“Oh, it doesn’t mean the same thing that it does here,” she said, waving her hand.
“I find that difficult to believe,” he replied, straightening in the chair and running his eyes over the fabric of her robe. “I think the connotation of a gift like that is the same universally.”
“What?” she said, blinking rapidly. “I meant the title. Prince is not… It is like a count or an earl, you see. An actual son of the tsar, or king, if you will, would actually be a grand duke in Russia. It is wonderfully confusing.”
He was staring at her, a deep line between his dark brows.
She cleared her throat and ran her hands self-consciously over the fabric of the robe, which only seemed to draw his eyes back down to it again. “I have been to Greece, you know,” shesaid, a little too shrill and rapid for her own tastes, but she got the words out all the same. “When Willa sent me on my Continental tour, that was the stop where I lost my chaperone to a swarthy Corinthian with green eyes. She’s still there. They have five children. I ought to have found another one after that, but I could never be fussed. None would have been as good and I was old enough by then, anyhow.”
“Harriet,” he said, flatly.
“I should write to her,” Hattie continued. “Oh, Mr. Harcourt! You return.”
The barrister was hovering in the doorway with a tray of coffee and its garnishes, mugs, and what appeared to be freshly cut fruit. “Shall I give you some privacy?” he asked, looking from Hattie to Elias and back again. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“Absolutely not!” she exclaimed. “A stimulant is supposed to be just the thing for a headache, you know! Thank you for fetching it.”
“Your dressing gown isn’t stimulating enough?” Elias asked under his breath, winning a narrow-eyed look from her.
Either Mr. Harcourt did not hear the comment, or he was choosing not to hear it. Hattie supposed it did not matter which.
“I was going to inquire,” the barrister said, setting the tray down and seeing to his own cup, “if either of you are interested in looking into a special license. I only ask because if we go down the traditional route with banns being read, your wedding will by necessity fall on the same week as the funeral, which seems a little foreboding to me.”
“Whyever does it?” Elias replied with a tight smile, sipping his coffee straight from the pot, without even a fleck of sugar. “Sounds appropriately auspicious to me.”
“Would the banns be read here?” Hattie asked, tilting her head curiously. “I don’t know if the parish considers us Brightonresidents anymore. I have been abroad for some time, and Elias resides in… erm?”
He turned slowly to stare at her as she fumbled her way through the city’s name. “Hunslow,” he provided. “Isn’t it wonderful how well we know each other?”
“Well, there will be plenty of time for that!” Mr. Harcourt said briskly. “Though the matter of Hunslow does remind me that we need to address your commission, Lord Selwyn. I think the most sensible course of action is an initial request of stasis while we sort out whether you wish to sell or defer or seek some other remedy in light of the demands of your inheritance.”
“I’m selling it,” Elias said impatiently. “Why put off the inevitable? Initiate the process yourself if you like, Harcourt.”
“I certainly can assist with that,” Mr. Harcourt replied, as though it had been a friendly request. “As for the banns, due to the inherited property, it is legal if they are read locally, yes. Is that your desired direction? I suppose it would take just as long to write to the archbishop and await a response, anyhow.”
Hattie managed to nod, still a little uncertain any of this was truly happening.
“Excellent,” Mr. Harcourt replied, flashing her an encouraging smile. “Now, there is the matter of your quarters here in the Rest. Due to the fact that Willa had the baron’s room converted to a library sometime after his death, there is but one functional bedroom in the master suite at present. As such, only one of you can move into the master suite until such a time as the nuptials are concluded, but we ought to open the rooms up and make any necessary changes in preparation for that as quickly as possible. As I said, there is a bedroom, but it is likely not in a state of good repair. I have the keys here in the baroness’s particulars.”
“‘The master suite’?” they both echoed, at varied paces and octaves of horror, giving Mr. Harcourt pause as he reached for his folio.
“Well, yes,” he replied, blinking through his spectacles. “That is where the lord and lady of the estate typically live, is it not?”
Hattie glanced at Elias and found him staring back at her with a look of wide-eyed disbelief, her lips pressed hard together.
“We have never even seen the inside of those rooms,” she explained, feeling around for her compress as little tremor of warning rang through her temples again. “It was not allowed.”
“Well, it is allowed now,” Mr. Harcourt said, patiently but with a clear note of confusion. “You can redecorate however you see fit.”
Elias released a huffing sound that was not quite laughter, dry and incredulous. “Are youcertainshe is dead?”
“The law is,” said the barrister, in a tone that said there would be no more discussion. “Here is the key. The two of you may decide how to proceed at your leisure.”
He dropped the key, heavy and silver, on the tray with a clatter, where it made the bowl of berries shake and the coffee cups ripple, and went back to his folio without a care for the weight of what he’d just done.
Hattie and Elias stared at the key for a time, and then at each other.
She gave him what she hoped was a look that was pleading, though she could not account for why she did not open her mouth and plea with her words, the way a sensible woman ought.
