“And Michael enjoys that?”
She laughed here again. “Very much.”
“And you do not find it… unpleasant?”
“No. Not at all. It was strange at first, but he finds pleasure in my pleasure. I feel the same.”
“He does not find your pleasure… indecorous?”
“No, of course not. Does Hugh?” Her tone shifted to one of indignance. Brow furrowing slightly as she glanced out the window once more with a glare in my husband’s direction.
“I’ve never discussed those feelings with him.”
“But you have them? Does he not have to work for them?”
“Well, it feels nice. But to express such things is unladylike.”
“Who told you that?” she asked. “Aunt Prudence?”
“Well, yes.”
“Kate, when have you ever known Aunt Prudence to be right about anything?”
“Never,” I replied.
“Then why should she be right about this?”
“Right, then what should I be doing?”
“Well, whatever you and Hugh discuss. But I quite like it when Michael…”
* * *
Agatha was waitingin the drawing room when Juliet and I ventured there before supper. She had been making herself scarce in recent days. Her presence on a day that Michael was dining with us was certainly deliberate. I could only pray that Hugh’s newfound backbone would hold.
Jules glanced at me, similar thoughts swirling through her eyes as she squared her shoulders. This supper just became a great deal more work for her and Tom, ever the peacekeepers. It seemed that Juliet’s marriage to Michael had lowered her in Agatha’s esteem because her respectful greeting was returned with a hacking, “humph.”
Michael was the first to arrive, having only to don his waistcoat and overcoat. His hair was damp, as though he’d run wet fingers through it, and swept it away from his face. He was certainly presentable enough for a family dinner—with anyone but Agatha. He pressed a quick kiss to his wife’s forehead, slipping a hand around her waist, before noticing the third presence in the room.
“Good evening, Agatha,” he said with a weary sigh.
“Itwas.”
Before the conversation could devolve further, Tom and Hugh slipped in. Hugh set about pouring drinks for the gentlemen without a word. When he glanced toward where his mother was seated, he turned back to top off the glasses without comment. Michael took a hearty sip before Juliet, still pressed to his side, plucked the glass from his hand and took her own healthy swallow. Hugh, having caught that, tilted an empty glass in her direction with a raised brow. She shook her head with a small smile. In turn, Hugh made his way over to me with a glass of the sherry I like.
“Thank you.”
“Of course,” he whispered low and hot against my neck.
When Timothy arrived to call us to dinner, Agatha began her usual scurry to the space at the foot of the table. Hugh called after her, “Remember Mother, Kate’s place is across from me at the foot of the table now.”
Hugh and I were the last to enter the dining room, and we were greeted with the sight of a slack-jawed Michael and a pinched-faced Agatha. “Of course, I remember.”
“Oh, then I must have dreamt the absurd sprint and dance with the chair.”
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“The display with the chair, Mother. It has been going on for a year.”
