“I want Jeanie,” Dottie said stubbornly.
“As Your Royal Highness commands,” Aunt Liz agreed.
“Oh, don't give me that,” Dottie said crisply. “I did exactly what the two of you meant me to do. I'll bet you put your heads together and said, 'How can we make her choose Jeanie for chief lady? Oh yes, tell her Jeanie's unsuitable and watch her take the bait.' You were like a pair of sheepdogs corralling me into the pen.”
They were both looking at her now. She looked back, not defiantly but evenly, like a businesswoman setting out her terms. “Okay, it worked. Just don't kid yourself that I didn't see it happening. I may be ditzy but I'm not daft.”
“Of course you're not,” Liz enthused. “That's just what Randolph told your ministers. 'Like a ferret up a drainpipe,' he said.”
“Did he indeed?” Dottie murmured. “How interesting. It seems I'm not the only one learning things.”
Randolph gathered his papers and prepared to depart, but paused beside her first to murmur, “Well done, ma'am. You're getting good at the game.”
“You mean the game of never trusting anyone?”
she murmured back. “Yes, I was sorry to learn that one, but I manage better now that I have.”
She met Randolph's eyes. His fell first. These days it seemed that every conversation between them ended in some awkwardness. The gap between them yawned, unbridgeable, heartbreaking.
But Dottie was getting good at the nuances of court life. When she made her next move it was carefully planned.
She had just taken part in her first investiture. In front of a small audience twenty people came before her, bent one leg onto a small stool so that they were half-kneeling, and just the right height for her to pin on a medal, or bestow a title.
Randolph stood beside her, telling her who each one was, and how they had deserved honor, and when it was over and they were walking back to her apartments, she said casually, “Harold will be here soon. I'm working hard to learn everything I need to know, but I'm still floundering. Never mind. You'll be there to look after me all the time, won't you?”
“I'm afraid not,” he said.
“But why?” she asked in apparent surprise, although she already knew the answer.
“Because I'm only your secretary, and you can't keep me by you on state occasions. Naturally I'll help you behind the scenes-”
“No good. I want you 'on stage' with me.”
“That honor belongs to someone from a titled family. This is a very old-fashioned court, still. Tradition prevails. Only those of the highest rank may attend the monarch in public.”
“Then the solution's easy. I just restore your titles. Plus all,” she began to quote frantically before she could forget, “appurtenances and privileges theretofore, not withstanding, herinafter, thingywhatsit and howsyourfather.”
His lips twitched. “You've been doing your homework very well.”
“And landed estates,” she finished triumphantly.
“No, that you can't do. They are crown heritage and must belong to you. But the rest-” he broke off, sorely tempted.
Then he remembered the ceremony he'd just witnessed. He thought of kneeling before her; he who'd kneeled to nobody in his life, and his pride revolted. He was about to tell her stiffly that he would prefer not to receive her charity, but he saw her watching him anxiously, and realized how hard she'd worked to make this easy for him. His heart softened.
“Thank you, ma'am,” he said gravely. “It's a kind offer, and I accept.”
Her smile of relief told him how nervous she'd been of his reaction, and he was shocked at himself. He couldn't match her generosity. He could only pretend to and hope she didn't suspect.
She arranged the ceremony so quickly that he guessed she'd had everything planned. There was a small crowd, a few of the highest ranking families, the women in evening gowns and jewels, the men ablaze with decorations. Dottie was glittering with diamonds from the crown jewels, retrieved from the bank that morning under armed guard.
Randolph himself was in full dress uniform and Dottie, watching him walk toward her, thought he'd never looked so splendid. She knew this must be painful for him, but if only he would smile at her they could share the moment and turn the pain aside.
But he gave her no smile. His face remained stern and set as he neared the steps that led up to the throne, beside which she was standing. He climbed the steps, his eyes searching for the stool on which he must bend the knee.
It wasn't there.
His eyes met hers, registering his surprise that this detail had been forgotten. Then he saw her smile, saw her shake her head slightly and understood that this was no accident. The next moment she confirmed it, reaching out her hand to draw him to stand at her side.
She began to read from the letters patent that returned his status. Inwardly Randolph flinched, waiting for the words, “our loyal and most devoted servant.” It was foolish to be so troubled by a few words, after what he'd already endured, but every pinprick seemed to pierce him twice now.
She was nearly there. As if from a distance he heard Dottie say, “our loyal and most devoted cousin and friend…”
A frisson went around the crowd. She'd departed from the traditional words of the letters patent, words that had been carved in stone for centuries. She'd simply dumped them to spare the feelings of the man beside her. Randolph stared at Dottie, shock warring with gratitude.
Next moment she had another shock for him. Refusing to let him kiss her hand she reached up and kissed his cheek. Then she took his hand and gestured to the applauding crowd, presenting him to them, inviting them to share her pleasure.
Randolph was aware of a dangerous ache in his throat. It mustn't happen. He had to speak. Somehow he managed it. The discipline held, the words came out, meaningless because all he was aware of was Dottie's hand still holding his.
It was over. He turned, went down the steps and walked away. But before he did so he tightened his hand on hers and felt the answering grasp of her fingers. They felt so small against his big hand, but their grip was surprisingly strong.
That was how they communicated these days; through public gestures filled with unspoken emotion, while their private conversations were awkward and uneasy.
Everyone agreed that inviting Harold for a state visit had been a brilliant idea, but it resulted in Dottie needing a crash course in “royal” behavior.
She, who'd never been to a formal dinner in her life, must become familiar with a whole array of cutlery, wineglasses, finger bowls. That was the easy part. It was the conversation that drove her distracted.
“Can't I just smile and say, 'My, how interesting'?” she begged.
“Certainly,” Jeanie agreed. She'd entered into her new duties, and her youth and fun-loving nature were just what Dottie needed.
“You can say, 'My how interesting' when you're visiting a hospital or meeting a line of actors after the theater,” she explained now. “But in a longer conversation it's not enough. You have to introduce a new topic now and then.”
“But why can't other people do that?” Dottie demanded distractedly. “Then I could just float with the tide, and say 'My, how interesting!' at short intervals.”
“Because only you can change the subject.”
“What?”
“Nobody but you can introduce a new topic. If the sovereign wants to discuss one-legged spiders all night then that's what everyone has to do.”
“I'm outta here.”
“Now don't panic.”
“Panic? I'm in a state of stark terror. You're all crazy.”
The other thing she had trouble with was the royal “we.”
“You're not just one person,” Randolph explained. “You represent the state. In fact, you are the state. So you're speaking for both of you.”