She stared at him. Adrian came over then, took her hand, and said, “Let me introduce you to some people you should know.”
An hour later found her leaning, as discreetly as possible, against the comer of a table. Prudence and Will immediately closed ranks on either side. “It’s nearly over,” said Prudence. “Come on now, smile at me; you can’t afford to look weak, not as a first impression. … That’s better. We’ll just stand here and talk for a bit and pretend we’re all having such a good time—oh, lord. Here come the Muirs. Heads up, Io. He’s Lord Timothy Muir, ultrarespectable, he was in the War and he never misses a council meeting. I understand he’s a major pain in the butt. The long-suffering bore with him is his wife Judith. They’re trying to get their children administrative posts, and poor Adrian— Timothy! How lovely to see you. Judy, darling, what a magnificent veil, those rubies are almost frighteningly large. What’s it like to have a husband so generous?” Prudence babbled on, as she had through many of Iolanthe’s introductions this morning, making Io’s brief replies seem mature and thoughtful by comparison. Io suspected that this was a deliberate strategy on Prudence’s part.
Adrian glanced over from the knot of people who’d cornered him—he hadn’t even attempted to have breakfast—and saw what was happening. Iolanthe met his eyes with a look of quiet desperation. He disentangled himself from the group, amid a series of apologetic smiles, and made his way over to her.
“Adrian,” said Lord Muir heartily. “I just had the honor of making your promised wife’s acquaintance. A charming young lady. I was telling her about my son Harry.”
“Oh?” said Adrian noncommittally.
“He’s out of the knight’s pilot school, you know.”
“Really.”
“He hasn’t yet declared an interest in any particular sphere of public service. This would be the time for a sharp administrator to pin him down, I thought. Before he got into somebody else’s ministry.”
Adrian sent a wry look toward Io over Lord Muir’s shoulder, then faced him. “I know Harry would be an ornament to any post he took. But as you’re aware, there aren’t many available just now … and didn’t we give the assistantship of the Climate Control Ministry to your elder son George? It was just two months ago, wasn’t it?” Lord Muir stroked his mustache thoughtfully, as though this had not occurred to him. He looked, Io thought, the way an aging bravo ought to look; strongly framed, aristocratic, stem but approachable; you could believe he’d been in the Civil War. No actor could have done a better job.
“But, Adrian, surely room can be found for a bright young man who’s so ready to make his contribution. If we were fortunate enough to have a war—excuse my phrasing—I know he would distinguish himself. As it is—”
“As it is, my good friend, there are no posts available.”
“Well, now, not to be premature, but the position of Security Chief is bound to open up soon, isn’t it? Old Famham can’t hold on forever. And once he goes, there’ll be a lot of shuffling ’round and moving up, won’t there?” Prudence put her mouth to Iolanthe’s ear and whispered quietly, “Famham’s been on his damned deathbed for years now. We’re starting to think he’s immortal.”
Io lost the thread of the conversation in wonder over hearing a woman say the word “damned.”
“I wouldn’t like to speculate on that,” said Adrian firmly. “Bad luck.” And bordering on bad taste, his voice implied.
Lord Muir backpedaled quickly. “Well, now. Well, now … I just wanted to suggest that Harry would do well in any posting. Not necessarily Security.”
“Oh, I’m sure he would. Although, you know … he doesn’t really have any experience in anything, does he?”
“Experience?” Lord Muir chuckled a perfect man-of-the-world chuckle. “When does a fine aristo lad just starting out need experience? The damned admins can do the day-to-day work, that’s what they’re there for, hey?”
“That’s certainly been the custom.” Adrian smiled. “You might mention to Harry that if he’s seriously interested, he might spend less time hell-raising with Jason Speluker’s crowd—I’ve been getting complaints—and more time behaving as a ministry candidate is expected to. And Timothy—” he lowered his voice. “I’m afraid I really must ask you to watch your language in the presence of my bride.”
Lord Muir looked stricken. “Pardon, I’m sure. Forgot myself. Terribly sorry—my lady, truly—” He began backing away, taking his wife with him.
“Well done,” said Prudence, under her breath. Iolanthe saw a slight smile trying to fight its way onto Adrian’s face. He turned hastily so his back was toward the departing Muirs. Io met his eyes; suddenly he looked all of about seven years old, pleased and guilty together.
She giggled. A look of delight washed over him. “I’m sorry,” he said to her, “but I was under the impression you wanted to leave as much as I did.”
She nodded. “You were right.”
“God, I love being right!” He took her hand, lacing his fingers between hers. “Now I must take you to a high mountain and show you the treasures of the earth.”
“I beg your pardon?” she said, no longer alarmed at all by his verbal balletics.
“No, I beg yours. You would never require my pardon. I meant only that the first phase of your grand tour of the Diamond begins this afternoon, and I would not want to make us late.”
“Am I coming?” asked Prudence. “No one warned me.
“Do you want to come, Pru? It’s the traditional gemfarm tour.”
Prudence made a face. “If you think I’m wearing satin and lace to a gemfarm—”
“It’s expected that we go. The Protector’s wife gets to witness one of the economic bases of Diamond trade, not to mention picking up a brooch or comb along the way.”
“It’s hot down there, Adrian. My hair will frizz up.”
“May I remind you, wisest and loveliest of my advisers, that you invited yourself?”
“Well, if you put it that way, Adrian.
