Page 71 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

It was like pulling a bowstring taut, Arthur thought; once you’d begun, all thatsomethinghad to gosomewhere.

‘You don’t have to write to him tonight,’ Sidney said. ‘You don’t have to write to him atall.’

‘And let him have the last word?’ Arthur said, fingers knotted in his hair as he glared down at the parchment, feeling affronted that the perfect comeback hadn’t materialised in front of him without his nib touching the ink.

‘It’s a bloody letter. It’s impossible to have the last word, because he can just send one right back. You’ll go on for ever and ever trying to one-up each other until one of you dies.’

Arthur laughed mirthlessly. ‘I see you’re finally beginning to understand the true nature of my relationship with my father.’

In the end, Arthur wrote a quick, messy missive – he’d worked himself up into a rage by that point, and rather than being a perfectly crafted, immaculately polite refusal to participate in whatever games his father was playing, it may have included a few choice phrases that insulted both his father and the horse he rode in on – and then, ignoring Sidney’s protests, immediately went to find a servant to arrange its passage.

‘Probably should have slept on that,’ Sidney said as they both watched the serving boy hurry away.

‘Oh, shut your mouth, and the rest of you,’ Arthur said, somewhat nonsensically. ‘Come on. Fetch my trunk. We have work to do.’

The nature of their work led them, half an hour later, to the royal wing.

‘Every time I open this door,’ Gwen said, ‘you’re standing behind it.’

‘You lucky thing,’ said Arthur, pushing into her room; hebeheld a large blanket spread out over the table, needle and thread dangling precariously from one end. ‘What the hell is this?’

‘It’s my embroidery.’

‘Wait, I recognise that blanket – I think Ibledon that blanket,’ said Arthur, going to fiddle with it.

‘You did,’ Gwen said. ‘I had to remove a whole section.’

‘This is what you’re doing on your birthday?’ Arthur said, aghast. ‘Youreighteenth birthday?’

‘It was thought unwise to throw a banquet only days after a security breach,’ Gwen said, shrugging. ‘Father offered to send his Fool, but I thought it might be a bit depressing, just Gabriel and me sitting here watching a grown man pretend to fall over his own bollocks.’

‘Oh, well, Art can do that for you,’ said Sidney.

‘Have you heard they’re setting a date for the wedding?’ said Gwen, sitting down heavily.

‘Ugh. Yes. I know we always knew this day would come,’ Arthur said, dropping the piece of blanket, ‘but I sort of hoped I might be dead by then. No offence.’

‘Er …’ said Agnes, appearing in the doorway from the bedroom, where she had clearly been hovering for some time. ‘Good afternoon, Lord Delacey.’

‘Oh,’ said Arthur. ‘Damn. Did you hear any of that?’

‘No, no,’ Gwen said, with the air of somebody who had long given up hope. ‘It’s all right. Agnes – Arthur and I have been feigning attraction to each other in hopes of distracting our families and various other onlookers from the fact that we harbour certain … romantic inclinations that might get in the way of us forming a harmonious union.’

‘Oh,’ said Agnes, taking a step into the room. ‘Yes. I know.’

‘Youknow?’ said Gwen, swivelling around in her chair to gawk at her lady-in-waiting.

‘You’re very loud in your sleep,’ said Agnes, shrugging. ‘Andwhen you and Arthur argue with each other. You talk about it all the time. And – I saw Arthur kissing Mitchell, the assistant to the Master of Hounds, at the feast.’

‘You did?’ Arthur said, mildly confused. ‘I didn’tseeyou seeing me – although to be honest, my memories of that night are somewhat hazy.’

‘Youknew,’ Gwen said again. ‘And you … You haven’t told anybody, have you, Agnes? Because if you have—’

‘Of course I haven’t,’ Agnes said, looking affronted. ‘I wouldn’t.’

‘We know you wouldn’t,’ said Sidney, in tones of such love-soaked adoration that Arthur mimed gagging behind his back, managing to get a smile out of Gwen.

‘Right. Get up,’ he said, clapping his hands together. ‘We have plans tonight. Where isyour … Is Gabriel …?’