Imaginary.
It was imaginary.
She had stumbled down the stairs with one slipper on, her hair askew, running through possibilities in her mind.
Errol didn’t wear rings.
Rhys wore too many, and they were all cheap.
Malcolm’s were all far too expensive.
What was she going to do?!
“Saints in a stagecoach!” A maid gasped as she beheld her future baroness, hobbling past like a grotesque from a penny dreadful.
Hattie exploded into the dining room, where Libba and Monica were seated in polite discourse over toast that looked unburnt and juice from an orange, not a tomato.
“I’ve forgotten the rings,” she cried, immediately slumping onto the floor with her head in her hands.
“Good morning to you too,” said Libba, her fork still halfway to her mouth, as Monica let out a shrill cry of alarm and leapt up from her chair to usher Hattie into one of her own. “Beautiful dressing gown.”
“What on Earth?” Malcolm voice demanded a few moments later, upon which event Hattie found herself pulled to her feet and ushered again to a new location.
Libba’s room.
“No one will find you in here,” Libba assured here while Monica continued to pat her head. “Did we leave a slipper behind?”
“Nooo,” Hattie moaned, shaking her head. “It’s in my bedroom!”
“Oh, all right,” said Libba, flashing a widening of her eyes at Monica. “I’ll just go fetch Ruby.”
“What are the rings actually for?” Monica asked gently, holding Hattie’s face to her bosom like a brood mother. “Just love tokens? Those do not have to be ready on the day of the wedding.”
“But,” Hattie wailed, tears pooling in her eyes, “butmea culpa.”
“Yes, well, you’re only human,” Monica replied, clearly not understanding.
Hattie shook her head, hiccupping with the force of her despair.
“Oh, God,” Ruby said as soon as she appeared. “I thought this would happen sooner.”
The others exchanged glances that seemed to agree.
It did not improve Hattie’s comport.
After much petting and murmuring, Hattie did manage to get herself into some semblance of calm. She found that at some point, tea had been pressed into her hands, and, judging from the bitter film in her mouth, she had consumed some and done so without the cushion of sugar or cream.
“What about costume rings?” Libba suggested, hugging the poster at the foot of her bed like it might have ideas as well. “That would do the job for the day.”
Hattie shook her head. “It won’t.”
“Oh, it would. Come now,” said Ruby, tutting. “Did Elias even know you had put it upon yourself to undertake this task? Is he even aware you had planned for such a thing?”
It was the only thing that punctured Hattie’s grief.
“Oh,” she said, blinking through her tears. “Oh, I suppose not.”
“Correct,” said Ruby, sounding more relieved than smug. “Hattie, have you even spoken to the man about these rings?”
