Necropolis (Royal Sorceress Book 3) by Christopher Nuttall

and crossed her legs. “It never is,” she said. “Most people don’t pay any attention to maids, but those that do often have bad intentions. You’ll probably find yourself ducking unwanted attention if you’re sighted by the young bucks.”
    Gwen shuddered. Courtship among the nobility was a careful process, with the parents involved at every stage ... but young men had options denied to young women. They could go to brothels, find a lover on the side ... or simply mess around with the serving girls. It was, in theory, sinful, but the prospect of committing a sin had never stopped any of the young men she knew. She’d heard too much about their conduct in brothels, the brothels she wasn’t supposed to know about, to take it lightly.
    “And what do I do,” she asked, “if they do ... try to attend upon me?”
    “If they don’t try to restrain you, say you have to meet your mistress,” Irene said. “If they do, feel free to fight. But try to avoid using magic.”
    “That isn’t going to be easy,” Gwen muttered. Magic was part of her now, just as it had been from the very first day she’d used her powers. “I use magic instinctively.”
    “That’s the problem,” Irene said. “If you use magic, you can bet your last shilling that the victim will tell the world – and then you will be in some trouble.”
    “I know,” Gwen said. She finished packing the bag, then passed it to Irene. “How is this?”
    “Better,” Irene said. She stood up in one smooth motion, then peered down at Gwen. “Why aren’t you showing the proper respect?”
    She went on before Gwen could answer. “You are the servant in this relationship,” she snapped. “You are to curtsey whenever one of your social superiors enters the room, then keep your eyes down unless you are specifically told to meet someone’s eyes. You do not have the right to even look at them without permission. Do you understand me?”
    Gwen hastily bobbed a curtsey. Lady Mary had spent years trying to hammer the proper way to curtsey into her daughter, but Gwen had never really bothered to practice. Irene didn’t look too displeased, she noted in some relief. A girl from the country, looking to make her fortune in the city, wouldn’t be expected to have a perfect curtsey. But she would be expected to learn as quickly as possible.
    “Good,” Irene said. She marched over to the fireplace, then turned to smile at Gwen. “You should consider yourself lucky you’re not working for Chinese John. I had to put up with him for a few days and he was a right ...”
    She grinned. “You probably shouldn’t learn that word,” she added. “You certainly shouldn’t use it anywhere near Lady Standish.”
    Gwen smiled back. “What was he like?”
    “What was he like, My Lady ,” Irene corrected. “He spent two years in China, trying to convince the Ming to allow British traders to enter their ports and trade with the Chinese population. He took a Chinese bride and brought her back to England. And he expected his servants to perform the kowtow every time he walked past.”
    “The kowtow?” Gwen asked. “What’s that?”
    Irene knelt, then leaned forward in a deep bow until her head was touching the floor. “He liked having his servants respectful,” she said, as she straightened up. “Lady Standish, thankfully, doesn’t seem to be quite that obsessed with being treated with respect.”
    Gwen scowled. She’d asked her mother about Lord Standish and his family and had received, in response, a detailed report of everything High Society was saying about them. It was actually more detailed than half of the intelligence reports she’d read, which had convinced her to show it to a few of her subordinates and note that it was precisely what she wanted in a proper report. But it hadn’t made encouraging reading. Lord Standish was very much a career-driven man, not unlike Gwen’s father, while Lady Standish was obsessed with her social position. And their