She dearly wishes she could answer that look with something substantial, but there's no time. They're standing before the countess, a sloe-eyed woman Beth's seen occasionally around the camp. Her dark curls bring Sonia to mind immediately, though she lacks Sonia's effusive friendliness.
Under normal circumstances, she'd offer to shake the countess' hand and say how nice it is to meet her--or, at least, say something. She knows perfectly well how to be polite, at least by the standards of home. But it sounds like Southern hospitality doesn't actually meet the standards she's been told to follow; what's just been described to her sounds much colder and more strict.
So Beth, who's tried to compromise by not looking directly at the countess' face but also not staring down at the floor, doesn't really know what's expected of her. She takes a step forward, because Rani kind of gestures to, but nobody's actually talked to her, just about her.
Never stopped you before, comes a thought. It sounds suspiciously like her sister, the memory of her no-nonsense voice no less clear for all the time they've spent apart. The rest of Beth's thoughts are in agreement, that if she doesn't know what Rani wants and doesn't like what Rani's suggested, she ought to do what she knows to be polite.
Her attention shifts to the countess' face, and she summons up a tentative smile for her. "Everybody calls me Beth." Please, please, please, don't call me Elizabeth. "I'm pleased to meet you." And then, recalling how Rani addressed the countess, "Your grace."
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Under normal circumstances, she'd offer to shake the countess' hand and say how nice it is to meet her--or, at least, say something. She knows perfectly well how to be polite, at least by the standards of home. But it sounds like Southern hospitality doesn't actually meet the standards she's been told to follow; what's just been described to her sounds much colder and more strict.
So Beth, who's tried to compromise by not looking directly at the countess' face but also not staring down at the floor, doesn't really know what's expected of her. She takes a step forward, because Rani kind of gestures to, but nobody's actually talked to her, just about her.
Never stopped you before, comes a thought. It sounds suspiciously like her sister, the memory of her no-nonsense voice no less clear for all the time they've spent apart. The rest of Beth's thoughts are in agreement, that if she doesn't know what Rani wants and doesn't like what Rani's suggested, she ought to do what she knows to be polite.
Her attention shifts to the countess' face, and she summons up a tentative smile for her. "Everybody calls me Beth." Please, please, please, don't call me Elizabeth. "I'm pleased to meet you." And then, recalling how Rani addressed the countess, "Your grace."