“I wanted to see her,” Genevieve confessed, when they had remounted. “I thought she might make some things clearer to me.”
“Then, I, too, would like to have seen her,” Aufors said, bitterly. “I much need things made clear to me.”
“Aufors . . .” she said pleadingly.
“Genevieve,” he mocked. “My darling, I love you. But I am mightily out of temper with you, all the same.”
They rode to the Marshal’s house, finding him not at home. “Blessedly,” said Genevieve. “Now, dearest, go away. First let the Prince know that I would not marry you, and therefore you have promised him nothing.”
“The Prince will not like those words.”
“Dress them how you will.”
“And you won’t relent?”
She shook her head, faced him with a puzzled frown. “Never doubt that I love you, Aufors. Please. Never doubt it. Even when . . . when things seem strange. Everything is strange. I am doing everything wrong, so it seems to my senses, and yet in my mind, it feels . . . that I am doing the right thing.”
“Whatare you doing?”
She laughed, saying with a catch in her voice, “Well, right now I’m going to sit down with Delia and let the seams out of my dresses.”
After finding himself a place to stay in Havenor—which he had no time to do before leaving—Aufors shortly begged an audience with the Prince.
“I presume you found her,” the Prince said in an uninterested voice that covered a fully satisfied mind.
“I did, Your Highness. And asked for her hand, as I said I would. She has, however, refused me.”
“Refused you!” Satisfaction vanished. The Prince seemed, for the moment, speechless.
Aufors gritted his teeth. “She is of the opinion, sir, that she should not have acted as she did. That to marry me would somehow make her . . . fall short in your eyes.”
After a long silence, the Prince said through gritted teeth, “So you’re back with the Marshal?”
“No, sir. I’ve taken rooms in Havenor. I had already trained a replacement to serve as equerry to the Marshal. I am seeking a command in His Majesty’s armies somewhere in Dania.”
Something in Aufors’s voice drew the Prince’s keen attention. Some quality of … what was it? Shame, perhaps. Embarrassment? Ah.
“Your ambition will have to be delayed,” said the Prince, now with the slightest curve of lip, an knife-edged smile of penetrating chill. “You may as well stay where you are. You promised to assist me on the Mahahm mission, and that mission has already begun. Planning is well along.”
“But sir … My agreement to do so was conditional upon my marrying the Marshal’s daughter. If she would not have me . . .”
Delganor snarled, “That was your condition, Colonel. I did not accede to it. Review what we said, please. You had my permission. She had my permission. In return for that permission, you and she were to accompany me. The fact that she chooses not to take advantage of my condescension makes no difference to our bargain.”
Aufors remained immobile and expressionless, though with considerable difficulty. “I am at Your Highness’s command. Since Genevieve is not my wife, however, I cannot speak for her.”
“The departure date has been scheduled. The Marshal will be accompanying us, at the Lord Paramount’s request. He can, no doubt, speak for the girl.”
Aufors bowed. “As Your Highness wishes.” He began to back away, toward the door.
“You have not been dismissed,” said the Prince with vicious deliberation. He watched Aufors closely as he said, “Since she did not marry you, I may, perhaps, prevail upon her to marry me. That is, if she is still the kind of young woman a Prince would find suitable. Would you say that she is? To your certain knowledge?”
The threat was implicit. It was not a subject Aufors could lie about, or Jenny might find herself married to the Prince! Aufors remained bowed until he gained control of himself, thereby missing entirely the expression on the Prince’s face: one of avid and unpleasant glee.
Aufors managed to make the only reply possible. “Your Highness, I am afraid she would no longer be … suitable. I was guilty of anticipating our marriage. Genevieve is with child.”