“I have been forgetting to eat my fruit.” I swatted her hand. “The week has been a bit of a wrench in my routine.”
“I see.” She sat back in her chair, her hands returning to hold her cup.
“Thank you for the sweets. Charles refuses to give in to my cravings, he calls them unnatural,” Cosette complained, eating yet another scone.She was pregnant with her first, so naturally Félice was here every day to help and support her. One benefit of moving to New York was that we were all a stone’s throw away from one another.
Félice almost had a child once. It was stillborn. Her husband expired soon after, though she was in no rush to find another. The assets of her first husband were enough to keep her comfortable for the rest of her life. Our parents always told us that hardship was the only way to find comfort in this life, as women more than anything.
“I was passing the bakery anyway, it was no trouble,” I lied. I’d left early with her in mind.
The two were almost comical next to one another. Cosette wore a soft-yellow gown with little bluebell flowers printed on the fabric, while Félice was wearing a nearly black violet one, as she was coming out of her first year of mourning.
Some days I thought Félice was relieved, but I shouldn’t have assumed such a thing. I never saw her cry for them, even at their funerals. It was one mourning period right after the other. I don’t believe I hadeverseen her cry; I couldn’t imagine it. I supposed after such a sacrifice, you got used to it.
A maid replenished our tea before gathering any loose plates or empty trays.
“How is Mr. Kamenev?” Cosette asked me in French, giving a polite smile to the maid as she departed. All of our private conversations were held in French, as my sister’s help strictly spoke English.
“Fine.”
“You don’t seem very enthusiastic.” Félice raised a brow. “Is that why you are sick? He isn’t taking proper care of you?”
“He is a distraction.” I took another slow sip of my tea.
Félice scoffed, shaking her head. “I don’t like him.”
“Good thing he isn’t your husband.” Cosette rolled her eyes at Félice before looking back to me. “So I take it you had a less than eventful night after you left the ceremony?”
“It was eventful, but not in that way. He slept on the sofa.”
Both sisters grimaced, their noses wrinkling at the thought of whatever he did to deserve that. I was sure their expressions would be worse if I’d told them it was his choice.
“I know, I know.” I sighed. “He is painfully indifferent.”
“I suppose that isn’t the worst thing he could be,” Cosette said, offering her signature optimism. “Though, it is a shame. Heispretty.”
“Cosette,” Félice scolded, whipping her cloth napkin at her.
“No, it’s okay.” I placed my cup down. “I’m sure he is beinggentlemanly.”
I didn’t know if my sisters’ expressions were confused or horrified.
“He isn’t taking your condition well?” Félice asked cautiously.
“It isn’t that. I haven’t told him.”
“You know he will find out.”
“He doesn’t need to know everything at once. Men are flighty things, I will tell him eventually.”
“He should know soon, you can’t hide it for long,” Cosette piped in.
“Based on how he reacted to the anemia this morning, I don’t know if I want to tell him right now.”
“What do you mean?” Cosette’s brows knitted together.
“He looked alarmed, almost angry, at my low energy.” I shrugged. “I’m not sure what he thinks, he is impossible to read. Maybe he was expecting more of a fight.”
“Even with the odd circumstance of your husband, it must be a relief to leave that musty theater.” Félice took a relaxed breath.
