“Well,” said Monica, “I never understood the appeal of giant vegetables, anyhow.”
“Yes, they are better small and crisp,” Hattie agreed. “But the flowers were always nice.”
“There is always next year,” said Monica, her pale brows raising.
Hattie blinked at her, warmth in her chest. “Yes,” she said. “There is always next year.”
For a time, they stood side by side and watched the beginning of the pig act, though by now, they had seen it many times. The little porcine performers balanced on balls and acted on command. One was a high jumper among them that could leap directly into Errol’s arms, which delighted the crowd.
“Have the Selwyns found you yet?” Monica asked her, after a while. “Your new parents-in-law?”
Hattie turned, surprised. “No. Are they here?”
Monica nodded. “The stepfather approached me to apologize if I took his observation at the wedding as an insult,” she said, with a twist of her lips. “Not quite an apology, though I think he saw it as one. He then went onto tell me how fond he is of jiggly women.”
“Oh, Christ,” said Hattie, horrified. “Do not tell Elias.”
Monica snorted, shaking her head. “I shan’t. He then went on to say that he only would have decried a match between us because of Elias’s childhood shape and the worry that we would produce a brood of soft boys combined together, unsuitable for Selwyn heirs.”
Hattie tilted her head to the side, staring at Monica for a long while. She blinked and cleared her throat, shaking the visual from her head. “Perhaps tell Mr. Harcourt instead,” she decided. “I should like to see what he thinks about this scenario, jiggle and sons alike.”
Monica giggled, clearly startled by this suggestion, and bustled away, hiding her pink cheeks under her fingers while Hattie grinned after her departing form.
Unfortunately, the loss of crowd companion did, in fact, open her up to being approached by the Selwyns, who sidled into the spot Monica had vacated with alarming immediacy.
“Miss French!” the man boomed, already red-faced from the summer heat and sporting two shiny, purple bruises under each eye. His nose was puffy and had a line of talc sitting over the scab that ran horizontal across the bridge.
“She isLady Selwynnow, Wallace,” his wife said, fanning herself in agitation. “Good afternoon, dear. We’ve come to saygood afternoon.”
Hattie did not sigh. “Good afternoon,” she replied.
“What an unusual gown, my dear,” her mother-in-law said, taking a step back and stepping to the blue side first, and then to the white-and-orange side. “It is two gowns in one, I daresay!”
“It is a replica,” Hattie said, looking down at the skirt and shaking it out. “Of a medieval king’s gown. Jadwiga of Poland.”
“A king’s gown, you say?” Mr. Selwyn repeated, blustering out a chuckle. “Bit light in the feet, was he?”
“She,” said Hattie, blinking. “She was a king.”
Mr. Selwyn stared at her a moment, his forehead muscles twitching in obvious confusion. “Oh,” he finally decided, glancing at his wife with eyebrows that suggested they would discuss it later. “If you say so, Baroness.”
Hattie forced a smile. “I must go and prepare. Thank you for greeting me.”
“Wait, no!” Catriona Selwyn said, her hand shooting out to grab Hattie by the wrist. “We must… clear the air. After that unfortunate business at the wedding, you understand.”
“Indeed?” Hattie said, staring down at her wrist with such pointed interest that the other woman immediately dropped her hold.
“Indeed,” said Mrs. Selwyn, wincing. “We… have only one son, you understand. It was a blow to find out through gossip that he was to wed. We had no say in it, no inclusion. We were wounded. And we behaved badly. Without thinking.”
Mr. Selwyn made a noise in his throat but did not otherwise comment.
“I wish we hadn’t,” Mrs. Selwyn said, looking exhausted by the effort it took to say those words, her face drawn and her eyes sagging at the corners. “In fact, I thought perhaps when we got back home, I might write to you, my dear.”
“‘Write to me’?” Hattie repeated, baffled.
“She likes the idea of her correspondence being tucked between letters from tsars and dukes,” Mr. Selwyn said with an indulgent little chuckle that made Hattie want to break his nose again.
Mrs. Selwyn immediately reddened. “Well, all right, Wallace, that’s quite enough. I only thought that a woman ought to get to know she whom her only son chose to marry.”
