“What happens now?” Agatha echoed.
“What have you heard?” he asked.
“What do you become?” his wife wondered.
“What do we become?” the Duke of Hastings said with greater force.
“Forgive me,” Agatha said, looking from one face to the next. “I have not the faintest notion of what you speak.”
“You are a trusted member of the court,” Lord Smythe-Smith said.
“You are a favorite of the Queen,” his wife said.
The Duke of Hastings leaned forward. “Surely the Palace has given you some word. On procedure. On what will happen next.”
Agatha blinked. Next?
“Lord Danbury was the first of us to pass away,” Lord Smythe-Smith burst out. He mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “The first titled gentleman on our side. And you have a son.”
Oh.
Oh.
Agatha finally understood. “You are asking me if my four-year-old son is now Lord Danbury.”
“We need to know whether the laws of succession on their side will apply to our side. Does he inherit the title?”
“I never thought . . .” Dear God. Danbury had been dead for a month, and it had never occurred to her to wonder if they would keep his title. She had just assumed her son’s position was guaranteed.
She looked up. At the dozen or so faces fixed upon hers. “We could lose it all in a generation.”
“Yes,” Lady Smythe-Smith said. “What you lose, we lose. You set the precedent. You are the precedent.”
The Duke of Hastings regarded her with a surly frown. “Will you remain Lady Danbury or are you just Mrs. Danbury?”
“I . . . will find out,” Agatha said. What choice did she have?
“As soon as possible, if you please,” the duke said.
Lady Smythe-Smith laid her hand on Agatha’s. “We are depending on you. All of us.”
Agatha smiled weakly. Once again, the fate of the Great Experiment lay heavily on her shoulders.
Danbury House
Lord Danbury’s Study
Later that day
Agatha opened yet another drawer, rifling through papers. She should have done this sooner, if not to settle the matter of inheritance, then because she was now a woman alone, and she ought to understand her finances.
Frankly, she ought to have understood her finances when Lord Danbury was alive, but he would never have allowed access.
“Damn it, Herman,” she muttered. His files were ordered with no rhyme or reason. He was not a stupid man. He should have done better.
Coral slipped into the room and shut the door behind her. “His valet did not have any information,” she said. “Neither did the butler. Maybe Lord Danbury did not have a solicitor.”
“My husband had a solicitor,” Agatha said. “He met with him numerous times about . . . things.” What sorts of things, Agatha did not know. She had not paid attention. Clearly, she should have done. “I only need find his name.”
Coral stood by the door for a few moments, idly picking at the fabric of her apron. “I do try to look on the bright side, my lady.”
Agatha looked up with either astonishment or disbelief. She honestly wasn’t sure which. “The bright side?” she echoed. She was having difficulty locating that lately.
“You are free,” Coral said. “Is that not what you wanted?”
Agatha let out a humorless sigh. “Do you think me free? I thought I would be. I thought Lord Danbury’s death would leave me unencumbered, but all I find is that I am saddled with the burden of what it means to be a woman not tied to a man.”
“Is that not good?”
Agatha shrugged. “Who knows? I am on my own, but life is out of reach. I have no new freedoms. All I can be certain of is mourning, embroidery, and quiet teas with other widows. Forever.”
Coral said nothing. What was there to say?
Agatha slammed one drawer shut and yanked open another. “And now I cannot find the name of the solicitor! I am tasked with preserving the titles of dozens of good people, and I can’t even find the name of the man who can help me.”
“Would it be so bad, my lady?” Coral asked. “Losing the title.”
Agatha looked up. “Yes, Coral. It would be bad. They showed up here—all of them—looking for answers. Depending on me.”
“Surely it’s not your responsibility.”
“I made it my responsibility when I insisted on hosting that ball. When I asked the King and Queen to attend. We have given the new ton hope. A taste of rare air. Equality. They will not be able to let it go so easily.” She flipped through another stack of papers. “And why should they?”
“But—”
“I found it!” Agatha held up a letter, triumphant.
“The solicitor?”
“Yes.” She looked at the name. “A Mr. Margate. He will handle this. He will know what to do. I will write to him, and he will come.”
Agatha took her seat behind Lord Danbury’s desk and began to compose a letter. But then Coral asked, “Do you really think a solicitor will come to see a woman?”
Damn.
Sometimes she hated men. Truly.
“I shall simply sign the letter ‘Danbury.’ Let us hope he assumes I am a man with poor etiquette.”
“But won’t he know that his lordship has died?”
“He shall think I am a brother or cousin or anyone but me. That is how men are.”
“I do hope you are right, my lady.”
“I have to be,” Agatha said with a sigh. “I cannot be wrong. Not in this.”
Danbury House
Agatha’s Bedchamber
Three days later
“A gentleman is here to see you.”
“A gentleman?” Agatha looked up from her book.
“He says he is the solicitor,” Coral said. “Looking for the lady who does not sign her full name.”
“Oh my goodness.” Agatha shot off the bed. “Am I presentable? Does this dress look serious enough?”
“It is black, my lady. Black is always serious.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Mourning is a serious business.”
“He is waiting in Lord Danbury’s study.”
Agatha nodded, shoving her feet into shoes. “Wish me luck.”
“You shall not need it.”
Agatha gave her a grateful smile and then hurried down the stairs.
“Mr. Margate,” she said when she reached her late husband’s study. “Thank you for coming.”
He was old, and bewigged, and looked as she supposed a solicitor ought.
She moved to Lord Danbury’s side of the desk and motioned to the other chair. “Please, sit.”
“I am afraid I do not have good news.”
Agatha clenched her teeth, but somehow she managed to sound calm when she said, “Please elaborate.”
“There is simply no precedent for a case such as this. Not for nothing did they call it an experiment.”
“And my husband was the first to die.”
Mr. Margate grimaced. Agatha had little experience with solicitors—none, really—but even she could tell that his expression was a special one they employed when they were about to deliver bad tidings.
“The trouble is,” he said, “the title and estate were very specifically bestowed on the late Lord Danbury, God rest his soul. Not on you.”
“Of course not,” Agatha said impatiently. “Titles are almost never bestowed on women.”