“You are surprised?” he asked, eyebrows lifted. “I had thought your father might have speculated with you?”
“Oh . . . no, sir, he has not.”
“Well then, you’re quite right that the matter is untimely.” And he turned to the woman on the other side and asked her about her son, while under the table, the Duchess laid a hand on Genevieve’s quivering knee as she might lay a hand on a horse’s neck to calm it.
“Wait,” she whispered, smiling, “just wait. Smile back at me. Don’t let them think you’re shocked. Just smile, murmur, take a sip of wine, that’s it. When everyone leaves, I’ll stay behind.”
The last course seemed interminable, and when the guests left the table it was only to reassemble in the conservatory where a stage had been set up. The players were brought on with appropriate fanfare, performing their buffoonish play about a group of vampires who were of the nobility and would drink only noble blood, the bluer the better. Genevieve did not think it funny, but then, she scarcely heard a word of it. Seemingly, some others in the room did not think it funny either, for while some of the younger ladies and gentlemen laughed heartily, the older men did not do so. Even in her confusion, Genevieve guessed that she and her father had once again, through ignorance, transgressed some canon of taste.
The Prince excused himself and departed during the interval. Others of the older nobility left early, also, and it was a lower ranking, much diminished, though more uniformly appreciative audience who saw the final curtain with a spatter of applause and a spate of chatter. As the last guests departed, Genevieve stood beside her father, bidding them farewell. The Marshal was much as usual. He did not seem to be aware of what had happened during dinner, or that the Prince had disapproved of the entertainment. Genevieve did not enlighten him. Instead, she snatched up a shawl and slipped out onto the terrace where Alicia waited for her, wrapped in a great fur cape.
“What can I do?” Genevieve cried. “I can’t do this, Alicia. Yugh Delganor is old. He smells old. All during dinner I smelled him, like mouldy soil in old cellars. All during dinner, I felt him, like craylets crawling on my skin, slick and slimy and strange. If I marry him, I will die, Alicia. I know it, the way I sometimes know things. And I’m sure he meant it!”
Someone made a noise beside the house.
“Who’s that?” whispered the Duchess, startled.
A shadow detached itself from the house and came swiftly toward them. Aufors.
“Did he say what I think I heard, Jenny? Is that old man wanting you as a wife?”
Her tears were sufficient answer, and he drew her close, wrapping her in his arms.
“Well,” said the Duchess, with a breathless laugh. “That answers one little question I’ve been interested in.”
“I don’t know what to do,” muttered Aufors, over Genevieve’s head. “I’m bound to the service of the Marshal, and though this would be … a hideous fate for Genevieve, he will no doubt approve it heartily as fostering his own ambitions.”
“Hush,” said Alicia. “Now is not the time. We must play for time. You must go back inside, both of you. Do whatever you usually do at bedtime. Wait for the house to settle. Then, Aufors, you bring her to the stable gate of my own house. Genevieve, bring whatever you would need for a journey in the wilderness, stout shoes, warm clothing, you know what she should bring, Colonel Leys, for you have fought in evil weather on hard terrain . . .”
“I’ll bring my own kit as well,” he said grimly.
“No,” Alicia interrupted him. “No. Shemust not be thought to have gone away with you, Colonel, or you with her! That could mean danger and disaster for you both: for her from her father, for you from the Prince. When morning comes, you must be here in the house, as surprised as everyone else. Now, let us get back inside, before the Marshal misses either of you.”
“Is this the right thing?” cried Genevieve. “The Prince has not asked Father yet. We don’t know what Father will say.”