Was it because noble heirs had to be born at home, as the covenants required? Perhaps that was what Alicia was afraid of for her daughter. That she would perish bearing a child at home. But that would be safer than in a boat at sea! Surely that was more dangerous yet. . . .
Someone rapped at her door, then opened it. The Marshal, her father, poking his head in, saying impatiently, “Genevieve? Aren’t you well?”
“Quite well, Father. Just resting a bit before luncheon.”
“Well, get up and put your court dress on. We’ve received a summons, you and I. The Lord Paramount wishes to meet you.”
Delia helped her get into the wide-skirted, rigidly boned, high-necked casing that served as daytime court dress. As soon as they were full grown, all students at Blessingham’s had court dresses made for their eventual presentations, and managing the voluminous skirts had been part of the curriculum taught by the dancing instructor. Being introduced to the Lord Paramount was a formality, and on formal occasions everyone wore court dress, each of the color assigned to his own rank, from the purple of royalty down to the brown of gentlemen. Only commoners of the lower sort wore red, for it was considered so improper a color that it was never used in clothing or decoration, at least not by those with any pretensions of class.
Once dressed Genevieve and the Marshal went uncomfortably by carriage to the palace at the appointed time, mid-afternoon, whereupon they were shown into an easeless anteroom where they waited on hard benches for several hours. Genevieve had had the foresight to bring a book, a practice Mrs. Blessingham had recommended for any appointment made by a member of a higher class who might keep people waiting to display his superior rank, and she spent the time patiently turning the pages.
Heretofore, however, the Marshal had only been summoned to court when needed to quell some crisis, he had never before been kept waiting, and he now reacted to this delay by growing angrier with every passing moment. By the time the footman summoned them into the throne room where the Marshal had been interviewed before, the Marshal was steaming.
The Lord Paramount was in no such agitation. He might not even have moved since the Marshal had last seen him, for he sat as he had then, robed in purple velvet, crown tipped slightly to one side, head leaning on his right hand, eyes half shut, an untidy scatter of booklets around him on the carpet and piled to either side.
“Marshal,” he said, slowly sitting upright and opening his eyes. “And his lovely daughter.”
“Your Majesty,” murmured Genevieve, sweeping a proper courtesy, head bent, hair arranged high, long neck exposed. It was this exposure of the neck that conveyed subservience. One was helpless in such a position. Which the Marshal perhaps thought of, for he bowed not nearly low enough. Her stomach clenched. He might well say something irretrievable!
“How are you settling in?” asked the monarch. “Yugh Delganor says you seem to have found appropriate lodging.”
The Marshal, tight-lipped, said, “We were fortunate enough to do so, Your Majesty.”
“Over on Belregard. Baron what’sits place. Good. Good. Happened to think that it was about time to decide how we’re going to occupy the young lady’s time. Have you grown bored yet, Marchioness? Being home instead of at school?”
Genevieve assumed the question was addressed to her, though the Lord Paramount was looking over her shoulder into the air. “No, Your Majesty. Things are still rather unsettled,” she murmured.
“Well then, we’ll give you a bit more time. Prince Delganor has asked that you be attached to his office when you’re ready to take up your duties.”
Genevieve managed a charming smile over gritted teeth as she asked, “May one ask what that would entail, Your Majesty?”
The Lord Paramount stared at the ceiling, as though trying to recall what exactly the Prince’s duties were. “Ah, the Prince oversees the maintenance of the palace and the welfare of its people. As you might imagine, we get visitors from all the provinces, and the Prince usually relies on a few charming young people to show the little barons and baronesses around the place, escort them through the public parts of the palace, you know. The greenhouses, the galleries, the gardens—only in summer, of course—and the royal stables. That’s a favorite, the stables. Children always like horses. So, when you’re ready, he’ll call upon you to do that.” She said, “I imagine I’ll need to familiarize myself with that duty, sir.”