Margaret sat in the library with her mother, reading through the morning. She would not be allowed to go out again until her ungainly—in the words of her mother—bruise went away so that her appearance was once again pristine. That, and Ingrid had tattled on her for lifting her skirts in public. Her mother would never say her imposed reclusion was primarily driven by that, especially since her father wasn’t upset. Appearance was the only thing that mattered to her mother, something she said should matter to Margaret as well, but Margaret disagreed. There were much better things than being pretty. Margaret knew her mother was only trying to make sure her daughter had the best. Margaret tried not to fault her for it—her mother still had a hard time being an outsider in the court after all these years.
The butler, Bruggen, entered the library with Charles Luther, her father’s business partner, in tow. “My ladies, Mr. Luther to see his lordship.”
Margaret’s eyes roved over the tall, lean man, his strawberry blond hair gleaming in the afternoon light. Resisting the urge to gasp with excitement, she calmly laid down her book. “How nice to see you again, Mr. Luther. Was Papa expecting you?”
He bowed to the both of them as the butler left the room. “My lord was not, Lady Margaret.”
“Please, sit while you wait, Mr. Luther,” her mother gently commanded. “My husband will not be long before he sees you.”
Heat pinkening her cheeks, Margaret asked, “Will you sit with me and tell me of your day, Mr. Luther?”
“It would be my pleasure.” He took the open end of the chaise, turning in Margaret’s direction. He smiled, but it dropped when his eyes landed on her arm. “Lady Margaret, have you been injured?”
Her mother spoke before she could even open her mouth. “Oh, it was horrible, Mr. Luther! Margaret came home not two days ago with an ugly black bruise on her arm, escorted by a city guardsman for her own protection. She had been assaulted by a common criminal as he rampaged through the city, stealing as he pleased.”
Margaret resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “It wasn’t as bad as Mama makes it seem. I was only pushed out of the way by the thief while he was running from the Third Guard Brigade, and one of them kindly escorted me home.”
“I’m glad to hear that you’re all right, Lady Margaret.” Charles rested a hand over hers, his smile reaching his eyes.
A thrill ran through Margaret, settling in her stomach as it buzzed with excitement. His crow’s feet deepened as he smiled, bringing attention to the white bursting at his temples.
“Enough of me. How have you been, Mr. Luther?”
“I’m afraid you’ll find me rather boring, Lady Margaret. I do nothing but work with your father. Soon enough—hopefully tomorrow—I’ll be leaving for Dorcia to speak with our workers on how to better improve their efficiency of delivery.”
Margaret smiled. “On the contrary, Mr. Luther, that sounds quite exciting. How is it you wish to improve the deliveries?”
“I would like to hire more workers to not only package the product, but deliver it. With more than one person on the road per carriage, they can go faster. While one sleeps, the other drives.” Charles’s eyes lit as he spoke.
Margaret frowned, her brow furrowing. “Doesn’t that seem…too taxing on the workers—and the horses?”
“Not at all, Lady Margaret. The faster the deliveries happen, the more time they can spend with their families, and we can have horses along our common routes to switch out in regular intervals so no one beast gets too worn.”
“But with the increased delivery rate, won’t that also raise product purchase and expectation, making them work even harder than they do now? They would be able to spend time at home even less than they do currently. Surely, Papa would not see this as a good thing.”
Charles looked over at her mother. “She certainly has her father’s gentle spirit, does she not?”
“She does. It makes my lord proud.” Her mother almost looked annoyed as she agreed.
Margaret blushed, pulling her eyes away from him to land on her lap. “My apologies, Mr. Luther. Surely, Papa would have a much better idea of what is happening than I.”
“You know more than you think you do, Lady Margaret,” Charles assured, squeezing her hand. “I’ll be sure to tell your father he has a most respectable heir in you.”
Margaret smiled tightly. “Thank you, Mr. Luther. All I can hope for is to make him proud.”
Her father had not officially made Margaret his heir yet, but she did not want to correct Charles. His petition was still being looked over by the king, and it could take years before an official answer was given—even for the king’s friends. The petition had only recently been drafted, so Margaret did not expect anything in the near future. And as far as she knew, it was the first of its kind. The other women of court who were sole children were married off and their husbands made heir to their father’s estates.
“You do, my darling,” her father said from the doorway, an affectionate smile adorning his face. “You make my heart burst with pride.”
Margaret lowered her lashes in a display of humbleness. “Thank you, Papa.”
“Come, Charles. Tell me more of this plan of yours.”
Charles quickly stood and bowed to her father. “Good day, Lady Catherine, Lady Margaret.” Charles nodded to both of them before following behind her father.
Margaret felt the distinct absence of his body heat when he left, drooping back into the corner of the chaise longue. She sighed heavily, looking at the hand he had touched. There was nothing particularly extraordinary about the touch, but Margaret felt something special had happened. He had gone out of his way to touch her this time. She wondered if he had finally stopped seeing her as the little girl he once knew and now saw the woman she was becoming.
Only time would tell, but time was too slow for Margaret’s taste.
A scream erupted near the front door of Cerule House, startling Margaret.
“Margaret! Margaret, come here right now!” her mother yelled.
She picked up her skirts and hurried toward her mother, worry tightening her chest. “What is it?”
“We’ve been invited to dine privately with Their Majesties!”
“What?” Margaret snatched the parchment from her mother’s hand, reading it quickly.
“We have to call the seamstress here immediately. We cannot wear anything they might have seen before.” Her mother opened drawer after drawer until she found a blank piece of parchment. She wrote a short summons to their seamstress before calling out for their butler. “Bruggen!”
A few moments later, he appeared. “Yes, your ladyship?”
“Find someone to deliver this to Mistress Marrywick immediately.”
“As you wish, my lady.” Bruggen took the parchment and bowed.
“Mama, will we have time for new dresses? The dinner is in three days.” Surely, they couldn’t ask Mistress Marrywick to create two gowns in such a short time; the poor woman would have to work until her fingers bled.
She smiled, cupping her daughter’s cheek gently. “Of course we will, my love. There’s nothing we can’t have when we want it.”
Her lips turned upward unbidden. “What colors should we wear?”
“They have to send a message. Everything we do needs to tell them something.”
“Our house colors, then?”
“I think perhaps the Platiri colors. We must show them we are loyal to Their Majesties.”
Margaret followed behind her parents as a servant escorted them to the royal family’s dining room. This was the first time they had ever been invited to dine privately with the King and Queen of Anatalia, and there was nothing that her mother wouldn’t do to make sure that it went perfectly. They all wore new clothes in the colors of the Platiri family: red and black.
Her mother wore a black robe with her burgundy petticoat and stomacher embroidered in black. Margaret wore the opposite, though with more ornamentation on the bodice. Black silk thread was woven into a bouquet of flowers native to Dorcia at her shoulders. Her father was the only one of them who did not strictly follow the color scheme. He wore all black with a silver vest, the colors bringing out his pale skin—it seemed no matter how long he spent in the sun, he never tanned.
“Please wait here, my lord, my ladies,” the servant said when they reached a closed door. He bowed to them before going through.
Margaret clenched her fists in her voluminous skirts to hide her shaking hands. Her father had dined privately with the king on many occasions, but this was the first time they had all been invited. She was sure she would stick her foot in her mouth at some point in the night. Margaret lacked the conversational skills needed at court, and it showed painfully in social situations such as these.
A few moments later, the servant returned. “If you will please enter, the table has been set.”
“Thank you.” Her father stood to the side to allow his wife and daughter to go through first.
Margaret pulled a chair out to sit but was stopped by her mother slapping her hand with her fan. “We do not sit until Their Majesties have been seated.”
“Yes, Mama.” Margaret blushed deeply, going to examine the artwork while she waited. How could she have not remembered something so simple?
Paintings by the most famous artists of their time lined the walls throughout the entire palace. The art ranged from before Anatalia was a country to the current year 2271. In the new year, the monarchs would host a showing for all the new artists to allow them to be seen and their art to be purchased by the nobles invited to attend. It was another way to find out where one was in the peerage hierarchy. Only the closest friends of the monarchs were invited, and it was something Margaret’s mother was dying to attend.
The door opened beside Margaret, and she fell into a quick curtsey. “Your Majesties, Your Royal Highness.”
The king nodded to them, a broad smile stretching his face. “Jerone, my good man! Thank you for coming—and bringing your lovely ladies with you.”
“It is our honor to be here, Your Majesty,” her father said once he straightened. “We were delighted to receive your invitation.”
“It was high time we invited you. Please, sit, and we’ll eat.” King Sorren motioned to the table for them to take their places.
Servants peeled away from the walls and pulled out chairs for them, pushing them in as they sat.
Margaret looked around the table before settling her eyes on the plate in front of her. There were times she wished she could go back to only being a farmer’s daughter. She would do as she was bid by her mother—let the adults talk and only speak when addressed. That was something she was very comfortable with. In any case, her mother was content to talk for her; her mother much preferred it, actually.
“Lady Catherine, Lady Margaret, you both look lovely this evening.” Queen Lillian offered them a slight smile.
“You’re very kind to say so, Your Majesty, but we certainly could never match your beauty.” Her mother bowed her head humbly.
Queen Lillian waved a hand. “Surely, Lady Margaret will grow up to be the crown jewel of our court.”
Her mother smiled at Margaret. “I would like to think she will.”
Margaret shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She didn’t enjoy being talked about like she wasn’t in the room, even if it was complimentary. She looked to her left, where the crown prince sat, to find he was already deep in drink. It seemed he wouldn’t be any help in keeping her from being the object of conversation.
“Jerone,” King Sorren finally said, “tell me about what you’re doing now.”
Margaret’s father sat straighter. “Not much has changed, but we’re trying to find a way to make our deliveries more efficient while still letting our men see their families.”
“Why not just hire more men?”
Her father smiled patiently. “If I hired more men, that means that I would have to pay my current workers less than what they make now, because there would not be as much work for them. That, in turn, would make it harder for them to survive on their salary. My people depend on me to ensure their families can live and prosper.”
The king nodded as her father spoke. “And how do you propose to solve your problem?”
“Perhaps creating incentives for the men without a family to work longer hours.” Her father shrugged, taking a sip of his wine. “Perhaps finding more investors to be able to pay more salaries.”
“You’ll find a way, I’m sure of it. You always do; otherwise, you wouldn’t have risen so far.” King Sorren raised a glass in her father’s direction.
“Your Majesty’s faith in my husband is beyond heartening.” Margaret’s mother lowered her lashes demurely. “It inspires us all to be better to deserve your confidence.”
Margaret looked between her mother and the king. Something palpable radiated off her mother that she couldn’t identify. She looked over at her father and saw his nose dipping into his glass of wine. Margaret jumped when the doors opened and the servants returned with steaming food. They served the king first, followed by the queen and the prince before they came to the Doremis family. It was a hearty spread of pheasant, roasted beef, and potatoes.
Looks continued to pass between the king and her mother throughout the dinner, the king personally helping her from her seat once dinner was finished. “My lady, we must be sure to do this more often. Perhaps after I’ve returned from my visit in Salatia?”
Margaret looked to her father and saw his eyes tighten as he looked at the king and her mother. She didn’t understand what the issue was—her father and the king were the closest of friends.
Her mother smiled brightly. “It would be our pleasure.”