Page 62

T he door opened as Gunnilde lay in the round wooden bathtub, soaking in the herbed water.

She always liked to wallow for as long as possible and that was even more true at present.

Cocooned in the white sheets and warm, fragrant water, she could try to forget all about her manifold worries.

Twitching the modesty curtains aside, she checked to see who had entered the room.

“It’s me,” James said shortly and crossed the room toward the bed. Hearing the mattress rustle and dip, she guessed he had lain down, as the curtains obscured her view of that part of the room.

Silence reigned for all of a minute as she furiously considered various topics she could raise, only to dismiss them as unworthy and beneath his consideration.

The banquet preparations were too dull, her concerns over his mother’s letter, too contentious.

Everything was so difficult now she had realized her own feelings and how ill-suited they were.

If only she could have continued in blissful ignorance of the fact!

He cleared his throat and Gunnilde stilled. “Do you ever find yourself missing your...your former matchmaking endeavors?” he asked, startling her greatly.

“Sometimes,” she admitted truthfully, then wondered if she should have lied. But after all, what would be the point in denying it? James must have realized their incompatibility long before she had.

“When I said what I said—” He broke off with a frustrated huff.

Gunnilde propped her elbow on the side of the tub. “When you said what?” she asked curiously. It was somehow easier to ask when she could not see him, only the plain white sheets hanging down from the ceiling.

“That it was not fitting that my wife should be involved in such things,” he supplied in a rush.

“I have not done it since, James. Not once,” she assured him.

“I know. But what I mean to say is I should not have dismissed your interests so out of hand. It was inconsiderate of me.” He paused. “Arrogant, even.”

Gunnilde blinked. “Oh,” she said. “Well...”

“And you have you missed it,” he said ruefully.

“A little, yes. Did you—?”

“Why have you—?” They both spoke at the same time, stopped, and then halted. “You speak first,” James said.

She gave an awkward little laugh. “I was just going to ask if you noticed how prickly Neville became over Harriet earlier? When Hal was critical of her manner of dress.”

“I did notice,” he acknowledged, surprising her. “Do you think it indicative of something?”

“I just wondered, that’s all.”

“You think he might admire her?” She could hear the frown in his voice.

“Possibly. What do you think?”

“I would have thought it just as likely that your own brother admired her.”

“Yes, but Hal admires dozens of women. By contrast, I’ve never heard Neville speak of any young, marriageable women.”

“No,” James agreed. “Usually, he is the pet of much older women like the Ashdowns.”

“Hmmm,” Gunnilde mused. “It is certainly interesting, is it not? What kind of wife do you think would suit Neville? For my part, I think a quiet and studious wife like Harriet might bring out his protective and considerate side.”

“I think he is yet too young for marriage. Neville cannot even support himself at present!” James replied scathingly.

“But if he married a rich wife then that need not be such a consideration.”

James was silent for a moment. “I was not referring to money alone,” he said at last. “There is rather more to supporting a spouse than that.”

“Yes,” she agreed quietly. “That is true.”

“Do you feel supported?” he asked suddenly. “By me?”

Gunnilde breathed out. “Yes. I just wish...”

“What do you wish?”

“That I could support you better.” Her words came out rather choked.

“You must sometimes reflect that—” She could not bring herself to continue.

That Constance would have made you a better wife , she thought, closing her eyes.

Constance Northcott, who was so well-connected, wealthy, and much admired.

No wonder her mother-in-law was writing letters of complaint to the Queen.

Perhaps it had even been a letter of petition, she thought dolefully.

“What did you say?” The curtain was swept aside, and James appeared beside the tub. He dropped down so that he was crouching on eye level with her. “I did not catch what you said.”

She sank down under the herb-strewn water, covering herself with her hands. “I-it was nothing. Why are you asking anyway? About the matchmaking, I mean. That was all ages ago.”

“Well, I heard you had taken up with the friends Viscountess Vawdrey selected for you again,” he said, keeping his eyes respectfully on her face. “And my understanding was that you had originally dropped them to pursue the more interesting role of lover’s confidante.”

“You are right, that is what I did,” she admitted quietly. “And now I heartily wish that I had not. I wish now that I had tried harder to fill the role Eden had envisaged for me. The one I was too foolish to appreciate.”

“What are you talking about?” he demanded. “Did you not successfully pair up many couples who went on to marry?”

She hesitated. “Well, yes. Four of them.”

“Is that counting Sir Douglas and Constance?” he asked, completely robbing her of breath.

She could not answer his sly smile. “James!” she uttered instead, half alarmed, half disbelieving.

“What?”

“Of course not! I would hardly count that pairing as a success, not when—” She could not meet his eyes.

“When what?” he asked.

“When it got me—us—into so much trouble. ” She bit her lip.

He slid his hand down the side of the tub into the bathwater, picking up the sponge lying on the bottom of the tub. “Maybe I do not view it the same way as you do,” he said, lifting the sponge to run it lightly over her shoulder. “Why don’t you turn around and let me wash your back.”

Turning bright red but feeling loath to refuse him, Gunnilde turned around, presenting her back to him.

She had to gather her wet hair over one shoulder to move it out of the way.

There was a heavy pause, while she harbored the awful suspicion he might be ogling her over-large bottom.

Then she felt the sponge squeezed against her shoulder blades.

“You have the loveliest body, Gunnilde,” he said throatily.

Did he really think that? “Thank you.”

“Tell me about your friend Lady Winifred’s prospects,” he said, surprising her again. “Have you anyone in mind for her yet?”

“I promise you faithfully, James, I have not been matchmaking,” she said, looking back at him over her shoulder.

He rubbed the sponge over her back in a circular motion. “No, but if you were.”

“Well...” She thought about it. “Winifred is so exceedingly clever as well as being of good family. I think any family would be proud to admit her as a daughter-in-law.”

“Hmmm. Is that so? Yet she looks to you for guidance when it comes to dress,” he pointed out.

“Yes, that is true.” Gunnilde’s heart swelled with pride. “I really like her and Harriet. I want them to be happy and successful here at court.”

“Do their lectures and meetings not make them happy?” he asked, rubbing soap leaves up and down her spine.

“Yes. I only wish I could enjoy such worthy occupations as much,” she admitted. “Perhaps with time I will learn to.”

“Why should you? Other things make you happy, do they not? You could still be friends with Harriet and Winifred without adopting all their pursuits and endeavors as your own.”

Gunnilde thought about this. “You do not think that in order to foster good relations with another, one needs to share mutual interests to keep that bond alive and strong?” Even to her own ears her voice sounded stifled, almost scared.

His hands paused momentarily. “I think,” he said, running his hands up and down her soapy sides, “that if the bond is real, you will find other points of mutual connection.”

“Such as?” she asked, holding her breath.

He cleared his throat. “Well, they both clearly value your opinion on matters of fashion.” Gunnilde’s heart sank like a stone, for she realized she had not been thinking of her friends at all when she asked that question.

She had been thinking about James. And James did not care about fashion at all.

“Yes,” she said, fighting back tears. “That is true.”

“You have washed your hair already?” he asked, running a hand over her damp hair.

“Yes. I do that first, for it takes an age.”

“I’m not surprised. There’s so much of it.” His tone was openly admiring.

“You like my hair?” She would take anything at this point, and her hair was the one thing she had always been able to take pride in. Likely he did genuinely admire that at least.

“I do. I like everything about the way you look.”

Gunnilde almost gasped. She had almost forgotten. He did like buxom women. She had helped him discover that fact. Still, everything? That had to be an exaggeration. “What about...my teeth,” she asked tentatively.

“What about them?”

“It has been observed that they are somewhat over-large.”

“Observed by who?” He sounded annoyed. “Who the devil said that?”

“I forget,” Gunnilde lied lightly. “Doubtless some long-forgotten friend of my youth.”

“Well, they were clearly jealous of you,” James answered testily. “Doubtless their own were pitifully undersized and decayed while yours are large and healthy.”

Large and healthy , Gunnilde thought dolefully. Yes, that described her perfectly. Gunnilde Payne, large and healthy daughter of Sir Aubron. She supposed she should be grateful James had not described her thus in his letter to his parents.

No, stop that, Gunnilde , she told herself crossly.

He likes your large and healthy body. When it came to James, his physical attraction to her was her only advantage, for she had precious little else to offer him.

Taking a deep breath, she turned about in the tub to face him.

“James,” she said, “why don’t you join me now? ”

He blinked. “Join you...?”