Mrs. Blessingham patted Genevieve on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about the doctor, my dear. She simply thinks you should be more involved in life. Well, perhaps the upcoming soirees will amuse you. Your father will be attending some of them, surely.”
Genevieve’s heart sank. Though marriage was deferred until later, girls became betrothable at twenty, and all students over twenty attended the soirees. Elegant suppers were served, there was dancing or entertainment; and the students were paraded before their parents and potential suitors. Oh, no doubt the Marshal would attend, and Genevieve’s sagging shoulders betrayed her thoughts as she walked away while Mrs. Blessingham silently berated herself for having mentioned him.
Whether Genevieve loved her father or not, she desperately wanted to please him, as life was infinitely easier when the Marshal was pleased.
In this effort she sought Glorieta’s help in deciding what she should wear to the first soiree, which her father was sure to attend.
“Wear the blue. It makes you look about thirteen. The younger you look, the more indulgent the papa.”
“1 don’t want him to be indulgent, Glory! I just want him to be … satisfied. If he’s satisfied with me he doesn’t . . . pick at me, and when he picks at me, it’s just . . . horrible.”
Glorieta put down her book, revealing an unhappy face and eyes that looked swollen from crying. “Is he bringing anyone?”
“The dinner list says he is,” Genevieve said, pretending not to notice Glorieta’s face, which set off alarms in her mind.
“Well, now that you’re twenty, it’s probably better if you don’t look thirteen. Here he’s spent all this money, sending you here for years and years, and if you don’t even look grown-up he’ll wonder why he bothered. Better wear something very grown-up, show your tits and be Duchessy.” Tits, shoulders, and arms which were carefully covered at every other time were shown off at soirees.
“Like?”
“Like the brown satin with the blush ivory roses that just barely cover your nipples. The one that matches your mahogany hair and your nut-brown skin and shows off how nice and round your front is. Tits are important to gentlemen, you can gild them, just a little, and the dress is very regal.”
“I do rather like that one.”
“Fine. Then you’ll be comfortable in it, and life is so much easier when one is comfortable.” She said this with a twist of her lips, as though the word meant more to her than she was saying.
The day of a soiree was spent in readying oneself. Bathing. Grooming. Having one’s hair done. No liquids after noon—one simply couldn’t run off and pee while wearing an evening gown—but a little snack late in the afternoon, just a bit, so that one wouldn’t collapse from hunger during the presentations. Then, dressing. Makeup. Genevieve’s satin brown skin, inherited from that long ago Dark Queen, needed very little makeup,- just a gloss on the lips, a touch of blush on the cheekbones and a bit of gilding on the curve of the breast to draw attention to the nipples, barely hidden by her gown. Her complexion, brows and lashes were perfect on their own, and nothing could be done to disguise the Nose.
Gowns and girls (in that order of importance, said Barbara) were assembled in the reception rooms by sunset, and the guests began to arrive shortly thereafter. The girls moved into the reception line when their own families or guests were announced. After joining Mrs. Blessingham in greeting their guests, they moved away so that other girls could take their places. Genevieve saw her father’s carriage from the terrace, and she was standing at Mrs. Blessingham’s left by the time the butler announced the Marshal, Lord Dustin, and his equerry, Colonel Aufors Leys. She looked up, suddenly aware that virtually every girl in the room had also looked up and was not looking away.
They were not looking at the Marshal, who was his usual impeccably dress-uniformed self, the black of his bemedaled and gold-braided jacket serving as proper setting for his long, vertically grooved face, each set of grooves delineating one small fold beneath his chin. The man everyone was staring at was beside him, and Genevieve was staring too.