Perhaps forever.
She hoped not forever.
By the time she had dressed, dabbed a modest amount of perfume onto her throat and wrists, and commandeered the vanilla jar from the kitchens, however, Ruby had vanished, evidently gone down to the boardwalk with Monica and Errol to examine the new storefront and workshop.
“They invited me, you know,” Rhys said sullenly from the dining room table, “but I don’t like to walk past that chicanery shop en route.”
“What?” said Hattie, whilst Malcolm attempted to shush her.
Thus commenced a twenty-minute rant about the many evils of Persephone Boswell and her curiosity cabinet.
And still there had been no sign of Elias.
If she hadn’t been half-convinced that she’d arrive just as they were leaving, Hattie had a mind to go find her bonnet and make her way to the boardwalk herself, just to indulge in a bit of distraction. As it was, she didn’t fancy feeling like a fool twice in one day.
She had never felt like this in Russia.
Or in Greece.
Or in Switzerland.
She kicked an empty rubbish bin purely by accident, but it did make her feel a little better. At least, it would have, if that hadn’t been the exact moment that Elias Selwyn deigned to return.
“Problem?” he asked, already grinning at her victorious stance over the toppled basket.
She spun around, eyes already narrowed, to find him holding a stack of boxes, lingering in the entryway with a rosy flush to his cheeks and a windswept tousle to his dark hair. “Many!”
“Oh, ‘many,’” he repeated, clicking his tongue with mock sympathy. “Do you wish to talk about it?”
“No!”
He smiled wider. “I don’t believe you.”
She drew herself up, her body rippling with fury, and took a stalking step toward him, pointing one finger in his direction. “You!” she hissed. “You appear so very smug after what you did… what youdidn’t…”
“‘What I didn’t…’?” he prompted, still flashing those even, white teeth.
She paused, her face radiating warmth as Libba and Malcolm passed in the hallway beyond the parlor, glancing curiously inside. It made her clamp her teeth together, her lips sealed against revealing too much, but her eyes had gone down to mere slits.
“You know very well,” she said as softly as she could manage.
“I suppose I might,” he replied jovially, looking fit to spring around the room like a satyr. He strode into the parlor, depositing the parcels from his arms onto the chaise, and took a step back, admiring the effect. “Here, I’ve brought you some things.”
She froze, confusion puncturing the heat of her rage as her eyes fell on the boxes. “What things?”
“Wedding things,” he said with a shrug. “Fabrics that Miss Thresher asked me to fetch, some silk flowers, and a dressing gown I saw in a shop window.”
“‘A… dressing gown’?” she repeated as she raised her eyes to meet his, blue and twinkling with abject self-satisfaction. “I have a dressing gown.”
“Do you, indeed?” he said, as though he weren’t perfectly well aware. “You might find that it has gone missing, in fact. Terrible shame. That happens in full houses.”
“What?!” she exclaimed, turning to look over her shoulder, as though she might see the thief absconding at her rear. “I was just wearing it this morning. I shall go check.”
She took a single step. Just one, toward the door, before she felt his hand on her wrist, anchoring her in place.
“Hattie,” he said, low and warm in her ear. How had he gotten across the room so fast?
She stumbled, her shoulder and back falling against the solid wall of his chest as she turned in surprise to see the full presence of him there.
