Page 54

J ames awoke to Gunnilde hanging over him with a solicitous expression on her face. He closed his arms about her at once, pulling her in close.

“What are you about?” he murmured against her brow. “Checking that I’m still breathing?” He kissed her cheek, but when he sought her lips she drew back.

“Is it any wonder, after the shock you gave me the time before last?” She had a slightly self-conscious look on her face, James noticed, wondering why. They had not emerged from the bedchamber the previous evening and went without supper.

The lack of victuals had not slowed them down in any way, indeed they had sought each other out a further three times before dawn. The last time had been a lot more leisurely and less intense, and James had been able to savor the experience.

Mayhap she was feeling a little shy after being so free with him the night before, he thought, seeing the way she dropped her gaze, avoiding her eyes from meeting his. “I’m a perfectly healthy man in the prime of his life,” he assured her. “Nothing ails me, wife.”

“Indeed, I am beginning to think so,” she agreed, stilling his roaming hands with her own. “Stop that, James, it is not as early as you think. We have overslept and the tailor is due to visit us at nine, you said.”

“It cannot be that late.”

“It is already past eight and we need to up and dress! Bennett has brought the washing water and lit the fires.”

He groaned when she slipped from his arms and hopped out of the bed.

“Curse the tailor,” he complained, going up on one elbow to watch her snatch up her woolen mantle and then cross the room to begin her ablutions.

“You could rest abed a while longer, wife. Do not forget it is the royal seamstresses who are making your gown.”

“I have not forgotten the fact,” she assured him. “But I wish to oversee your own outfit and ensure it is, well, sufficiently impressive.”

James felt a twinge of misgiving but shrugged it off.

After all, so long as she was happy with it, what difference did it make to him?

He scarcely cared about such things, and he supposed after all the care she put into her own appearance it was only right that he should be led by her in such matters.

“You have some ideas already?” he asked, feeling resigned to his fate.

“Yes indeed!” She turned to look at him over one shapely bared shoulder. “I was thinking one of the new shorter doublets would look very well on you. Perhaps with slashed sleeves down to your elbows, to show the gold cloth underneath.”

“Hmmm.” He found himself devoutly wishing Mr. Hughes the tailor was not due until the afternoon. He supposed Gunnilde would be in need of sustenance, but for his part, he felt bursting with health and vigor and remarkably inclined to drag her back under the covers.

Setting down her washcloth, Gunnilde flitted over to her trunk and retrieved a pen and ink drawing. “See here,” she said, approaching the bed. “Something like the cut of this one.”

With great reluctance, James dragged his gaze from her face to peer at it. “It looks rather short.” He frowned. “Where did you get that drawing?”

She avoided his eye. “A friend kindly drew it for me,” she said, sliding the drawing into the leaves of a book and returning to the washstand before he could make a grab for her.

“Viscount Bardulf,” he guessed, rolling his eyes.

“He is always so beautifully turned out and indeed, it was terribly kind of him for he told me himself that he jealously guards his tailor’s secrets against potential rivals.

He said he only drew this for me as a particular favor and could think of none other that he would extend such a courtesy to. ”

James pulled a face but made no comment. Gunnilde cleared her throat. “Come now and wash, James,” she said, setting her own cloth aside. “I will throw this water away and pour you out fresh.”

Suppressing a sigh, James climbed from the bed and started his own ablutions as Gunnilde hurriedly dressed and arranged her hair.

She could wrap and pin those horns at her brow in next to no time these days, so used had she grown to fashioning them.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he pulled on his clothes.

Once she had pinned her veil in place, she hurried into the adjoining room.

James followed close on her heels and found Bennett setting a plate of bread and roasted fish upon the table.

“Didn’t know if you was expecting the young gentlemen this morning,” the servant murmured defensively, seeing James’s raised brows at the quantity of food.

Had Bennett noticed that he had deprived Gunnilde of her supper the night before?

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Bennett, and does you credit,” Gunnilde assured him. Mollified, Bennett withdrew and Gunnilde poured ale into two cups, glancing around as though to check if Neville had made an appearance.

James dropped down on the bench next to her and she gave him a distracted smile. “Have you seen there is a letter here on the table addressed to you?” she asked.

James glanced at it. “It’s from home,” he said dismissively.

“Hal received a letter from our father yesterday,” she admitted, lowering her eyes. “He did not write to me.”

James scanned her face. “Your father was displeased by our recent tidings,” he guessed. “What did Hal say? Sir Aubron made mention of our marriage in his letter?”

“He is displeased,” she admitted with an awkward laugh. “Apparently I am persona non grata at Payne Manor at present.”

James hesitated before wrapping an arm about her waist. “He will come around,” he predicted, squeezing his pleasing armful.

“I know,” she said, touching her hand to his. “He is sure to, when he actually meets you,” she spoke with a confidence that quite touched him.

“You think so?”

“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.