A dozen sons might have diverted his attention from Genevieve, giving her some peace. As it was, she fell often beneath his reptilian eye, her dreamy insufficiencies and languishments tabulated and filed away for future reference. Though she was attentive to her duty, she seemed to him insufficiently blithe. Men liked women who were untroubled, and Genevieve too often seemed to be thinking about something. He had, therefore, simplified his life by packing Genevieve (then eleven) off to Mrs. Blessingham’s school, which was conveniently located in Avanto, the county seat of alpine Wantresse, only one long day’s ride from Langmarsh House.
Subsequently the Marshal, to the surprise of most everyone, had remained a widower, though he had sporadically shopped about for a son-in-law to be the future Duke of Langmarsh. During the summer festivals or when Genevieve was home during the Northerlies, the Marshal made a habit of introducing her to likely sons of the nobility, always without consequence. After one such holiday, the Marshal wrote to Mrs. Blessingham suggesting that his daughter was “too like her mother to be satisfactory,” “couldn’t something be done to her face?” and she should be “livened up a bit,” a message which was received with something very like despair.
“Did you meet any new men? What did you think of them?” Glorieta asked after each interlude, eager for sensation.
Genevieve refused to titillate. “That’s what father always asks me. I always say each one is very nice, but mostly they aren’t. They always look at my nose.”
“How did you likethem? I’m not your father, you can tell me the truth!”
“My loins did not twitch,” Genevieve replied. It was quite true, though she wasn’t at all sure she would know if her loins did twitch. Barbara said twitching was unmistakable, one couldn’t miss it, but if one had never experienced any such thing, how would one know? Genevieve had invented a dozen persons that she could imagine being,, she had invented a hundred scenarios in which those characters might act, she had never imagined one with twitching loins.
“Lust is not something we wish to dwell on at our stage of life,” said Miss Eugenic, the instructress in spiritual health. “The less said or thought about one’s loins at this stage of life, the less trouble one will have later on. It is Mrs. Blessingham’s view that for covenantal and Godly Noblewomen, sexual feelings and attractions should be avoided as long as possible. The practical applications of sexuality are best dealt with when the necessity presents itself. Now we are more concerned with acquiring resignation and dedication, for the sake of our souls.”
The state of one’s soul was considered important both for noblewomen and those aspiring to that state: i.e., daughters of the wealthy bourgeoisie whose papas coveted a title in their families. All such women were expected to be pious, to have imperturbable poise, rocklike dedication to the covenants, and a broad background of conversational information covering all the fields of general interest in Haven. Since all aristocratic women were presumed to be future mistresses of establishments, they had also to master the skills of personnel management and training, the economics of a large household and the basics of court etiquette and dress. These were studies enough, all told, to fill all the years before the question of twitching loins would become urgent (one dared hope) at the imminence of marriage.
Though many lower-class women would be married before twenty, covenantal women were “allowed the gift of youth,” as it was phrased in the covenants, as compensation for the oath every noblewoman took at marriage: “I vow a covenantal life spent in my husband’s service.” Thirty was the accepted age of marriage for noblewomen, most bore no more than two or three children, and any extra risk they might encounter by delaying childbearing was supposedly compensated through the services of off-planet physicians — though some of them perished in childbirth nonetheless. Off-planet physicians and medical supplies — along with gravsleds, various weapons and “a few other oddments” — had always been on the Lord Paramount’s “short list” of essentials.
Late marriage was a comforting thought, Genevieve admitted to herself, though red-haired, green-eyed Barbara thought otherwise.