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Gunnilde flushed. “You think that is solely how I judge people?” she asked, two bright pink spots on her cheeks. “Perhaps it is as well you gave no description of me in your letters. Your opinion of me is far from flattering, Sir James!”

“Whereas your description of me was all flattery,” he replied. “Yet relied purely on hearsay. You have never heard any of my music and we have never conversed on subjects of literature or education.”

She had the grace to look a little embarrassed by his directness. “We have not,” she admitted. “I myself am not much versed in such matters.”

He let his eyes travel over her disfavor. No really, he could see no purpose in having her sleeves slashed about to high heaven like that unless it was to show off her shapely upper arms. And as for her distracting hairstyles...

“It’s a good thing you’re a pretty woman or you would look ridiculous in some of the fashions you affect,” he said sourly before he could think better of it.

If anything, his new wife looked rather pleased by this pronouncement.

“I know you mean to snub me with such a remark, but I am going to take it instead as encouragement,” she said, astonishing him.

“For one thing, you called me pretty, which I refuse to take as anything other than a compliment, and for another, I am quite used to ignoring men’s opinions on such matters.

Apart from a very select few, they have nothing useful to impart. ”

Well! James reeled. “What select few?” he heard himself ask. Presumably, she meant her father who would have held sway in such matters previously, when it came to her manner of dress.

She hesitated. “Viscount Bardulf, for instance, is a great arbiter of such things, and my brother, Hal, has a bold style of dressing like myself which I cannot help but approve of.”

James snorted. “And just how is it that you do fill your hours here at court? I have never seen you occupied with music or embroidery or any of the usual pursuits.” He already knew, of course.

Gunnilde Payne had spent her time flirting with knights and gossiping with other frivolous, fashionable women. It was obvious.

“You seem to have some decided opinions in how I spend my time already,” Gunnilde answered pertly.

“Well,” he rallied, clearing his throat. “Let us simply say that I had guessed you were not the kind to attend improving lectures.”

Surprisingly, Gunnilde took exception to this. “As a matter of fact,” she responded with spirit, “I have attended several of the wretched things. The Portstanleys are distressingly fond of them. Sadly, for you, I found most of them incomprehensible.”

“Which ones?” he found himself asking instead of making the obvious response. She turned an enquiring look at him. “Which lectures have you attended?” he elaborated grudgingly.

“Oh.” She considered this. “Well, the last one was the one with the small bald man who gets very excited and can’t pronounce his W s. He had lots of maps and tiny instruments that he used to draw lines all over them.”

“Master Edcott’s theories on navigation,” James realized aloud.

The man’s oration had been rather involved.

“I daresay you could have understood him if you had paid sufficient attention.” She looked surprised by this assessment, so he added caustically, “You probably spent the whole time daydreaming about new shoes.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” she asked shamelessly.

“I am fond of new shoes.” She stuck out her foot and contemplated her current choice in footwear, a flimsy-looking article with more cutouts than shoe leather.

Catching sight of her crimson stockings, James felt his face flush.

It was not just her upper arms that were shapely.

“Don’t you think they are pretty?” she asked wistfully.

Her calves? He panicked. “I wasn’t looking at them,” he lied. Instead of tucking herself back into her skirts like a modest woman, Gunnilde Payne nodded toward her raised foot.

“Well, take a look now,” she said generously, wagging her shoe. “They are of the softest Aphranian leather, and I won’t tell you how much of my allowance I spent on them.”

Tearing his eyes from her immodest hosiery, James spared the shoes a disparaging glance. “They look as though they are held together by ribbon alone,” he concluded dampeningly.

“The lacings are all that holds them in place,” she agreed with a sigh. “If the ground is damp, my stockings get soaked through.”

“And how much did they cost you?” James asked before he could stop himself.

“My stockings?” She looked startled by the question, as well she might.

It was highly improper for him to have asked.

Except...no, it wasn’t. He was the one who would be paying for them now after all.

James cleared his throat and nodded, avoiding her eyes.

“Fifteen shillings,” she confessed promptly.

“ Fifteen? ” he echoed in horror. On top of everything else Mistress Payne was a spendthrift!

“I don’t usually have such expensive ones,” she said quickly. “I had them for a special occasion. My court presentation,” she added when he could think of no response.

To his consternation, he noticed Gunnilde was now gazing at his own legs, a vaguely disapproving look in her eyes. Before he could stop himself, James found he was looking down to check naught was amiss with his own appearance.

To his relief, he found no disorder with his breeches and below them his stockings showed no holes. “You find some fault with my attire?” he asked coldly. Instead of rushing to deny such a thing as you might expect, the outrageous woman hesitated.

“Well, not fault exactly,” she hesitated. “It’s just...” Catching sight of the look on his face, she changed her mind. “It’s nothing.”

“Pray don’t hold back on my account,” he said sarcastically.

“Well...perhaps you are unaware of the fact, but currently, the men’s fashion is for stockings to be paneled.”

“Paneled?” he repeated blankly.

“Yes, so you achieve a sort of striped effect. And that shade of brown is so very...”

“So very what?” he asked, feeling goaded.

She considered this a moment. “Conservative,” she decided on. Conservative? “Lord Schaeffer wears brown stockings,” she added with faint condemnation.

“Lord Schaeffer is an eminently respectable courtier of seniority in the King’s council.”

“Yes, exactly,” Gunnilde agreed at once. “He’s at least sixty-five years old.”

James beheld her speechlessly. Good gods. “I am not fashionable enough for you it seems, madam,” he said sarcastically. “Perhaps you would prefer it if I ran around court in lime green short hose, puffed out like a popinjay.”

Gunnilde flushed indignantly. “And I am not studious enough for you, Sir James, it seems,” she replied at once. “You would doubtless prefer it if I ran around court fawning over scholars and dusty old tomes about mathematics and medicine!”

A cleared throat behind them made them both jump and swing around. It was Neville, stood by the door with an odd look on his face. “Sorry to interrupt,” he muttered, a smile playing about his lips.

“When did you get back?” James demanded, sitting up straight in his seat. “I did not hear you enter.”

“No, you were both far too absorbed to notice me,” his brother answered cheerfully. “I wondered if you were coming down to supper?”

James cleared his throat. “No, we, er, thought we’d take a quiet supper up here.”

“Ah, quite,” said Neville. “A cozy little supper together. Sounds just the thing.”

Immediately, James knew how Neville would be describing the scene to his friends. He scowled at him. “If you think for one minute—”

“She’s quite right about your stockings, you know,” Neville interrupted him. “You need to go bolder. Perhaps a nice plum purple or a bright pea green.”

“Get out, Neville.”

Neville laughed and ducked back out of the door.

Annoying swine.