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He took it but only shook it once, nodding to me. He exited the room, and a second later, Gelula stepped in.
“The Lady de Marissonne is here, miss. Do you need a moment?”
“No, it is fine. I’m ready.”
She turned back to the door to allow the fabulous Lady de Marissonne, my tutor, for what I called Etiquette 101, to enter the room. She was a very thin, much older biracial woman—at least in her late sixties or early seventies—with a small head and big eyes. But what was more interesting about her was her overall style and look. She wore a knee-length beaded dress, like a 1920s flapper, with stockings and two-inch heels. And it got better. She also wore purple lipstick and eyeshadow, along with thick eyelashes. I couldn’t help but think of Yzma from Emperor's New Groove the moment I saw her.
“Your Royal Highness, it is a pleasure.” She waltzed in and curtsied to me. Before I even opened my mouth, she’d already lifted her head to look at me. “Your reply must only be delayed for three to five seconds, Miss Wyntor. Any longer than that, and it will seem as if you are angry with me. Any shorter, it will seem as if you are uncomfortable with the greeting and, therefore, clueless. There are many times to be distracted, miss, but an introduction is not one of them. Remember, you must always be alert and attentive.”
Obviously, it was a pop quiz, and I failed.
“Today, we will go through all the basics of proper tea etiquette,” she went on.
“Tea etiquette?” I repeated. “Do you mean sticking my pinky out to drink?” I snickered at the thought of it; however, she looked much more disturbed.
“Never, under any circumstance, ever raise your fifth finger to drink tea. It’s rude and connotes elitism.”
“Aren’t monarchs the elite?” I asked carefully, not wanting my Americanness to come out too much, fearing Queen Elspeth would come out of nowhere and tear into me over it. Over the past few weeks, I had spent most of my time learning to walk, learning to sit, and how to curtsy, the proper titles for everyone, and how they were to be greeted—the fundamentals. And I could not even complain because the one second I had forgotten to sit like a duchess, the press lambasted me.
“Yes, but that does not mean it should be so on the nose, as you American’s say.” She walked over to the cart, lifting one cup and sticking out her pinky. “See how undignified it looks? As if to say, ‘Look at me, look me, I have a pinky.’ We are already looking at you, and we all have pinkies. So, either you are desperate for more attention, or you believe we do not have the same appendage. Ridiculous, no?”
This was very serious. “Okay,” was all I could manage to say.
“Very good. Pinky stays tucked in.” She folded her fingers. “Now, when partaking in tea, you must pinch the teacup handle with your index finger and thumb, while your middle finger holds the bottom, and your fourth and fifth fingers should curl in toward your wrist. Make sure the handle of the cup faces three o’clock, and always, always take a sip from the same place each time. The last thing anyone wants to see is a cup covered in lipstick stains around the rim. Now also, when stirring your tea, avoid clanking your teaspoon against the cup. Instead, swirl it quietly, gently as if you are trying to hypnotize your lover. Then rest the teaspoon behind the cup on the saucer with the handle facing toward the teacup handle, logical of course. You are never, ever, ever to leave the teaspoon in the cup or your mouth. Understand?”
“Yes.” I think.
“Very good, now we will test all the skills you have learned together. I will pretend to be ladies of different statuses, and we shall both go through a whole tea arrangement while adhering to the protocol for each person. Let us practice.” She was out the door again before I got another word in.
Oh, what fun.
“Thank you, Lady de Marissonne,” I said at the end of our lesson.
She curtsied deeply to me, and I nodded slightly with a small, closed-mouth grin at her immediately.
“Very good.” She nodded, and I stood a bit taller, happy to be complimented for once. However, as she left and Wolfgang entered with a tablet in hand, the small smile vanished.
He waited until the door closed before stepping forward, the deep frown on his freckled face telling me I was going to hate this. Gale had all but banned newspapers or anyone from talking to me about what was said in the press. I had not said anything to him about it. Instead, I just had Wolfgang basically translate what was said.
“The Morning Eagle again?” I asked him.
He nodded. “They are getting more vicious.”
Sighing, I sat back down, and instinctively, I wanted to cross my legs, but I remembered the last photo of me in the media and sat with my legs slanted.
“Read it.” I hung my head, waiting.
“Odette Wyntor snubs her sister. Augusta Wyntor-Washington, Odette Wyntor’s younger sister, claims her sister has snubbed her.”
“What?” I looked up at him in shock.
“Apparently, your sister spoke to some reporters last night. She is quoted throughout the piece.”
I reached for the tablet, and he gave it to me. Sure enough, there were quotes, not one or two, but several. Augusta declaring to all the world that I had ignored her, lied to her and that I was...
“Please tell me my translation is wrong, and this does not say, ‘My sister, Odette, always says she doesn’t want fame but then goes and tries to make herself the most famous person possible. If she is not the center of attention, she is upset.’”
What the hell? This could not be right.
