“She’s right,” Wenthelen said. “Someone could have been hurt.”
“But they weren’t,” I contested. “We don’t use the upper side of the wing, for the very reason of all the leaks. The rooms were uninhabitable, therefore uninhabited when the eaves collapsed.” I looked up at the ceiling of the great hall, which was covered in a painted motif of apples on trees. We sat directly beneath the pile of rubble, and, if you looked closely, you could see a stain was growing above the dining table.
“But—” Mathilde protested.
“You are right,” I spoke over her, tearing another piece of cheat bread from the loaf on the table. “We must be grateful.”
Rosie—who had sat through most of the meal with silent forbearance—stared down at her plate. For all my blustering, I was inclined to join her. No one had been hurt, but, from the rear of the house, anyone standing on the lawn might see: There was a yawning mouth, a gaping hole, through which you could observe a mess of rubble and dust. It was so much more than the blemish of overgrown hedges and graying whitewash: The hole was a festering sore, the weeping kind of wound that, if not properly tended to, would become fatal.
I was glad Alice was not there, for the moment, at least, to sayI told you so. But Mathilde, hungrily finishing her tart, seemed more than happy to assume the role. “This could jeopardize everything,” she announced to the table.
“I do not understand why a hole in the roof jeopardizes anything!” cried Elin. “Accidents happen. People are not punished for them.” She nodded to herself—not defending me, I realized, but rather, asserting the stability of her own future.
“The hole is from years of neglect, and it cannot just be hidden,” Mathilde said. “We have no means to fix it.”
“The prince is not marrying Elin for her house.” I glanced at Rosie, who still had not looked up from her plate.
“No, but we live in it. What happens after the wedding? The hole will not be fixed on its own and we cannot afford to fix it. And that is if it isn’t seen before!”
“You cannot see the hole from the front drive. You cannot see the hole from right here.” I knocked on the tabletop. I had carefully traced the route: You could ride or walk all the way up the drive and get through the front door without seeing the destruction. All one had to do was keep guests from going to the west wing, or anywhere near the back of the house. “We will need to keep it out of sight. Until the wedding. We’ll have to discourage any visitors.”
“No.” Elin cleared her throat and then dabbed at her lips with anapkin. “No, we must prepare for that eventuality. Simeon told me he is coming for dinner the day after tomorrow.”
I stared at her, feeling, suddenly, less hungry. “You are telling us this now?”
“Now is when I am seeing you.”
I turned to Wenthelen. “We will need meat.”
Wenthelen frowned. “Perhaps woodcock?”
“And something sweet. A marmalade? We must prepare.”
“Breast of veal in white broth,” Wenthelen mused. “Or mutton with salt-and-vinegar sauce.”
“How,” Mathilde interjected, “would we get veal or mutton?”
Wenthelen continued: “A sucket for something sweet. Is that too sweet?”
“I could try to hunt some bustard or pheasant,” I suggested. “Gods, Lucy does need to get out.”
“He is not coming for the meal,” Elin exclaimed. Then, suddenly, viciously, she blushed, a redness that crept from her neck and touched her chin but went no farther. “He said he wants to see me.”
“Nevertheless, he is coming forameal,” Wenthelen retorted, brow furrowed. “Therefore, a meal must be cooked and the rooms must be cleaned and your mother must figure out how to disguise the fact that half the house has caved in.”
“Stepmother,” Elin corrected.
Mathilde leaned forward with an expression I could not quite read. “Elin—the prince has picked you, but what are your thoughts on the prince?”
Elin, who sat in the middle, turned from facing Wenthelen and I, back down toward Mathilde. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You are happy?”
“He chose me!” Elin replied, half in protest, half in delight with the affirmation. “Of course I am happy!”
Mathilde pursed her lips, glancing quickly at Rosie, who kept her eyes down. “But what do you feel about him?”
“Why—I love him, of course!” Elin splayed a hand on her chest, as if her heart were proof. She glanced down at her own fingers. “He said he will get me a ring. There was not enough time.”
