"We were just discussing," Cartwright said with a roguish grin, "the dangers of country living. Poisoned soup, suffocating pillows, that sort of thing."
"Ah yes," Eleanor said serenely, handing him a teacup. "The usual marital hazards. Though I prefer more subtle methods myself. Arsenic is so pedestrian."
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Then Avon let out a bark of laughter. "Good God, Madeley, you didn't mention she was dangerous."
"I did try to warn you," Aubrey murmured, accepting his own teacup from Eleanor. Their fingers brushed, and she felt the touch all the way to her toes.
"So tell us, Lady Madeley," Waverly said, settling back into his chair with obvious delight, "how have you managed to domesticate our friend here? He used to be quite the bachelor about town."
"Domesticate?" Eleanor raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware I was housing a wild animal. Though he does growl before his morning coffee."
Aubrey nearly choked on his tea.
"And the poetry?" Cartwright pressed. "Has he subjected you to amateur verses?"
Eleanor's gaze cut to Aubrey, whose ears had gone slightly pink. "Poetry?" she said innocently. "No, I can't say he has. Should I be expecting some?"
"Absolutely not," Aubrey said quickly.
"Pity," Eleanor mused. "I do enjoy a good sonnet. Or even a mediocre one, really. The effort is what counts."
"She's magnificent," Waverly announced. "Madeley, I take back everything I said. If I'd known your wife was this entertaining, we would have visited weeksago."
"We were rather hoping," Avon said, leaning forward conspiratorially, "that you might help us cure him of this... affliction he's developed."
"Affliction?" Eleanor repeated.
"He's gone soft," Cartwright explained. "Talks about feelings. Plans Christmas balls. Next thing you know, he'll be hosting tea parties and discussing curtain fabrics."
"I see," Eleanor said gravely. "And you believe this softness is contagious?"
"Highly," Waverly confirmed.
Eleanor pretended to consider this, tapping one finger against her teacup. "Well then, I'm afraid you've come to entirely the wrong place. This house is absolutely riddled with domesticity. Why, just this morning, I caught Lord Madeley actually smiling at breakfast. Without being prompted. The condition may be terminal."
Aubrey was watching her with such open affection that Eleanor almost forgot there were others in the room.
"You're all doomed," she continued cheerfully. "By the end of your visit, you'll be discussing flower arrangements and the proper way to fold napkins. I give it two days before one of you asks for knitting needles."
"Never," Avon declared.
"We're made of sterner stuff," Cartwright agreed.
"That's what they all say," Eleanor said ominously. "Then they see a well-appointed drawing room and it's over. The feminine touches simply overwhelm their masculine sensibilities."
"Is she always like this?" Waverly asked Aubrey.
"Always," Aubrey confirmed, his voice warm with affection.
"Wonderful," Waverly said. "Madeley, I owe you an apology. We thought you'd lost your mind. Turns out you've simply found it."
"Though we still maintain," Cartwright added, "that matching embroidered cushions are a bridge too far."
"Very well. I'll settle for making you all dance at tomorrow's ball."
The three men exchanged looks of horror.
