Thomasine stepped forward and offered a comely welcome to her new houseguests, with all the grace a queen summoned after her strong winsome son dropped like a pile of rocks on the ground, before God and country. Of course, she'd hidden her inclination to do the same. What a brilliant escape.
Rather than stalking away, which was her next tempting option, she assessed the two young women before her. The two were lovely with their shiny hair and creamy complexions, but sullen expressions detracted from their true beauty. Their mother, Lady Hildeguard Roche was awed, yet watchful.
A many-times-mended-over kerchief in a drab faded brown covered the long dark, dull locks of hair that hung down the back of a very pretty servant girl. Her apron had certainly seen better days. Thomasine narrowed her eyes. Was it her imagination or had something in the girl's pocket just moved? Non, impossible. With a self-conscious move the child slid her chapped hand in that same pocket, clearly ashamed.
Lovely brown eyes looked lost in a face dotted with…was that ash on her pale cheeks? Cleaned up, the chit would be quite breathtaking. Thomasine wished she could reassure the child. At first glance, her son's choice was questionable. She pushed aside her doubts. She would make a fine princess.
If this stratagem did not somehow manage to go awry, she and Faustine might achieve success in guiding Prince's efforts toward maturity. The thought was enough to send a shiver skittering down her spine.
Resisting an urge to close her eyes, Thomasine silently allowed Faustine's last words to float over her. "Trust, my dear, trust." There was no choice at this juncture.
With practiced cordiality, Thomasine clucked, "You must be weary from your travels. A long ride, non?" No one answered, but she had not expected them to.
Amusement touched her as they looked around, clearly in awe. Lady Hilda nodded, which sent her triple chin into a horrifying jiggle. It seemed the woman could find nothing coherent to say. Thomasine had seen this before, of course. Royalty could be unnerving to the Lessors.
"Beatrix, please conduct our guests to their quarters so they may freshen for supper," the queen murmured. In a regal sweep she addressed Lady Hilda. Thank the heavens Royalty had their practiced finesse, as it would take that and more to pull off this mad plot she and her sister devised. "We dine at eight, my dear. We shall gather in the family parlor for a pre-dinner sherry before hand. A servant will avail themselves to you for your direction," Thomasine informed her. She inclined her head, as refinement and culture demanded. As expected, the four women bestowed deep curtsies.