Page 10 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

‘Delightful.’

‘He is, actually. A ray of sunshine. Compared to some.’

‘Ohcome on,’ Gwen said, finally snapping. ‘You’re nineteen now, not eleven. At least attempt civility.’

He turned to look at her with pure disdain in his narrowed eyes, gave her a slow once-over, and then returned his gaze to her face.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I will.’

‘You’re going to be here all summer,’ Gwen said. ‘Arthur. You might be hereforever.’

‘Well. God. I suppose you’re right,’ he said, sighing and looking around. ‘Must find a way to get through it. Face it head-on.’ Gwen was just about to nod and say something vaguely approving when he gestured to a serving girl walking past. ‘Some wine, please, and keep it coming. All summer.’ He turned to Gwen and gave her a sweet, entirely artificial smile. ‘Maybe evenforever.’

‘Oh, go to hell, Arthur,’ Gwen hissed. He raised his newly filled glass in a mock toast.

‘There’s the Gwendoline I remember.’

They sat in silence until the queen leaned over to talk to Arthur; he immediately sat up straighter and answered all her questions pleasantly, even charmingly;yeshe’d kept up with his reading,noof course it wasn’t an imposition to be called here for the summer,yeshe still loved to dance. It made Gwen all the more annoyed – hewascapable of playing nice, just not with her.

After dinner, there was to be music. Gwen was usually able to sneak away at this point in the evening, offering excuses of sprained ankles or miscellaneous ‘women’s troubles’, while everybody grabbed partners and rushed to take their positions for the dancing – but as she tried to move towards the exit her mother’s hand closed around her upper arm like a vice.

‘Dance with your guest, Gwen,’ she said through a terse smile.

‘Mother,’ Gwen said seriously. ‘Call the guards. He threatened me with a knife.’

‘Itoldyou not to say things like that any more,’ her mother said, taking her by the shoulders and steering her towards the dancers. ‘Lord Stafford’s poor nephew almost soiled himself when they grabbed him.’

‘I hope he really does kill me,’ Gwen said glumly. ‘Then you’ll be sorry.’

She could have sworn that as her mother walked away Gwen heard her mutter, ‘I wouldn’t count on it.’

Gabriel, of course, did not have to dance. He stayed seated, listening to Lord Stafford and nodding at regular intervals. She thought, not for the first time, that her brotherwouldlovefor his only duty to be marriage. He wasn’t betrothed to anyone in particular; he could find someone kind and thoughtful and studious just like him, and retreat to one of the crown’s houses in the country to garden and adopt a hundred cats and live out the rest of his days in peace.

But that wasn’t his inheritance. Royal sons meant promise – they carried the hope and glory of their lineage, however reluctantly; royal daughters were born to be promised to somebody else.

Gwen’s somebody else was already standing in the men’s line, waiting for her. She wondered how her mother had found the time to force him into dancing too, when she had been so busy corralling her own daughter. Perhaps she had brought in co-conspirators.

Arthur didn’t look particularly pleased, but when the music started he didn’t drag his feet; he danced with an easy grace that Gwen couldn’t help but envy. She hated him for being good at it, while she was always inches away from endangering someone’s toes. She hated the smug smile on his face as they had to grasp hands; the small, mean snort of laughter she heard when she missed a step and almost went careening into the couple next to them.

Most of all, she hated how much dancing required her to look at him. Hewashandsome, it was impossible to deny – although her knowledge of his truly appalling personality obliterated any points this garnered in his favour. His hair was almost black, and fell straight down to his shoulders; his skin was luminous brown despite the fact that it wasn’t yet summer, as if he’d already been spending a lot of time out ofdoors. The cut on his eyebrow, the sleepless look he had about him, the slight bruising she now noticed on his temple; it all should have made him far less handsome, but instead it just added to his rakish charm. She was pleased to see that he was still no taller than her, at least.

The girls adjacent to her – girls all down the line, in fact – were looking at him, and he knew it. She couldn’t imagine what they saw in him; this horrible boy who’d become a horrible man, sent here to torment her for the rest of her life. As soon as the music stopped, she walked away from him without a backward glance and went straight up to Gabriel, who was standing by the royal table, still talking to Lord Stafford. He took one look at her expression and excused himself.

‘Are you all right?’ he said, once Lord Stafford had walked away.

‘What was Stafford talking to you about?’ Gwen asked, keen to be distracted.

‘War,’ said Gabe, grim-faced.

‘With who?’

‘Amongst ourselves. The cultists are getting restless. The Catholics too. Father’s keeping it all in check, for now.’ Gabriel leaned back against the fretwork of an ornate oak pillar as they watched the dancers begin again. ‘Although judging by the look on Arthur Delacey’s face, if we do need to quash anybody – really crush their spirits – you’re the woman for the job.’

Arthur had also retreated from the dancers. He was now sitting with Sidney, his stew-covered manservant – although, Gwen noticed, he had managed to locate andremove the stew – and talking quietly to him, glaring around at everybody as he did. When he saw Gwen looking at him he caught her gaze and then rolled his eyes like a child as Sidney laughed into his ale.

‘Can’t you go and rough him up or something?’ Gwen demanded of Gabriel, who was still staring at Arthur.

‘What?Er. No. Might cause a minor political incident.’