Miles in Love - Lois McMaster Bujold [409]
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Mark watched Kareen, all blonde and ivory and raspberry gauzy and entirely edible, returning from their bug butter table, and sighed in pleasure. His hands, stuffed in his pockets, encountered the gritty grains she had insisted he store there for her when the wedding circle had broken up. He shook them from his fingers, and held out his hand to her, asking, "What are we supposed to do with all these groats, Kareen? Plant them or something?"
"Oh, no," she said, as he pulled her in close. "They're just for remembrance. Most people will put them up in little sachets, and try to press them on their grandchildren someday. I was at the Old Emperor's wedding, I was."
"It's miracle grain, you know," Miles put in. "It multiplies. By tomorrow—or later tonight—people will be selling little bags of supposedly-wedding groats to the gullible all over Vorbarr Sultana. Tons and tons."
"Really." Mark considered this. "You know, you could actually do that legitimately, with a little ingenuity. Take your handful of wedding groats, mix 'em with a bushel of filler-groats, repackage 'em . . . the customer would still get genuine Imperial wedding groats, in a sense, but they'd go a lot farther . . ."
"Kareen," said Miles, "do me a favor. Check his pockets before he gets out of here tonight, and confiscate any groats you find."
"I wasn't saying I was going to!" said Mark indignantly. Miles grinned at him, and he realized he'd just been Scored On. He smiled back sheepishly, too elated by it all tonight to sustain any emotion downwards of mellow.
Kareen glanced up, and Mark followed her gaze to see the Commodore in his parade red-and-blues, and Madame Koudelka in something green and flowing like the Queen of Summer, making their way toward them. The Commodore swung his swordstick jauntily enough, but he had a curiously introspective look on his face. Kareen broke away to cadge more ambrosia samples to press on them.
"How are you two holding up?" Miles greeted the couple.
The Commodore replied abstractedly, "I'm a little, um. A little . . . um . . ."
Miles cocked an eyebrow. "A little um?"
"Olivia," said Madame Koudelka, "has just announced her engagement."
"I thought this was awfully contagious," said Miles, grinning slyly up at Ekaterin.
Ekaterin returned him a melting smile, then said to the Koudelkas, "Congratulations. Who's the lucky fellow?"
"That's . . . um . . . the part it's going to take some getting used to," the Commodore sighed.
Madame Koudelka said, "Count Dono Vorrutyer."
Kareen arrived back with an armload of ambrosia cups in time to hear this; she bounced and squealed delight. Mark glanced aside at Ivan, who merely shook his head and reached for another ambrosia. Of all the party, his was the one voice that didn't break into some murmur of surprise. He looked glum, yes. Surprised, no.
Miles, after a brief digestive pause, said, "I always did think one of your girls would catch a Count."
"Yes," said the Commodore, "but . . ."
"I'm quite certain Dono will know how to make her happy," Ekaterin offered.
"Um."
"She wants a big wedding," said Madame Koudelka.
"So does Delia," said the Commodore. "I left them arm wrestling over who gets the earlier date. And the first shot at my poor budget." He stared around at the Residence grounds, and all the increasingly happy revelers. As it was still early in the evening, they were almost all still vertical. "This is giving them both grandiose ideas."
In a rapt voice, Miles said, "Ooh. I must talk to Duv."
Commodore Koudelka edged closer to Mark, and lowered his voice. "Mark, I, ah . . . feel I owe you an apology. Didn't mean to be so stiff-necked about it all."
"That's all right, sir," said Mark, surprised and touched.
The Commodore added, "So, you're going back to Beta in the fall—good. No need to be in a rush to settle things at your age, after all."
"That's what we thought, sir." Mark hesitated. "I know I'm