Page 66

Both boys assured her that all looked most splendid. “It does you credit, as does your own appearance, my lady,” Kit told her graciously, bowing over her hand. He kissed her fingers with a flourish.

“Don’t be impressed, he practices that gesture on a gauntlet,” Cuthbert said dampeningly.

“Speaking of attire, what the devil have you done to your sleeves, Ames?” Hal enquired. “You got rats in your armoire?”

“My tailor informs me they are the latest thing,” Cuthbert replied off-handedly. “The edges are dagged. Apparently, everyone will be wearing them this way by next spring.”

Gunnilde’s ears pricked up. “Is that so?” Obligingly Cuthbert held out his sleeve to her so she could examine the intricate cutting technique all along the edge.

He tipped his head to one side, looking at Hal’s own elaborately decorated tunic. “White roses,” he mused. “Who have you dressed to match, I wonder?”

Kit made an explosively derisive noise and Hal turned bright red. “Who says I have dressed to match anyone?” he asked belligerently. “I’ll ask you to keep your baseless speculations to yourself!”

Cuthbert ducked his head to hide his grin, and Kit smirked, nudging James in the side.

“Shall I go and tell Bennett to start handing the drinks around?” James asked. “And tell the musicians to start playing?”

“Oh, would you?” Gunnilde cast him a grateful look as he took the empty jewelry case out of her hand.

“I’ll put this somewhere safe,” he said and went off in search of Bennett.

“I like his suit,” Hal observed as all three boys turned to watch him walk away. “Your influence at work, I take it,” he said, glancing at Gunnilde. Her bosom swelled with pride.

“He’d look good even in an old sack,” Kit opined, promptly bringing her back down to earth.

“Maybe, but I believe he’ll attract more patrons this way,” Cuthbert said, meeting her eyes enigmatically.

They watched as he gestured to the musicians and the music started up.

Almost immediately the atmosphere seemed to take on a jaunty air.

Servers filed into the room and started filling the goblets and handing them around.

“Ah, here’s Neville now, with the Ashdowns,” Hal observed as Neville walked in with an elderly damsel on each arm.

“Oh, how lovely!” Gunnilde cried, for both Mistress Ruth and Mistress Abigail Ashdown were beaming ear to ear and dressed in matching dresses of royal blue.

James joined her once again, and they walked over to welcome them.

Gunnilde told them all about how helpful Bennett had been all afternoon and complimented the sisters on their new matching gowns.

“Well, but you are also matching,” Mistress Abigail said, looking her and James up and down. “You make a handsome couple, my dears.”

“Speaking of handsome, where is that dashing brother of yours?” Mistress Ruth asked eagerly. “He promised to dance with me.”

“Hal? Oh, he’s here some whereabouts.”

“Probably lying in wait for that Mistress Culmington he was telling me about, the young rogue!”

Mistress Culmington? Gunnilde’s eyes widened.

She had suspected for a while that Hal’s affections had taken a turn from Estrilda toward Emma Thackeray, but she had not realized that Penelope was even in the running!

Was there not some rumor circulating that she was in the midst of an affair du coeur with Sir Symond Chevenix?

That was the trouble with spending most of her time with Harriet and Winifred, neither of them were ever abreast of palace gossip.

“Dear me, who is this?” Neville said, staring in the direction of the doorway. “What an unfortunate-looking headdress. It looks rather like she is balancing an anvil atop her head.”

Gunnilde turned and spied her childhood friend Muriel Lelland stood just inside the doorway, looking decidedly ill at ease. Her headdress was somewhat cumbersome, though to Gunnilde’s mind, it was the unbecoming chin strap that was mostly to blame.

“Who are they?” James asked as he took drinks from a passing attendant and handed them to the Ashdowns.

“It is my old friend Muriel,” she said, “and her husb—” But it was not her husband, she realized belatedly, who hovered at Muriel’s side. No, it was not Sir Christopher Lelland but Gunnilde’s former affianced! “And—and her brother, Sir Arthur Conway,” she finished unevenly.

James caught hold of her arm. “The Queen will be disappointed to miss this first encounter,” he said. “Shall we go and greet them, wife?”

“Er...yes, let’s,” she replied, glancing up at him with some trepidation. Was it just her imagination or was James’s manner somewhat preemptory? Together they made their way toward the unprepossessing couple. Arthur’s moustache looked rather limp, Gunnilde thought. And why did he look so nervous?

Muriel practically let out a yelp as they came to a halt before her. “G-Gunnilde,” she stammered. “Why, I scarcely recognized you! You look so grand.” Her wide eyes took in Gunnilde’s silk and velvet magnificence before she turned to James and her jaw positively dropped.

“Allow me to introduce my husband,” Gunnilde said proudly. “Sir James Wycliffe. James, these are the friends of my childhood I told you about, Lady Lelland and Sir Arthur Conway.”

As she spoke, Gunnilde turned toward Arthur, who was also staring open-mouthed at James.

“Y-your servant, sir,” he stammered, bowing at James, and then to Gunnilde’s surprise, he turned to look at her, his expression equally dazzled.

“My lady,” he said in a choked voice, “it has been too long. You are looking quite uncommonly well.”

James let out a hiss of air. “Your husband does not accompany you tonight, Lady Lelland?” he said, addressing Muriel, his voice cold and clipped.

“Alas no,” Muriel answered, practically falling over herself to answer him. “Sir Christopher’s health always suffers at this time of year. The damp, you know.”

“It’s doubtless his age,” Arthur added. “It seeps into the bones, you know, and sets them to creaking.”

James turned to her. “Gunnilde would not know about such things, for she has a young and vigorous husband,” he observed, robbing her of breath. “Is that not so, my love?”

“Er, yes,” she agreed, feeling rather flustered that he should address her thus. She shot him a sidelong glance. What was he doing?

“Though I suppose an older husband affords you certain freedoms that I would not permit my own wife,” he continued. “For one, I would not allow Gunnilde to travel any great distance across country without me by her side.”

“Fulford is not so very far away,” Muriel protested before her brother cut in.

“Such sentiment does you credit, sir,” Arthur replied hastily. “And I am sure I do not wonder that you feel that way.” He bowed again gallantly in Gunnilde’s direction. Both Muriel and James looked somewhat annoyed by his rejoinder.

“Sir Christopher knows that he can trust me to behave at all times with the utmost consideration of his honor,” Muriel rallied, two high spots of color appearing on her cheeks.

“No doubt,” James answered bluntly. “But my own feelings have nothing whatsoever to do with my wife’s conduct. Rather they are concerned with others who would covet that which is mine and mine alone.” He passed a possessive arm about Gunnilde’s waist.

“Again,” Sir Arthur said, bowing. “I fully comprehend your feeling, and I cannot wonder at them.”

Over his shoulder, Gunnilde noticed the arrival of a gaggle of ladies-in-waiting. They glittered in the doorway in their jewel-colored gowns. She cleared her throat. “I am so glad you could both attend,” she said brightly. “We hope—”

“The Queen arrives!” Piers Winstanley’s confident voice rang out.

“Make way for the Queen of all Karadok!” Everyone turned to look at his tall, commanding figure as he turned and swept an elegant bow.

Queen Armenal sailed into the room accompanied by two royal guards who fell back to stand either side of the door.

The Queen shone with rubies tonight which flashed at her hair, her bodice, and her throat. She was gorgeously arrayed in a gown of gold and black silk, lavishly trimmed with fur. Muriel gasped and shrank back despite the fact there was ample room remaining.

“I cannot believe she has arrived so early,” James murmured in Gunnilde’s ear. “She must have really high hopes of being entertained tonight.”

He and Gunnilde walked forward to present their bows and welcome Her Majesty to their gathering.

The Queen smiled and nodded graciously. Then she paused, inspecting James with some surprise.

“But you are quite striking tonight in your beauty, Sir James,” she told him.

“Even more so than usual. I think I see your wife’s influence at hand in this new bolder style of dress. ”

He bowed again. “I give my wife free rein when it comes to such things.”

“You are wise to do so,” the Queen said, nodding. “Though I am not so sure that she is.” She cast a quizzical look at Gunnilde. “The ladies, how they all stare! You must have noticed it, my dear Gunnilde.”

“I have,” Gunnilde acknowledged calmly. “And I am glad it should be so. Beauty is a thing that should be universally admired.” She turned to look frankly at her husband. “Do you not think he would make the most remarkable portrait represented thus?”

The Queen looked much struck by this rejoinder. She turned to look at James once more. “He would indeed,” she murmured. “Such rich colors represented against the auburn of his hair would make a striking image.”

James cleared his throat. “My wife has nothing to fear by way of contrast or competition,” he said, catching hold of her hand and squeezing it tight.

“Most handsomely put!” the Queen said approvingly. “I begin to think you have been hiding aspects of your character and even your talent from us, Sir James. Gunnilde tells me we are to hear some of your music this evening, inspired by the history of one of my own ladies.”