Page 133 of A Most Forgettable Girl

Gunnilde glanced over her shoulder a few times during the procession to the throne room. She was sure they must look a ragtag bunch. Kit had mud splattered up his legs, Neville carried a brimming wine jug, and as for Hal, he wore his mystery lady’s favor upon one arm and had his little dog tucked under the other.

Cuthbert must have changed his outfit in preparation for the next event, for he wore a padded gambeson instead of a tunic. Still, none of them looked remotely abashed about their appearance, so Gunnilde decided she, too, would have to shrug off her unease.

On reaching the throne room, the guards saluted Sir Palmerston and stood aside to grant them entrance. Things were set out very formally within. The King was sat upon his dais, a forbidding frown upon his face. Next to him stood Lord Schaeffer, one of his senior advisers.

Lord Schaeffer had an expression of distaste upon his face and looked as though he had swallowed something nasty. Gunnilde thought it was plain he was not enjoying proceedings so far. A large crowd of courtiers were packed into the back of the room with guards placed at intervals to keep them at a sufficient distance.

Stood in the middle of the floor facing the King was a group of disgruntled-looking men who Gunnilde guessed must be Constance’s kinsmen. They were bearded, wore old-fashioned cotehardies and matching expressions of belligerence.

Beside them stood Constance, dressed modestly in a blue gown and holding a devotional book clutched in one hand. Despite the studied demureness of her appearance, her head was flung back, her eyes flashed with scorn, and her color was high. She looked, Gunnilde thought enviously, the very image of a haughty beauty.

Stood at some distance again was Sir Douglas, holding himself aloof from the Northcotts. He looked uncharacteristically bad-tempered. These clearly consisted of the principal players in the matter. Now their party was escorted to the fore, and made another grouping, at least as large as the Northcott faction.

“Your Majesty,” Sir Palmerston announced, “the Wycliffes have answered your summons.”

“Approach, approach,” King Wymer said, rotating his hand.

James took a step forward and bowed. “What is your will, Your Majesty?”

“Well, well,” the King said, his eye traveling over them. “Brought the family along, have you? Only fair, I suppose.” He brightened a little on spotting Hal. “Hah, young Payne, is it? Won any ribbons this morn?” he asked with a flicker of interest.

“Not today, Your Highness, but Montmayne here just took the win for the long jump.”

“Did he indeed? Well, good for you.” Kit bowed. “Hear you caught the Queen’s eye last night, Montmayne. She tells me she wants to see more of you and Ames at court.” Cuthbert bowed too, but the King’s attention had already returned to his own favorite. “Hear you struck my fine Sir Symond a blow last night.” He chuckled. “He’s a fiery temper and took it very ill, or so I hear.”

“I believe I had cause,” Hal replied mildly.

“Insulted your dog, did he?” the King replied, striking his thigh and then bursting into loud guffaws at his little joke.

Lord Schaeffer coughed, and the King cleared his throat. “Ah, well, best return to this matter at hand, I suppose.” He sighed. “Heard about this wretched business, have you, Wycliffe?” he asked, turning back to James.

James hesitated. “I have heard a rumor, Your Highness, that an annulment is being sought of the union of Sir Douglas and his bride.”

The King nodded. “True enough. True enough. And what say you to that, sir?”

“Me, sire?” James’s eyebrows rose. “Why very little, Your Majesty. What business is it of mine?”

The Northcotts started rumbling at this, but the King swung around and bent a ferocious glare on them. “You have already had the floor, sir!” he roared in Sir Elias’s direction. “If I wish to hear from you further, I will let you know!” They relapsed into chastened silence.

“It has been suggested,” the King began cautiously, “that you might be an interested party. That in fact, you might feel similarly about your own wedded state.”

“I dare assure you, sire—” James started, but the King had already turned to Gunnilde.

“And you, Hilde?” he boomed. “What have you to say in the matter?”

Gunnilde curtseyed and stepped forward to stand beside her husband. “I am heartily sorry to hear that Sir Douglas and Lady Constance’s match has not worked out,” she began contritely, “but—”

“There will be no annulment of our marriage bond,” James’s words rang out clear as a bell.

Gasps and whispers had started toward the back of the room. Lord Schaeffer made a hushing motion with his hands that was largely ignored.

Gunnilde made another attempt. “You see—” she began desperately.

“In any case, there are no grounds,” James cut in smoothly. “Our marriage has been consummated. Many times, sire,” he added just in case there was any doubt on the matter.

Gunnilde’s face flamed at the titillated gasps of the ladies and the barely suppressed chortles of the men.

The King gave an approving grunt. “Well, I’m glad to hear it! At least someone here behaves as they ought!”