Chapter 1 – Segoile’s Newest Rose #5
“I am sure…he will,” she said, but her eyes moved from Justenin to Remin, watchful. Neither man showed any sign of worry, but Remin and his knights never did anything without reason.
Lady Verr herself was evidence of that, when she arrived a few minutes later.
She betrayed no surprise as Justenin launched into the list of subjects Ophele must learn, his quill scribbling rapidly as they constructed a curriculum.
The conversation was necessarily limited to the two of them; neither Remin nor Ophele was qualified to have an opinion, but Remin’s face darkened as he listened to all of the things Ophele must learn to do, his black eyes resting on Lady Verr like two iron weights.
“To be clear,” he said, when Justenin was done, “My objective is for Her Grace to learn what is necessary to endure a season in Segoile without scandal or undue anxiety. Nothing more. This is a coat of paint we will scrape off when we come home. I do not value the customs of the capital and do not wish to see them here.”
It was one of the rudest things Ophele had ever heard him say. She bit her lip, looking anxiously at Lady Verr.
“I understand perfectly, Your Grace,” the lady answered, with no sign of offense.
“Good.” Remin set down his napkin. “Come and see me off, wife. I’ll be sending Leonin and Davi up to you directly. Lady Verr, your aid is appreciated.”
“You are very hard on her,” Ophele said as soon as they were in the bedchamber, and Remin sat down to swap his house shoes for boots.
“I hope it is undeserved,” he said bluntly.
“I will beg pardon, if so. But until we can be sure, be wary of her. You have a good deal of sense; if something doesn’t seem right, ask Leonin or ask me.
Leonin has sisters, he should have some notion of what a noblewoman looks like.
He will be supervising your morning lessons.
If you aren’t with me, your guards will be with you, from now on. ”
“All right,” she said, troubled. “Remin—you aren’t bothered that they will all know? I know I said I didn’t want to lie, but I am supposed to be your duchess and I don’t want them to think—”
“Of course, it bothers me.” Catching her hands, he drew her to stand before him.
“You are my duchess and my wife, and I don’t want you to change.
I would much rather have my duchess questioning my spending habits or dissecting devil quills with Juste.
Yes, I heard about that,” he added, as she let out a startled laugh.
“Do you know how proud I would be to tell those fools in Segoile about it? But either they wouldn’t care, or they would mock you for it. ”
“It will only be a coat of paint,” she promised him, going into his arms. She felt him sigh as he held her. “I will learn it and then forget it as fast as I can.”
“Don’t be embarrassed that you don’t know foolish things,” he told her. “Be proud of the things you do know.”
It pleased her so much to hear it. But it wasn’t easy to go back to the solar and face Lady Verr, who was sitting at the table reading Justenin’s curriculum.
Whatever Remin might say, Ophele could not look at the lady without envy.
It was as if Lady Verr was conscious of even the angle of the morning sun through the windows and knew how to present herself to best advantage, the light sparking off the red highlights in her hair, so graceful, she looked like a portrait.
“Lady Verr.” Ophele headed straight for the teapot. She felt the need to fortify herself. “I am sorry for His Grace’s sharpness. I hope it did not hurt your feelings. He is unhappy at the thought of going to the capital. It is very…disruptive.”
She had stood in the hallway for two whole minutes, composing this apology.
“I understand, my lady.” Lady Verr set the papers down on the table, tapping them thoughtfully. “I am pleased to help, but I admit this is a rather extraordinary circumstance.”
Ophele understood the underlying question.
“No one ever taught me,” she said, fighting to keep her eyes from the floor. All she could think of was the scorn of the Aldeburke servants, Lisabe’s mocking laughter, and worst of all, Lady Hurrell’s gentle forgiveness for every humiliating mistake. “I have been trying to learn.”
Lady Verr’s eyebrows lifted.
“You had guardians in Aldeburke, did you not?” she said, her gray eyes sharpening. “We heard about them, caretakers of the secret princess. You had no tutors, no nurses?”
“No.” Despite all her efforts, Ophele felt heat burn in her cheeks and hated it, wishing she could stop it.
“I see.” Lady Verr looked once more at the list. “I had the usual education, myself,” she went on in a lighter tone.
“A nurse when I was a child, then a governess, and tutors for history and courtesies, as well as a dancing-master. My grandmother was a terrible tyrant about all of it. But do you know, once I entered society, I don’t believe I used half of this. ”
“Really?” This sounded like the sort of thing Ophele should check on.
“Really,” said Lady Verr firmly. “And you are the third woman in the Empire, the only people to whom you must defer are the Emperor, the Empress, and perhaps the Crown Princess. You are her elder and the Emperor legitimized you, so technically you do not owe her a curtsy, though it may be politic to offer one.” She dipped her quill and scribbled a note.
“That’s the sort of trap one must take care to avoid.
We will have to ask what message His Grace wishes to send. ”
Please leave us alone, Ophele thought, but did not say.
“That will be your first public appearance, then,” Lady Verr went on.
“If you are summoned to court by the Divinity, then you cannot accept other engagements until you have received his blessing. If you imagine exactly what will happen when you get there, and what you will do, then you will be less nervous.”
“What will I do?” Ophele asked, intrigued.
“Mmm. Well…” Lady Verr smiled, mischievous.
“I will tell you what my grandmother told me, when I first went to court. At the Greater Court, one waits to be announced before entering, so you will stand outside the double doors until the Emperor is ready to see you. When the herald calls your name, the first thing you do is pick up your skirt. Lift your chin. Then walk down the violet carpet of the Imperial aisle as if you were going to your bridegroom, dripping with jewels and wearing the most beautiful dress you have ever seen, and that one bitch you hate has to watch.”
“Lady Verr!” Ophele exclaimed, scandalized.
“Now, you cannot do that, no matter what shocking language you may hear,” Lady Verr admonished, but her eyes were dancing. “Who are you thinking of?”
“I am not telling,” Ophele replied, covering her mouth to hide a giggle. The thought of Lisabe watching as she walked into the Greater Court of Starfall on Remin’s arm made her want to laugh and laugh.
“But you see how this exercise is useful,” Lady Verr said, returning to business. “You will need a gown with a train to practice walking, my lady. And the first thing you will do when you reach the end of the Imperial aisle is to curtsy.”
“I don’t really know how to do that,” Ophele admitted, and the lady nodded, as if she had expected as much.
“You will do it impeccably,” said Lady Verr, rising from her chair with the clear expectation that Ophele should do likewise.
“My grandmother made me do twenty every morning, the moment I got out of bed. Keep your back straight, and be careful not to crumple the fabric of your gown. I am about to be very vulgar and let you see my legs. Now, watch the position of my feet…”
* * *
As the day went on, it got easier to confess her ignorance. There were so many opportunities.
Lady Verr had a long list of questions and requirements by the time Leonin and Davi arrived, and though Ophele imagined Remin had already provided an explanation as to why their duchess had never learned to dance, she still felt compelled to face them and say it herself.
They wanted to be her hallows. They must know the truth.
“I’d be pleased to learn with you, my lady,” was all Davi said, and offered her a surprisingly graceful bow. “I don’t mean to be a disgrace to you, neither.”
“Either,” corrected Leonin, with a sidelong glance. Ophele suspected that sometimes Davi’s errors were deliberate. “And no one here should feel any disgrace. Such neglect is…unforgivable.”
“It would be a scandal, if it were known,” Lady Verr mused.
“It is not for us to determine whether to make it one,” Leonin said oppressively. “If there is anything else that is unclear to you, Your Grace, I beg you will say so. You cannot be worse than this…person.”
“His Segoile manners are so fine,” drawled Davi. “He says person, but he means pig farmer. But that’s all right, I’d rather be the pig farmer than the poor sod trying to teach him to dance, eh?”
“It sounds like a trying morning either way,” Ophele replied, with some trepidation, and was surprised to see the flash of a smile from Leonin.
It might have been very difficult indeed, if it weren’t for Davi.
Ophele felt horribly conspicuous as Lady Verr and Leonin watched her first stumbling steps, and it was amazing that the instant she tried to think about making her body move in a particular way, it felt as if she had anvils strapped to her feet.
But Davi was struggling just as much as she was.
“Stars and blazes,” he said as he tripped over his own feet for the fourth time and caught himself on the table. “Buggering—that is, show me the blasted step again, Leonin. Never felt so left-footed in all my life.”
“I can’t imagine why, you manage your footwork well enough otherwise,” said Leonin, who wasn’t even breathing heavily. Ophele hated him for that, just a little bit. “One step at a time, and my lady, try not to think about it too much. I assure you, your feet cannot be reasoned with.”