Caer Lyoness . Sir James supplements his income with the composition of music and has lately had his pieces played at the cathedral in Caer Lyoness. ”

James cleared his throat and picked up the first letter he had written. “ One Gunnilde Payne ,” he read aloud, “ only daughter of Sir Aubron Payne of Payne Manor .”

“That’s it?” She sounded disappointed.

“What else would you have me write?”

“Well, you could have made some attempt at description,” Gunnilde huffed. “Even if it was only to state I am a country girl born and bred!”

“That would give them entirely the wrong impression,” he said dismissively.

“How so?”

“They might think you would be content to be sent home to live quietly at Wycliffe Hall, writing inventories of bed linens,” he explained dampeningly. Mother would just love that. Someone else to lord over and have jumping to do her bidding.

“Oh, well, in that case I suppose I must be grateful to you,” she said, sounding anything but.

James sat back in his seat. What accomplishments would she have him describe?

Mistress Payne is an arrant flirt who enjoys catching the eye of all and sundry.

She has flaunting yellow hair and a pleasing buxom appearance .

He gave his head a quick shake. Probably best not to let his thoughts stray in that direction.

“I would not be content to molder in the country,” she added painstakingly. “If I was, I could have stayed at home and meekly done my stepmother’s bidding.”

“I am well aware of that,” he responded crisply.

“In any case, how do you know I am an only daughter?” she asked.

He snorted. “You would certainly have told me by now if you had a sister.”

She lowered her eyes. “And would your parents like a daughter to live quietly at home with them?” she asked guiltily.

He did not answer for a moment, then said, “They have a niece of my mother’s who lives with them already. She fulfils that role and helps run the household.”

“Oh. You never mentioned a cousin before. What is her name?”

“Rebecca.”

“Is one of your other letters for her?”

“For Rebecca?” He was startled. “Certainly not. We are not on such terms. One is for our steward, Denby, and the other is for my old music tutor, Master Gregory. He lives in town and would have expected me today. I wrote him a brief note of explanation.”

“He was the person you usually see on the second Wednesday of every month?” she deduced.

“Yes, we attend a musical gathering on that day. I see a lot of him when I am in Aphrany and visit with him often. I rent an attic room in his house and keep my musical instruments there.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, I see. And will I meet this Master Gregory of yours sometime soon?”

“Why would you?”

“Because he is an important person in your life, is he not?”

He paused. “Yes, he is, but he is not someone you would be interested in knowing. He is no one of consequence here at court.”