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‘Will you let me speak?’

‘Go ahead.’

For someone who was anxious to speak, her twin seemed reluctant to break the lengthening silence.

‘So, what happened during the three weeks I was away,’ Elsie prompted, ‘that made you volunteer yourself up as a political pawn?’

‘Things? It’s complicated… Well, not complicated as such…’ Her twin’s head slowly lifted and the glossy fringe fell from her face, revealing a tragic expression. ‘It’s Rupert.’

Elsie rolled her eyes. Their second cousin was a ridiculous figure in her mind—malicious, yes, and avaricious, but not very bright or subtle in his attempts to undermine every improvement her parents tried to bring in.

‘Cousin Rupert, or should I say the King-in-waiting,’ she mocked. ‘That man really is delusional. What’s he been up to now?’

‘Well, I didn’t speak to him, it was Harriet—she’d been drinking and she was indiscreet.’

‘Harriet is always drinking, but then, if I was married to Rupert I’d drink too. Sorry, Lady Harriet. You’ve got to hand it to her, she can bring up the fact her father is a prince into literally any conversation.’

‘Apparently, Rupert and his lawyers have been studying the codicil.’

‘She was pulling your leg, Em, the codicil is just a joke.’

‘I said that, but she said that the lawyers have found a clause and there is a legal challenge.’

‘What sort of clause?’

‘I don’t know. She was sobering up by then and she tried to pretend she was joking, but she wasn’t, you could tell.’

‘This is all nonsense.’ Her twin was not only gullible, she thought everyone was as truthful and straightforward as she was—a fatal combination, in Elsie’s opinion.

‘I asked Rupert and he pretended not to know what I was talking about.’

‘And that clinched it? Oh, Em, this is how conspiracy theories start. There is no coup. Mum and Pa are safe on their thrones.’

‘Is this a conspiracy theory? A joke?’ she asked, walking across to a drawer and pulling out a file in a plastic folder. ‘Harriet left it behind—she came back for it but I pretended I hadn’t seen it. Look—just look.’

‘A lot of it is redacted, Em,’ Elsie pointed out, no longer laughing.

‘Have you seen the letterhead? They are a really famous law firm and look at that—it mentions Quindara and settlements and contracts.’ She ran a finger down the page.

‘It could read that way,’ Elsie admitted. ‘When you showed it to Mum and Pa, what did they say?’

‘This is a copy. They said not to worry and it’s nonsense, which means they are worried.’

‘Not necessarily,’ Elsie responded with less confidence. If there was nothing to worry about, her parents would have only introduced the arranged marriage proposal as a joke.

‘You get it now?’

Elsie nodded. Then she shook her head. ‘But I think you’re filling in too many gaps. Harriet planted the story.’

‘She was drunk, Elsie, and she was panicking that she’d lost this.’

‘They’ll get laughed out of court.’

‘Mum and Pa have consulted the lawyers.’

‘They are taking this seriously?’ The family lawyer was a delightful man but he was about a hundred and ten—the fact that he had not retired was an example of her parents’ insistence that loyalty was a two-way street.

Emily nodded. ‘You might be right, Elsie, this might be a big fat nothing, but I’m not willing to risk it.’