“In the beautiful, glorious nation of Balcovia,” Elizabeth announced, “royal visits last for one night. Where do I leave my servants? A shack is fine. But something nicer to store our horses.”
“Er…” Mrs. Throckmorten tried to glance over Elizabeth’s towering sleeves. “I…that is…There’s a guest cottage, if you’d rather they spend the night there. And an empty barn that you are welcome to use. You and the duchess shall of course enjoy the finest chambers in my home.”
“And my Royal Guardswoman,” Elizabeth said. “And my lady’s maid. And my personal court portraitist.”
Marjorie dashed forward and tilted her sketchbook toward Mrs. Throckmorten.
The open page showed Elizabeth in all her garish glory—sketched on the journey up—shaking hands with a freshly penciled Mrs. Throckmorten, looking prettier and years younger than her actual appearance.
Her sallow face flushed with pleasure. No doubt she was already imagining this version of herself painted in oils and hanging in a palace’s portrait gallery.
“Of course. Everything shall be just as you say.” Mrs. Throckmorten swung her gaze toward the still speechless butler. “McCall, have a footman install Her Highness’s…extraneous servants…in the cottage. And have a tea service sent to the parlor.”
“At once, madam.”
Graham, Jacob, and Tommy in their livery and Philippa in her mobcap stepped aside, to be led away by the footman.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Throckmorten took Chloe, Elizabeth, Kuni, and Marjorie to a well-appointed sitting room.
Elizabeth seated herself in the center of a sofa. Chloe took the armchair at its right, and Mrs. Throckmorten an armchair just opposite.
A duchess would normally be an item of great interest, but with a princess whose bustled hips barely fit on the sofa—and whose enormous ruff barely cleared the door—in one’s parlor, one could be forgiven for not being able to tear one’s gaze away.
Kuni stood in rigid perfection, arms at her sides, chin up, face forward, to the left of Elizabeth’s sofa. This might not be the real Princess Mechtilda, but itwasKuni’s first chance to practice being a Royal Guard in action. Or ininaction, rather. Her role was not to move a muscle unless the princess was in danger.
Marjorie darted about the room, madly sketching from all angles.
Mrs. Throckmorten folded her hands in her lap and looked from Elizabeth to Chloe, then quickly back to Elizabeth.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of Your Highness’s visit?” Mrs. Throckmorten asked. “Er, and also you, Your Grace. An honor.”
Chloe smiled reassuringly. “This is all Her Royal Highness’s idea. She has long thought cotton is common—”
Mrs. Throckmorten reared back. “Well! She…I…”
“—but after the war ended, she was able to procureEnglishcotton, and has been completely won over by its superior quality.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Throckmorten said again, much relieved. “English cotton millsarerather special.”
“In my country,” said Elizabeth, “we have no manufactories. This is a shocking waste. Why should peasants frolic in the hills when they could be working for the king in a factory?”
“Er…yes.” Mrs. Throckmorten smiled, gaining confidence. “My husband and I say something quite similar every day.”
Chloe glanced toward the open doorway. “Is Mr. Throckmorten at the factory now?”
“Oh—not at this hour. The supervisor is in charge. My husband has a standing appointment every afternoon downriver. Silas will be disappointed to have missed— But he won’t have missed you, will he? If you’ll be staying until tomorrow morning, might you do my husband and me the great honor of also sharing a humble supper with us tonight?”
Kuni had no doubt whatever was served would be the finest menu Mrs. Throckmorten could imagine.
“We should love to,” gushed Chloe, as though dining with the owners of a dangerous, exploitative factory was her life’s dream, fulfilled. “But just you and your husband, if you please. The princess is payingveryfew calls outside the highest echelons of the aristocracy, and feelings getsohurt when minor lords feel they’ve been snubbed. I am confident we can trust in your discretion?”
Mrs. Throckmorten’s eyes glittered. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of telling a soul.”
Elizabeth gazed about the room with disdain. “In my country, beverages do not take so long to arrive.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Throckmorten scrambled to her feet and dashed to the corridor to see if the maids were on their way.
Kuni risked sending Elizabeth an unamused scowl. “In my country, princessesandpaupers possess better manners.”
