Still, apparently it worked.
He flattened his mouth at her, his head ticking resignedly to the side, but did reach forward and clasp the cursed thing in his hand, taking it into his possession.
He had taken it. He had understood her.
Perhaps more remarkably, he had understood her and chosen mercy.
And now, despite being a little bit baffled, Hattie could breathe again.
“Onto the matter of a butler,” Mr. Harcourt said, and then he continued on with their morning, as though that key had never appeared at all.
Chapter Nine
“Are you leaving?”Elias asked, surprised as Mr. Harcourt appeared to be making his way to the front door with a valise. “Permanently?”
“I live on the other side of town, just past the Lanes,” the barrister said, turning with a wry smile to the other man. “I would have gone home last night if the lot of you hadn’t sneaked out. I’ll be back frequently as we continue to untangle your aunt’s knot, of course, and anytime you need me, but with the household evidently observing the Spanish tradition ofsiestatoday, I thought perhaps I ought to go check in on my own home.”
Elias had the grace to blush, scratching at his hair as he nodded. “Sorry about that, by the by.”
“Don’t be,” Mr. Harcourt said. “I daresay it was a necessary release of tension for the lot of you. Grief is an odd thing, Lord Selwyn. We all navigate it how we must.”
“Grief,” Elias repeated. “Right.”
“Oh, Mr. Harcourt!” came Monica Thresher’s voice, dove soft and trilling. “You aren’t leaving us? I wished to measure you for a new suit.”
The barrister looked up, blinking rapidly at her earnest face, her pale hands clutched under her chin. “Me?” he said, baffled. “Haven’t you got costumes to make for all your fellow wards?”
“Most of them,” she said with a nod. “Rhys and Libba already have plenty of my creations. I’ll need to measure you too, Lord Selwyn.”
Elias stepped back, wrinkling his brow. “I don’t have an act,” he reminded her.
Shaking her head, she gave a soft giggle and released her clasped hands, revealing the measuring tape that was caught between her palms. “You are the showmaster now, are you not? The baron. You will require a fitting.”
“Well,” said Mr. Harcourt, sounding relieved. “It sounds as though you will be very busy.”
“Nonsense,” she replied, turning those soft, brown eyes from one man to the other. “Why are you both so resistant to the idea of a gift? Please allow me to do this. I can measure you both now if you wish.”
Their protestations sounded in unison, tumbling over one another in such bumbling, awkward accord that it made her giggle again.
“Very well,” she said. “I am just finishing up with Malcolm. Elias, why don’t you at least join us to watch the process? It is not so very terrible.”
“I was going to nap,” he lied.
She studied him, her pale lashes blinking thrice. “Were you?”
He winced. “No.”
“Well, I’ll be off, then,” Mr. Harcourt announced, grabbing his valise by the handle and turning on his heel. “I’ll see you all very soon!”
Monica frowned as she watched him go, making Elias feel guilty enough that he had no choice but to slump after her back toward her hostage party with Malcolm Lennox.
He peeked into the parlor as they walked past it but saw that Hattie’s languid position on the chaise had been taken up by Jasper Townsend, who was apparently participating in theafternoonsiestawith the rest of the household, his hat over his face and his fingers laced over his steadily rising and falling chest.
Elias never had been able to nap midday.
Another shortfalling.
“You aren’t tired from last night?” he asked curiously, watching Monica bustle down the halls. “I was told you were trying to fall asleep in the booth at the public house.”
