Serial Fun - Installment Two

 

If you missed the first part of this ever-so-slightly sewing related bit of fancy that I wrote years ago, you can click HERE for the first installment.  

At eight o’clock (precisely -- it would never do to be late!), the Princess took a deep breath and rapped on her mother’s door.  One of her mother’s ladies let her in and Rita was surprised to see a small table, flanked by two chairs and elegantly appointed with tea, biscuits, and jam laid out in front of her mother’s fireplace.  Apparently, her mother was expecting someone else this evening, too.  Perhaps her scolding wouldn’t last too long.  The Queen came in from her dressing room, wearing a burgundy velvet dressing gown, and sat in one of the chairs beside the table.  Her dark hair, just beginning to show the silver highlights of age, was loosened and dressed with pearls, and the rich color of the velvet brought out all the rosy tones of her skin.  Rita thought her mother absolutely beautiful as she curtsied.  “Mother.”

            The Queen smiled warmly at her and motioned for her to sit in the other chair by the tea table.  Puzzled, Rita sat down as her mother poured two cups of tea.  “Gwendolyn, I really am at a loss for what to say to you.”  She glanced up.  “Sugar?” she queried.

            “Yes, please.”  Rita was amazed.  This certainly wasn’t what she’d expected.

            Her mother continued, “If I thought there was the least bit of malicious intent in your actions I would be very angry, but I believe you have just been careless.”  She handed the Princess her cup of tea and smiled slightly as she went on.  “You really are no longer a child, even if your father and I have a difficult time remembering that.” The smile faded into a look of concern.  “This has, however, been childish behavior, and I’m afraid you’re going to have to develop a more responsible attitude.”  The Queen paused long enough to sip her tea.  “Since you are a king’s daughter, you must be...prepared to face the duties and responsibilities that are going to come to you all too soon.”  She let Rita think about that for a moment.

            Rita set down her teacup.  “Does that mean I need to be more careful to be on time for dinner?”

            The Queen smiled.  “Much more than that, my dear.  A king’s daughter very often becomes a king’s wife.  I am not referring to the duties of a princess...you need to learn to be responsible and dependable so you will be able to assume the duties of a queen.”

            “But, surely,” Rita protested as she picked up her teacup, “that’s not going to happen so very soon.”  The very idea struck her funny.  Why, she should have years before she needed to worry about that!

            Her mother set her cup down and looked at her seriously.  “Flavia and Estria have already made inquiries about arranging a marriage for you.”

            Shocked, Rita set her cup down. “No!” she gasped, astounded.  Why, Flavia and Estria meant...she looked pleadingly at her mother.  “Please, no, not Rupert or Drummond!”

            The Queen smiled.  “We have spread the word that we consider you much too young to discuss any marriage plans, but you will be making your debut into society in just a year and a half, so we will not be able to use your age as an excuse much longer.”  She smiled at her daughter’s stricken face, reached across the table and took her hand.  “I don’t think you need worry about marrying either Drummond or Rupert.  Your father and I have discussed them quite thoroughly and we agree that neither of them would be suitable for you.”  Rita sighed in relief as her mother continued, “I didn’t mean to frighten you, but I do want you to understand that it is of some importance that you begin to learn to behave in a more responsible manner.”

            Rita nodded.  “Yes, Mamma.”  Then she frowned.  “Are you going to arrange a marriage for me?”

            Her mother shook her head, the pearls gleaming in the lamplight.  “Not as most royal marriages are arranged.  Your father and I have observed the political marriages around us and we have come to the conclusion that a happy marriage results in a better monarch.  We were fortunate enough to have fallen in love with each other, and we do not wish our children to be any less happy than we have been.  Neither you nor Gregory need fear an unpleasantly arranged marriage.”

            The Princess frowned as her mother began to spread a biscuit with strawberry jam, then followed  her lead and picked up a biscuit and began to add jam herself..  “Gregory isn’t going to get married yet, is he?”  She nibbled her sticky treat, trying to be dainty and ladylike.

            The Queen smiled ruefully.  “Gregory has not found a young lady who fits his ideal.  He met many potentially suitable young ladies while he was abroad, but he felt they were more interested in being Queen than in being his wife.”  She smiled a bit, and with a conspiratorial air she leaned over the table and commented. “We will do everything in our power to help love along, though.”  She took a very ladylike bite of her biscuit.

            Rita shook her head and set down the remains of her biscuit.  “What?”

            Her mother’s smile grew broader in anticipation, and she sipped a bit of her tea before answering.  “We’re going to have a ball, celebrating Gregory’s return, of course, but also to reacquaint him with all the noble young women in our area.”

            “Oh, Mother!”  The Princess clapped her hands in glee.  “May I go?”

            At this request, her mother shook her head and sighed.  “No, Gwendolyn, you know we have decided you will make your debut to society when you are sixteen.  We’ll have a proper debutante ball for you on your sixteenth birthday, but I’m afraid you won’t be able to attend any of the balls or hunts before then.”  To allay her daughter’s disappointment, which Rita tried to hide by finishing her biscuit and making a bit of a crumbly mess,  the Queen added, “There will be a formal banquet in the evening before the ball, and you may attend that.  I’ve already arranged with the royal dressmaker for a new dress for you for the occasion.  Also, if you like, you may help to letter the invitations.”  This was not just a concession; Rita was an accomplished calligrapher, and the secretary would truly appreciate the help.  “See my secretary in the morning.”

            “Yes, Mother.”  Rita took a long drink of her tea.  She was excited and disappointed at the same time.  “Have you picked out the fabric for my dress?”

            “Royal blue silk moiré.  She’s going make it from the same muslin as your pink silk, since that still fits so nicely, but she will change the sleeves a bit.  It should be very pretty.  I think she’ll be ready for a fitting early next week.  My new dress is going to be emerald taffeta.”

            Rita sighed in delight.  “Oh, Mother, you look so pretty in that color!  I’m glad you chose it.”  Then she thought of something.  “Mother...I can see the ballroom and terraces quite well from my sitting room...may I stay up and watch?”

            The Queen laughed.  “I don’t see why not.  You can always go to bed if you get sleepy.  I’ll tell Esmerelda not to enforce a bedtime that night.”

            “When is it going to be?”

            “Well, Gregory is supposed to be home on Monday...so we thought we’d have the ‘Welcome Home’ ball on Friday night.  Dinner will be at six, and the dancing should start at eight.  I should have the guest list finished by noon tomorrow.  The invitations really need to be sent out on Thursday or Friday.  It’s pretty short notice, actually, and the dressmakers are going to be terribly unhappy, but Gregory had planned another six weeks abroad.  He rather abruptly decided not to spend any more time in Paris.”  The Queen took a sip of tea and her blue eyes twinkled at Rita as she then added in a rather confidential tone, “I think he found himself spending too much time discouraging would-be matchmakers.”

            Rita chuckled.  “Is he going to get away from them here?”

            Her mother smiled.  “Well, he’s hoping those inquiries will come to your father and me, so he won’t have to fend off quite so many.”  She glanced at the clock on the mantle, gave Rita a smile and set her teacup down.  “Have you finished your tea? I won’t keep you any later tonight.”

            Rita glanced at her empty teacup and stood up, wiping her hands on the napkin and laying it on the plate with the biscuit crumbs.  “Yes, Mama, I’m done.” The Queen stood up also and gave her daughter a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then escorted her arm-in-arm to the door.  “Good-night,” Rita said.

            “Good-night, dear.”  The Queen watched as Rita headed down the corridor and around the corner.

            “Shall I fetch a fresh pot of tea, your Majesty?” one of the ladies asked from behind the Queen.

            The Queen turned back to her room and shut the door.  “Yes, Maeve, and fresh china also.  Then you may go.”

            “Yes, your Highness.”  Maeve picked up the teapot and used dishes and linens and disappeared as the Queen settled back into her chair.

           

            Rita walked slowly toward her rooms, thinking about what her mother had just told her.  Her head was fairly spinning with all of it...her own responsibility, the marriage offers from (Ugh!) Drummond and Rupert, the ball for Gregory...it was all too much to comprehend at one time.  She sighed, went around another corner, and ran right into her father.  “Papa!  I mean, your Majesty!”  Rita curtsied.  “I’m sorry...”

            But her father cut her short, his blue eyes crinkling and his mustache quivering as it always did when he smiled just a little.  “You don’t have to be so formal in private, sweetheart.  I hope I’m still ‘Papa’ to you when you’re forty years old.”  He gave her a hug.  “Been to see your mother, I take it?”

            Rita nodded.  “Yes, Papa.”

            “She talked to you about duties and responsibilities and such?”

            “Yes, Papa.”

            “Well,” the King smiled again at his daughter.  “Just remember you don’t have to be all grown up tomorrow -- just a little more grownup than you were today.”

            Rita smiled back at him and nodded. “Yes, Papa.”  Then, she frowned as she remembered the afternoon’s mystery.  “Papa, I heard someone say the name ‘Savoy’ today and it sounded familiar...like it was a name I should have known from somewhere, but I’ve thought and thought and I can’t remember anything about it.  Do you know the name?”

            Her father nodded grimly.  “Yes, but the person to ask about the Savoy family is your Uncle Godfrey.  Maximillian Savoy was his best friend.  He died about five years ago.  Godfrey knows the story...but I’m afraid it’s a very sad one.  Talk to him tomorrow, if you like.  Where did you hear the name?”

            --Oops, Rita thought.  Out loud, she hedged, “I guess I just overheard it at lunch, and for some reason I thought I should remember something about it.”

            “Well, you would have been about nine when Max died, so it’s quite possible you remember hearing the name in conversations around the palace then.  Maybe when Godfrey tells you the whole story you’ll remember some of it.”

            “Maybe.  Thank you, Papa.  Good-night.”  Rita stood on tiptoe and kissed her father on the cheek.

            “Good night, Gwendolyn.”  The King watched his daughter head down the hallway to her door and shook his head.  --They grow up so fast, he thought.  Then, he briskly walked through the corridors Rita had just passed through and knocked softly on his wife’s door…one light tap, then a slight pause and two quick raps.

            Her reply was the same as it always was. “Come in, my love.”

            He smiled, opened the door and went in.

To be continued...