“Yes, and your father was quite right—clothing design is not what d’Armand Automatons is known for. Please don’t object, darling—I do like some royalties, in our own name.” Rose didn’t count her own inheritance, or her copyrights.
Robin frowned. “You don’t suppose Pater did it deliberately, do you?”
Rose smiled, amused. “I’m sure he had excellent business reasons, my dear.”
“Which means he was quite aware of the leg-up he was giving me,” Robin sighed.
“Or of allowing you to gain the repute you had earned,” Rose corrected, “before he turned the reins over to Rupert.”
Robin smiled, taking her hand. “That’s true, isn’t it? Rupert can’t very well show much interest in any of my designs following in that vein now, can he?”
“Not really. Your father has cleared the way for you to make your own name, my dear. We really have so much to thank him for—and he is so little trouble to put up with, that I really feel I should be doing more for him!”
“Well, you do keep Elaine from worrying.”
“No I don’t, though I try. At least I can reassure her and allay her concerns as soon as they arise.” Rose shook her head. “Why can’t the woman see how much she owes to him?”
“I rather think she believes we should be grateful to her, for condescending to join the family.”
Rose’s mouth tightened, but she didn’t quite say it.
“I can see the strain that it puts on you, though,” Robin sighed, “especially since little Rollo has started trying to lord it over our boys.”
Rose managed a wan smile. “There isn’t much danger of that; they’re quick to put him in his place.”
“But then you have to deal with Elaine’s complaints.” Robin smiled sadly. “You do it so well, my dear!”
“But can I for much longer?” Rose sighed. “There’s bound to be an explosion between us, my dear—two women under one roof was never a sign of tranquility. I think it would have happened months ago, if we hadn’t all been distracted by your father’s…” Her eyes widened. “Oh, Robin! You don’t suppose the old dear did this for us, do you?”
Robin smiled fondly. “I don’t really, darling. Of course, with Pater, one never can tell.”
Rose sighed and shook her head. “Oh, if only we could just whisk him away to a house of our own! I know we could abide him easily enough, if we just didn’t have to be concerned about smoothing Rupert’s and Elaine’s feathers!”
“We have money enough, now,” Robin said, his gaze steady. “Say the word, and I’ll buy a plot and rent the robots to start building.”
“No, we couldn’t, I’m afraid,” Rose sighed. “Rupert and Elaine just wouldn’t understand, and they’d be far too hurt. Family should live in the same house, after all, especially when there are so few of us.”
“Traditions,” Robin sighed. “I begin to understand why Pater slipped his moorings.”
Rose stroked his hand, and hoped he wouldn’t come to understand too well.
“I do wish there were some way we could have avoided the ball this year, Elaine.” Rupert yanked his stock into an angry knot.
“My dear, the d’Armands have given a Christmas ball for three hundred twenty-two years,” Elaine answered, “and I will not let it be said that I was the hostess who broke that tradition.”
“Yes, I know,” Rupert sighed, “but this is such an inconvenient year.”
“Because of your father’s behavior, you mean? Why Rupert, what makes you think he’ll be any different next year?”
Rupert froze, staring in the mirror. “What a truly appalling notion!”
The Great Hall was decked in the symbols of the winter that never came to Maxima—frosted evergreens, holly and mistletoe, and plastic icicles. The happy throng of guests trooped in, Elaine and Rupert receiving them graciously with a little cheery chit-chat before they went on in to pick up an intoxicant from a passing robot.
“Whenever I envy them, I think of this.” Robin was watching from across the hall. “I would find it absolutely beastly to have to be so cheerily welcoming to people I can’t abide.”
“Yes, I know.” Rose’s face was haunted with longing. “But it would be so pleasant to be able to welcome friends into one’s own home.”
“True,” Robin admitted, “but would you really want to have to ‘welcome’ Dame Hithers?” He nodded at a skinny lady who was gliding across the floor with a hungry, malicious look about her.
“Perhaps, but I certainly would prefer not to speak with her if I can’t welcome her.” Rose turned away and began strolling toward the punch bowl. “Your father really should be in the receiving line, though.”
“He certainly has taken the slightest excuse to step out of it.” Robin smiled. “Still, he does seem to be doing his share to welcome the guests he likes.” He nodded toward the northwest corner, where Count Rory was chatting with a middle-aged matron.
Rose followed his nod—then stopped, staring. “Yes, he certainly is, though I think he may be going beyond mere welcome. A pinch on the cheek is one thing, but a hand on the shoulder is entirely another. We might wish to be closer, Robin.” She turned toward Rory.
As they came up, they heard Lady Copious tittering, “O, la, my lord! Certainly I am far too ample for such compliments!”
“Not a bit, milady, not a bit! Why, the more there is of a woman, the more there is to admire!”
“Admiration befits publicity.” Lady Copious deftly deflected a low hand. “But you have always been the soul of propriety, Count Rory.”
“Its letter, perhaps, milady, but never its soul…”
“Why, you have always been an example of propriety, Beau-Papa!” Rose burbled. “Surely you do not wish to retire from so illustrious a career?”
“Oh, do I not?” Rory turned to them with easy grace, withdrawing his hand. “Lady Copious, my son and daughter-in-law.”
“Charmed, my dear.” In fact, Lady Copious was looking both nettled and relieved. “Robin, I trust you will emulate your father?”
“I solemnly assure you.” Robin inclined his head. “I only flirt with my wife in private.”
Rose darted him a mock-venomed glance, but Lady Copious tittered. “So good of you! But I prefer my flirtations to be public. If you will excuse me, I’ll seek out my husband.” And she glided off before Rory could object.
“For shame, Beau-Papa!” But Rose couldn’t quite hide her smile. “Will no woman be safe from you?”
“Only insofar as she wishes to be.” Rory gave her a roguish glance out of the corner of his eye.
“Come, Pater!” Robin throttled a grin down to a smile. “Must I repeat all the rules of conduct you taught me?”
“Of course not, son—I don’t wish to examine you at the moment.” Rory tracked a new arrival, a gleam in his eye. “Lady Spriteleigh, however, is another matter. If you will excuse me?” And he sauntered away so quickly that they had no chance to protest.
“I fear no lady will be safe from him tonight.” Rose looked after him, worried.
“True, so long as she’s over forty and well-married.” Robin turned her toward the nearest champagne-bearing robot. “The old gentleman still has some notion of courtesy, after all—he’d never flirt with a lady who wouldn’t enjoy it.”
“True,” Rose sighed. “I shouldn’t worry. But Robin, what will happen if one of them flirts back?”
“That,” Robin admitted, “could prove difficult.”
They were right to worry. Rory was the life of the ball, though perhaps not in the best of fashions. In fact, he made quite a spectacle of himself, flirting with all the married ladies, and even going so far as to pat the bottoms of the serving-robots.