“That is one of the most frightening sentences I’ve ever heard,” said Priscilla.
Zoe lifted her chin. “All of my sisters said no invitation would ever come, but you have arranged it.”
That got Priscilla’s attention. “Invitation?” she said. “What invitation? You can’t mean…” She trailed off, looking from Zoe to Marchmont.
“The Duke of York has promised to see that Zoe is invited to the Prince Regent’s Birthday Drawing Room on the twenty-third,” he said.
“The Birthday Drawing Room?”
“It is preferable, in the circumstances, to a Drawing Room reserved for presentations,” said Marchmont. “Zoe won’t be mixed in with a lot of girls barely out of leading strings.”
“The Birthday Drawing Room,” said Priscilla. “Good grief, Zoe, why didn’t you say so?”
“I forgot,” Zoe said. “He told me yesterday, but I was so angry with him that it went out of my brain.”
“Oh, my goodness! The twenty-third. That’s only a fortnight away!” Priscilla grabbed Zoe’s arm and started to drag her away.
“What are you doing?” Zoe said. “I cannot go with you. Mama’s horse is on the bridle path.”
“Let him deal with it,” Priscilla said. “You’re coming in my carriage. The sooner you get away from Marchmont the better. Come along, you absurd creature. Forget? How could you forget such a thing? Stop dawdling. We’ve not a minute to lose.”
Lexham House
Friday afternoon
Zoe stood in the corridor outside the open door of the large drawing room, preparing to enter. The two younger of her sisters were in the corridor with her, to provide guidance. The two older ones were inside. Augusta was playing the queen. Gertrude was playing Mama.
For one who’d navigated the deadly shoals of Yusri Pasha’s court, the rules governing court presentations were laughably simple.
Not so simple were the hoop petticoats. Her mother, grandmothers, and great-grandmothers had worn these interesting undergarments beneath the elaborate gowns Zoe had seen in family portraits. In olden times, though, a dress’s waistline had been at a woman’s natural waist or lower, and this made for some balance between top and bottom. Nowadays, the waists came up under one’s breasts, and the gown spread out from there, forming a dome, somewhat flattened fore and aft.
“You could not wear this in the desert,” Zoe told her sisters. “If a sandstorm came, it would lift you up and carry you to Constantinople.”
“What nonsense,” said Augusta. “There are no sandstorms in London.”
“You needn’t worry about winds,” said Dorothea. “You need only step down from the carriage. Then it’s merely a few steps into the palace.”
“The train is heavy enough to act as an anchor,” said Priscilla with a giggle. “Oh, Zoe, how droll you look.”
Zoe wore one of Priscilla’s gowns. A pearl grey silk confection adorned with ruffles and lace, it was the size of a tent sufficient to house a family of Bedouins. The dress was a few inches too short, but there was plenty of train to make up for the hemline.
Moving forward in a relatively empty space like the corridor of Lexham House had felt strange, but it had not proved very difficult. That, however, was only the beginning, her sisters assured her.
“The palace doorways are wide enough to pass through, but you must be prepared to contend with a tremendous crush of people on the stairs and in the corridor,” Dorothea said. “You must practice and practice if you wish to move gracefully, particularly when you’re presented to the Queen.”
“You must make your way up a crowded staircase,” said Gertrude. “You must gracefully maneuver your hoops and train among not only other ladies in hoops but men wearing swords. You must make a very deep curtsey to Her Majesty, and be careful not to get the plumes in her face.”
“Take care they don’t fall off, either,” Dorothea said.
“You must contrive to rise again without stumbling or dropping your fan and gloves,” said Gertrude. “Then you will back out of the royal presence, curtseying as you go.”
“Without getting tangled in your train,” said Dorothea.
“Yes, yes,” Zoe said impatiently. “But one thing at a time. Let me get through the door first.”
Augusta walked away to the far end of the drawing room and took her place upon her “throne.” This was a chair the servants had raised up on bricks, to bring her to approximately the level at which the Queen would sit.
Gertrude positioned herself nearby.
