Page 61

F ive Days Later

“I don’t mean to overstep but is everything well with my sister?

” Hal asked. James paused in the act of removing his cloak.

“Only she’s been quiet these past few days and it’s not just me that’s noticed it,” Hal continued.

“Your brother agrees with me, isn’t that right, Neville?

” He shot a look at James’s brother, who was seated opposite him petting the little dog, Dustin.

Neville cleared his throat. “Yes,” he agreed. “She seems...subdued. Not her usual self at all.”

James glanced about the room to check if any more of his brother-in-law’s friends were lurking hereabouts. They had not been around so much lately as their duties with the young prince took up a lot of their free time. Mercifully, it seemed it was just family tonight.

“She’s been damnably busy of late,” James reminded them both, coming into the room.

“And so have I. This wretched banquet has been taking up all her time. The cooks, the tailors, the decorations, the borrowing of the silver plate,” he listed.

“There’s a lot to organize and rather more to these affairs than you would think. ”

“Yes, but you would think she would enjoy that,” Hal said critically. “She always liked it when we held feasts at Payne Manor. There she would be bustling about, fetching and carrying, bright-eyed and joyful but here...”

“Here, what?” James asked with a frown, throwing his cloak over the back of a chair and pouring himself a goblet of ale.

“Here she goes about all pale of cheek, eyes downcast, brooding, and when she does talk it’s in fits and starts. It’s not like her, I tell you. Something’s amiss.”

James took a swig of his ale while he considered his answer. In truth, he had noticed Gunnilde’s change in behavior himself and had asked several times if anything ailed her. All she ever did was assure him that naught was wrong, nothing at all.

She certainly had not been rejecting his advances in the bedchamber. There, she was as enthusiastic as ever. He should not have taken that for assurance, however. That had been remiss of him. Most remiss. He threw himself down on the bench next to Neville.

“Steady on, you’ll startle Dustin!” his brother reproached him. Sure enough the dog let out a shrill little bark. “He’s a great oaf, isn’t he, boy?”

James murmured his apologies and reached across to scratch behind Dustin’s overlarge ears.

“I have spoken to Gunnilde as a matter of fact. She tells me she is simply much occupied. As well as everything else, she’s still working hard to ingratiate herself with the Queen and her fellow ladies, do not forget. ”

“Aye, but is she?” Hal demanded at once. “From what I’ve heard, she’s been running around court with those two mousey friends of hers of late and attending dry old lectures like she’s a regular outcast instead of one of the Queen’s favorites!”

“Lectures?” James echoed, sitting up. What mousey friends? “But why ?”

“Hanged if I know! Patience tells me they’ve scarcely seen her in the Queen’s chambers this past week!”

“Scarcely seen her?” James echoed. “But she goes along there every day!”

The other two looked uncomfortable. “Well,” Hal responded lamely, “possibly she shows her face, then ducks out soon after. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Possibly Mistress Rheinholdt exaggerates,” Neville put in hurriedly. “I daresay Gunnilde divides her time between the Queen and her new friends quite equitably, ’tis only that she has divided loyalties of late.”

James put down his drink. “If they are the ones I am thinking of,” he said slowly, “then they are not new friends at all. Quite the opposite.”

Hal and Neville exchanged looks. “What d’ye mean?” Hal demanded.

“Well, when your sister first came to court last September she spent all her time with Lady Harriet Portstanley and her scholarly friends. Countess Vawdrey introduced her to their circle.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound like Gunnilde’s sort of thing at all,” Hal said dismissively. “No wonder she moved on.”

“No, it did not suit her,” James agreed. Gunnilde had said something at one point about intending to stand a good friend to Harriet. Could this all be part and parcel of that endeavor? Surely, though, she would not prioritize such a thing over her own personal ambition?

“She has not mentioned any change in her friendships recently? Any quarrels?” Neville queried.

James shifted uneasily in his seat. “Truth be told, she has no close friendships among the Queen’s ladies. They have not exactly welcomed her with open arms.”

“Well, my friend Emma Thackeray—” Hal began only to be cut off by Neville.

“It is the curse of being a royal favorite,” James’s brother opined. “Neither Eden Montmayne nor Jane Cecil was exactly overburdened with close personal acquaintance when they occupied that position, and Mistress Bartree assuredly is not!”

The door opened at that moment and Gunnilde entered carrying a small pile of books. “Evening all,” she greeted them, closing it behind her. James scrutinized her face keenly, but she gave nothing away, smiling politely all round and making her way into the room.

Suddenly, he recalled her indignant account of how Mistress Bartree would not share her duties.

Gunnilde had been so spirited and open in the retelling.

He missed those days. She had not spoken with such animation in a while.

“How is Mistress Bartree?” he asked as Gunnilde sank onto a seat next to her brother and placed the books in a neat pile at her feet.

“She is much the same as she always is.” She shrugged. “Perhaps a little sourer, as the Queen was conferring with Viscountess Bardulf all morning, so she was left out in the cold like the rest of us.”

“In the Queen’s privy chamber, was she?” Hal asked casually.

“Yes,” she replied, picking the top book off the pile and opening it.

“How about this afternoon?” Hal persisted. “Was the Queen still favoring the viscountess?”

Gunnilde hesitated. “I, er, well, I did not go to the Queen’s chambers this afternoon,” she admitted, keeping her eyes firmly trained on her book. “I was invited to attend a function in the lower gallery with some friends and went to that instead.”

Hal opened his mouth to interrogate her about which friends but as James already knew this, he forestalled him. “Perhaps you should tell Mistress Bartree about ‘I Cannot Show the Love I Owe,’” he suggested. “You could tell her it will be performed at our banquet in her honor.”

Gunnilde almost dropped her book. “Really?” she gasped, snapping it shut. He nodded, glad to get a strong reaction out of her. She flushed and bit her lip. “How do you think she will feel about it?”

James shrugged. “I hardly know. She may even be wildly offended.”

“Offended?” she repeated indignantly. “Once she has heard it, she could not be!”

“What the devil is it?” asked Hal. “A poem?”

“A piece of music,” his sister corrected him. “The most wonderful piece of music you ever heard! James wrote it.”

James was surprised and gratified by her vehemence. Had she really liked it that much?

“I did not realize you were going to perform it at our banquet,” she exclaimed. Which, as he had only just decided on it, was hardly surprising. “I know Arthur Billingsley and Master Chamberlain are playing for us, but will you invite the other musicians to come too?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, “but if they cannot attend it hardly signifies. I can arrange a pared-down version for our guests.”

“Oh no!” she said, shaking her head. “If Mistress Bartree is to hear it for the first time, then it must be in its full magnificence!”

As Gunnilde had only heard it played in its early stages, James did not think even she had heard that. They had been practicing every day since then and he had tweaked and fine-tuned a good deal of it, as well as brought three more musicians on board.

“Why did you want to go and write a piece of music about The Bartree for?” Neville asked with disgust. “I daresay she will not send so much as a penny piece your way in patronage!”

“Yes, and what happened to False Billiam?” Hal asked sternly.

Gunnilde rounded on them at once. “Because her story inspired James, of course!” she said heatedly. “It gave him the creative spark.” She looked suddenly self-conscious. “I was hearing all about such things in my lecture this afternoon by Master Aldwick.”

James sat up in his seat. “And who, pray, is Master Aldwick?”

“Oh, have you not heard of him? He is a poet that Winifred admires very much. She says he is sure to become one of the greats, given time.”

Ah , thought James, Lady Winifred Hawes . This confirmed his suspicions. “But why are you listening to poets when you do not care for poetry?”

“Oh, well...” She glanced down, pleating her skirts. “I thought I should likely give it another try. Besides, it only lasted an hour. After that, I accompanied Harriet to her tailor’s appointment.”

“Wanted your opinion on a new gown, did she?” Hal asked. “I’m not surprised. She’s one of those quietly pretty girls. She needs something to make her stand out from the crowd. Maybe a nice scarlet brocade.”

“Lady Harriet?” Neville said, frowning. “I’m surprised you even know her, Payne.” Vaguely, James noted his brother sounded put out by this, though he had no idea why.

“Oh, I’m on my way to racking up a fair acquaintance about court now,” Hal said comfortably.

“Especially among the ladies,” James said dryly. Hal nodded in agreement, quite unabashed.

“In fact, Harriet wanted me to explain tippets,” Gunnilde clarified. “For Master Forrester had never heard of them, and Lady Portstanley won’t let her engage a more up-to-date tailor.”

Hal tutted. “That’s too bad. Her current one doesn’t do her justice.”

Neville huffed. “Lady Harriet has an understated grace that needs no refinement,” he said coldly.

“In any case,” Gunnilde said with satisfaction, “he took a look at the construction of my and Winifred’s tippets and assured Harriet he could produce something along similar lines.”

“What of the banquet preparations?” James asked. “Have you heard any more from that quarter?”

A somewhat harassed look entered her eye. “The palace kitchens have assured me all is now in order,” she replied. “Monsieur Roche says the dishes will be dressed most elaborately and the palace steward has agreed to lend us the silver plate for the evening.”

“And what about Signor Castellar?” he enquired, naming the Queen’s tailor.

Her shoulders relaxed. “I will own that the gown is looking very well indeed,” she conceded. “I do not think anyone will find fault with me on that score.”

James frowned at her turn of phrase. Of course no one would find fault with her, the idea was absurd.

She turned toward him. “How many musicians must we now accommodate? I wonder if I should ask for a larger room to fit us all in?”

“At least eight,” he answered. “Possibly as many as ten.”

Gunnilde’s eyes widened. “It is difficult to anticipate when I do not know precisely how many guests will turn up. Many of the ladies’ attendance seems to depend on their whim of the evening.”

“Hah!” said Neville. “If the Queen will be there, so will they, never fear. They are merely pretending indifference.”

“Have you heard back from the Conways?” asked Hal. “I mean the Lellands or whatever they are called nowadays.”

“No,” Gunnilde admitted, worrying her lip. “But the letter might not have reached them in a timely fashion considering the time of year and the state of the roads. They may still appear on the day.”

James could not tell if this prospect appealed to her or not and the fact annoyed him. He should know, because Gunnilde should have told him. She used to tell him things all the time. Why the hells didn’t she anymore?