“Oh, my,” she said to herself. “Oh, my.” She almost started to applaud the casting before realizing he was not an actor but a real person. Hair like a sunset and a lot of it, springing up from his forehead in a curly red thicket. Darker brows. Lean, but oh, such shoulders, and what straight, athletic-looking legs! He was obviously the lead character in this scene, and he was coming toward her.
“Mrs. Blessingham,” her father intoned, bending over her hand. “Genevieve. May I present my equerry, Colonel Aufors Leys.”
Genevieve dropped a curtsey, murmured an acknowledgment, felt her hand drawn into her father’s, and was led away with the paradigm close behind, their feet raising little dust puffs of whispers. They sat at a table near the orchestra. They sipped wine and were served hors d’oeuvres. The Marshal excused himself and went to speak to an acquaintance at another table.
“So,” said the Colonel without preamble, “How do you think we should handle the Frangian situation, Marchioness?”
If her father had been there, she would have smiled and murmured something about knowing very little about the Frangian situation. If the Colonel had been older, if he had said it in a teasing voice, she could not have replied at all. Colonel Aufors Leys, however, asked the question in a matter-of-fact sort of classroom voice, and she answered without thinking, for in this particular play, which seemed to be a new one, she knew the line.
“I think we ought to leave them completely alone.”
The Colonel choked on his wine. “I see,” he murmured, around his handkerchief. “The Lord Paramount is related to the displaced Duke of Frangia. He wishes his kinsman to be returned to the ducal palace. I don’t think he would care for that advice.”
“What theLord Paramount says may have little to do with reality,” she responded, still without thinking. “If he and the Duke were patient and kept any new converts out, the Frangians’ very strange religion would wipe them all out before long. Since the Frangians’ deity, theGreat Whatever, is worshipped by refusing to toil, since the Frangians do not have children because children require toil, their population must be getting elderly. Also, they’re not at all militant. They’d be easy to control if the Lord Paramount really wanted to do so.”
“If?” murmured Aufors, his brows lifting in wonder.
“Yes. If. I have never heard it alleged that the Lord Paramount is a patient man. So, it must be that he has some good reason for talking about controlling the Frangians while not doing it. Though he fulminates against Frangia a good bit, probably to show support for the duke, he lets the people come and go as they like. He lets them make converts and keep their society alive, so he must have a secret reason for doing so. If he has a secret reason, then the last thing he would want is advice from someone who doesn’t know his reasons.”
“What would you tell him?”
“I’d tell the Lord Paramount he has a much better grasp of the situation than anyone else, and he must do what his royal wisdom dictates.”
The Colonel stared at her, mouth slightly open. Then, “What reason might he have for letting them alone?”
“I’ve never thought about it,” she said honestly, proceeding to think about it for a long, slow moment. Then she nodded, saying, “It is probable the Frangians do something or provide something that the Lord Paramount considers useful.”
The Colonel blinked gravely at her as he considered this.
Genevieve returned his look, unaware that they were staring at one another. She enjoyed looking at him, and she was pleased to have been able to answer his questions. She was quite sure what she had told him was correct. It was not one of those visions that arrived suddenly in a hissing radiance, but it was the only answer that took into account everything she knew. It was really only a little more complicated than foreseeing the moves in chess.
The orchestra began playing a waltz.
The Colonel had a very thoughtful expression on his face as he rose, bowed, and asked, “Would you care to dance?”