“Your parish?” Monica repeated, sounding amused. “Are you a churchgoer, Libba?”
Libba pulled a face. “Of course I am. The clergy are the best showmen in Europe. You get stuck with a single book of stories and try to keep a crowd engaged and entertained with retellings for the whole of your life, hm? Besides, you should see my vicar. He’s delicious.”
“Sounds like he’s not going to be your vicar much longer, if that’s in the paper,” Monica pointed out.
Libba shrugged. “We shall see. He could always marry the statue gelder. Damn! I should have been there.”
“Who got gelded, then?” Ruby asked, throwing herself on the sofa next to Libba. “Moses? Abraham?”
“It doesn’t say,” Libba noted, squinting at the gossip column. “Let’s hope it was Lot.”
“Not Lucifer?” Hattie asked curiously, unable to stop herself from imagining exactlyhowone might snap just the genitals off a marble statue.
“Never Lucifer,” Libba said immediately, with Ruby echoing, “Absolutely not.”
The two exchanged glances and broke into giggles, winning looks of confusion from both Monica and Hattie.
“Ah,” said Libba, resting her head on Ruby’s shoulder. “They’ve never seen a good Lucifer statue, obviously.”
“Always so beautiful.” Ruby sighed, shaping the general form of a man with her hands in front of her. “Always so well built.”
And they collapsed into giggles again.
“There was a story,” Libba said, wicking a tear from her eye, “of a statue of Lucifer that was too seductive, so the church hired the sculptor’s brother to make another one, and unfortunately, the second one was even more devastating. What a pity!”
Ruby nodded, hiccupping. “I’ve seen them both. I would put them in my bedroom and apologize to God in the mornings.”
“Well!” said Monica, pink and gaping. “Goodness!”
Hattie touched her cheeks, which felt rather pink as well. She was thinking of the feeling of Elias Selwyn’s muscled bicep under the fine linen of his coat as they’d walked into the master suite. He wasn’t made of marble. He could move. He was warm.
“Hattie!” Libba cried again, staring at what must have been a look of true distraction on her face.
“I could pick up enough Polish for the showcase, I think,” Hattie immediately announced, clearing her throat and shaking her head to dispel thoughts of her husband-to-be. She told herself to instead focus on the upcoming performance she must give and sent her mind reaching out to feel the bumps overinterconnected Slavic tongues. “Are there any local Poles about? Perhaps one might practice with me?”
“There are always foreigners about during the summer season,” Monica answered, looking relieved to have turned back to the dress. “We can ask at the Cauldron. If not, the Travellers’ caravan sometimes has people from the Continent in their retinue.”
“Oh, that’s true!” said Libba, her eyes sparkling. “We should all go see Miss Persephone and beg an audience. Rhys’s hair will fall out and he’ll have to do his showcase bald.”
This time, all four women burst into giggles together.
*
Elias was lateto dinner, leaving Hattie somewhat at a loss for how to occupy herself in the absence of her new course of study.
She found herself feeling a little restless, checking the archway that led to the dining room as often as she could without being conspicuous. Or at least, without being what she thought might come across as conspicuous.
As though to prove the point of her poor natural aptitude for silent communication, Malcolm immediately made note of it.
“I’m certain he’s just running a bit late,” he said, not unkindly, watching her as he stuck his fork into a green bean, one tine at a time. “I’m surprised you are so fussed.”
She frowned at him. “You are very good at reading body language, aren’t you?”
He gave her half a smile, a twinkle of self-satisfaction in his dark eyes. “I think so. It wouldn’t be fun at the tables if I weren’t.”
She considered this, turning her chair a bit toward him and her plate and cup with it, putting her back to the entryas a means of resisting further inspection. “Tell me,” she said, leaning close so they would not be overheard, “if you observed another gambler, touching their wineglass just so, how might you interpret it?”
Mal blinked at her, watching her stroke the crystal details at the base of the glass, then run her pinched fingers up and down the stem. He cleared his throat, coloring. “I… erm. Really shouldn’t say.”
