“Not you, too,” she muttered.
“Of courseme. If I weren’t here to steer you right, who would?”
She didn’t have the chance to remind him that she didn’t need to be steered by him—the doors to the stateroom were thrown open, the duke and duchess were announced, and they began the promenade into the stateroom.
A very crowded stateroom. “I’ve never seen so many people at a tea,” she said to Beck.
“It’s for show, really,” Beck said. “A show of unity. Of the British willingness to help the poor, misguided Alucians and Weslorians work out their differences.”
“Eliza said Bas is rather nervous, as this is the first time he will meet the Weslorian king and his family. King Maksim must be nervous, too, do you suppose?Iwould be if I were him, as the Alucian economy is much stronger.”
Beck looked down at her with a look of alarm. “What are you talking about?” he demanded. “What has happened to you, Hollis? You used to be amusing and now you’re all dry and boring.”
“I’m not... I’ve read...” Hollis sighed. No one, including her own sister, wanted to hear her thoughts about anything at all. “You used to be curious about things, Beck. What happened toyou?”
Beck snorted. “The only thing I am curious about is how long I will be forced to endure this tea. Of course the Weslorian king is nervous, darling. He desperately wants peace and everyone says the duke’s uncle Felix Oberon is just as desperate that they not have it.”
“Why wouldn’t Uncle Felix want peace?” Hollis asked curiously as the two of them inched forward.
“Because if there is peace and prosperity, no one will follow him into rebellion. And if no one follows him into rebellion, he loses power and his influence in the country will wane.”
That made a lot of sense to Hollis. So did the potential for an overthrow.
When at last their full party had entered, people came forward to bow and scrape to the princes and their wives.
Hollis and Beck, being the least important of them all, stood to one side, among the Alucian gentlemen who were there, presumably, to lend their expertise to negotiations—ministers and lawyers and scholars who understood numbers. She and Beck were there as the family who would not be left out, no matter how little they contributed to the proceedings or to anything else.
Hollis was fairly certain she was the least important of them all. She was here for Eliza, obviously, but no one saw her as anyone other than the sister of Tannymeade.Ah, the sister,they said, and then she was forgotten.Really, for the time being, that suited her. She may be the sister of the Duchess of Tannymeade, but she was also the proprietor, author, and publisher of theHoneycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and Domesticity for Ladies,a biweekly magazine she put together and published mostly on her own. Unbeknownst to her family, who would surely disapprove, she was currently working on a bit of news for it.
Recently, she’d turned the gazette toward the more important news of the day. Hollis reasoned that women were interested in more than the latest gossip and fashion news, and she intended to provide it. She was in the midst of penning an article on the true prospect of peace between Alucia and Wesloria and had all the information she needed from the Alucian side. She needed more information from the Weslorian side of things, and particularly, about this supposed rebellion. She figured a royal tea was as good a place to start as any.
She would like to make the acquaintance of one or two Weslorians. She thought that would be the easiest thing to do at this event, knowing that Eliza would be occupied and Caroline would be fluttering about the room. But as Hollis and Beck moved into the room, she discovered that introductions were made quickly and in passing, as everyone was jockeying for position to meet the rulers of the two monarchies. Most of the people she met looked right through her and directly at Eliza and Sebastian, or King Maksim and Queen Agnes.
And then Queen Victoria herself entered, and everyone stopped what they were doing and bowed before the diminutive woman. She went around the room to the various clusters of souls, welcoming them to St. James Palace, asking after their accommodations, wishing aloud that they would all work together for the good of all nations.
Hollis was not introduced to Her Majesty. She was pushed farther and farther back until she was standing in the company of others who were not deemed worthy enough to make Her Majesty’s acquaintance.
Caroline was worthy, given her marriage to Prince Leopold, which somehow trumped her scandalous past. Even Beck was worthy, which surprised Hollis. “I didn’t thinkyou’dmake the cut.”
“I always make the cut, darling,” he said, and straightened his neckcloth. “If you will excuse me, I mean to ask Her Majesty if she has any whiskey about.”
“It’s a tea, Beck,” Hollis reminded him.
“We’ll see about that.” He sauntered away.
Hollis was left standing alone near a window. There was a time in her life she would have felt entirely conspicuous. But now, she felt a little...invisible.
She looked around the room for something to occupy her, and almost instantly spotted the gentleman who’d looked confused at the palace gates, but then had caught her before she fell. Like her, he was standing by himself. His expression was serious, his gaze fixed on someone or something in the crowd. It was odd...he looked as if he’d somehow wandered into this tea quite by accident. Had he?
She rose up on her toes to have a better look. He’d removed his greatcoat and his shoulders, she noticed, really were that broad. He was thickly built, like a laborer. She imagined him cutting and hoisting stones, sweat trickling down his arms...
She shook her head—that made no sense. What would a stonecutter be doing here?
She studied his clothing as best she could from that distance. He was wearing the sort of formal suit popular in Wesloria and Alucia. The coat had thin lapels and hung to midcalf. His waistcoat was heavily embroidered. He wore his hair brushed back behind his ears, but one lock still stubbornly hung over his forehead.
He stood stiffly, with his hands clasped behind his back and his head slightly bowed. Was he Weslorian? Alucian? She couldn’t see a patch of Weslorian green from here, that peculiar sartorial habit the Weslorians had of proclaiming their nationality. It was a bit like the Scottish tartan in that everyone knew that a man in plaid was most likely a Scot. A bit of green worn on a person signaled a Weslorian. It was generally quite small, such as a thin armband, or in a brooch, or cuffs or collars dipped in green. Unless one was a dignitary, in which case, they dressed more like Queen Agnes, who wore a forest-green gown.
There was something else about him that seemed a bit off. She suddenly realized what it was—in a crowded stateroom, where the goal was to make acquaintances, he was not attempting to make any. She pretended for a moment that, like her, he’d come with the intention of meeting someone, probably an Englishman. Here they were, the two of them, standing apart from all the rest, looking to meet someone new.
