“I should have told him about the extra keepsake card,” Hattie said absently, stroking the top of the box.
Elias was pulling a face. “What do you think my mother did to him?”
“Hm?” said Hattie, blinking away her reverie. “Oh, I don’t know. Women are always trying to grope the young men at the showcase, though. It’s far worse than the other way ’round. They’re used to it, especially Rhys.”
“Why ‘especially’?”
“Because,” she said with a shrug. “He is the pretty one.”
That only deepened Elias’s frown. “You think he’s pretty?”
The applause stopped her from answering. Though now that she had a moment to think, she supposed that Rhys got the worst of it because one of his tricks was inviting the crowd to find where he’d hidden things he’d just made disappear.
Yes, in retrospect, Errol and Malcolm had a similar number of admirers, just fewer opportunities to be handled by them.
“If he’s the pretty one,” Elias began again, as soon as the applause had died down, “what are Mal and Errol?”
She wrinkled her brow, turning to study him. “The charmer,” she said, “and the strapping one. You know this, don’t you? Ruby is the vixen. Monica the angel. Libba the Valkyrie.”
“And you?” he asked. “Me?”
She shrugged. “I have never asked.”
“You asked about the others?” he clarified, raising his brows in disbelief. “It sounded like you chose those titles.”
“Me? No. I’m useless at such things,” she said with a laugh. “I am the one who is yours, I suppose. And you are the one who is mine.”
“Hm,” he said, looking unconvinced. “I suppose.”
“The pretty one,” he said again with a huff. “I suppose that’s better than ‘the Welsh one.’”
“Oh, he would certainly think so,” she agreed.
“Why did he give you that box?” Elias asked, suddenly staring down at it with distaste. “I thought it would go in the rubbish after the showcase.”
“Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you?” she replied, plucking at the remains of her erstwhile silk dressing gown. “No, I intend to repurpose what is left of my poor robe. That is what you get for thieving.”
“I didn’t steal it,” he argued. “I improved upon it. The red one is much better.”
“I must discourage such actions in the future, Elias,” she replied with a raise of her brassy brows. “Lest you take it upon yourself to commandeer my other gifts from male royals.”
“‘Other gifts’?” he repeated as she turned to walk back into the crowd. “Hattie! What other gifts?! Harriet!”
She only smiled as she heard him following her.
And did not answer.
*
Elias bid farewellto his parents as the last of the props were being taken down.
He had intended only to walk over and thank them for attending and assure them that their allowance would be restored on the morrow, but his mother stopped him with a hand to his arm and a nervous press of her lips.
“Do you mind terribly,” she said as her husband stifled a gigantic yawn behind her, “if we stay another night at the inn? It is just that it seems very late now to head back toward home.”
“Of course,” he said, blinking in surprise at the fact that it was a request and not a demand. “I can’t imagine doing anything but sleeping after this myself.”
She nodded, giving him a tight little smile. “Oh, good. Yes, that is good. And we will depart in the morning. I asked your Harriet if I might write to her and she said it was all right, though I think she is still a bit cross with me.”
