“Probably,” Grace said, as she dropped a kiss against the underside of Henry’s chin, “she wants to go and play with Taffeta.”
“Probably,” Henry posited dryly, “she wants to teach Taffeta how most effectively to shred curtains.”
Taffeta had been Aunt Alicia’s welcome-home gift on the day she’d officially moved into their household; a tiny white kitten whose whisper-soft fur stuck out as if she’d been struck by lightning. Tansy had held onto her keen dislike of the new addition for approximately four hours, at which point she had decided that the kitten posed no threat to her supremacy, and had promptly taken Taffeta beneath her wing, so to speak.
Betwixt the two of them, they’d torn several rooms to shreds and had made Henry’s mother’s preferred upholsterer quite a lot of money. But when they were not causing chaos within the house, the two of them could most frequently be found outside in the garden rolling about in the profusion of catmint, beneath Aunt Alicia’s watchful eye.
Aunt Alicia had settled in well. Although her husband’s perceived defection and flight from England had resulted in a scandal, she had come through it with the sympathy of society; just one more victim of an unscrupulous man.
And the house was so much livelier with her. They had weathered so much together, but the grief and hardship and strife they had endured had bonded them more closely than ever. They had all earned this hard-won peace they now enjoyed.
“Tea today,” Grace whispered as she snuggled her cheekagainst Henry’s shoulder. “I really must get dressed soon.”
He draped his arm over her waist, weighing her down. “Another few minutes,” he murmured. “It’ll be chaos soon enough.”
Yes. Yes, it would. Tea time always was. But she thought he’d grown to like it, even if the sheer size of her family was daunting. Because it was his, now, too, and he’d found a place for himself there. And so had Rose, and Alicia, and Eliza. Welcomed with open arms into their fold, with all of the madness it entailed.
And somehow, they all fit just perfectly.
“Another few minutes,” Grace sighed, and she closed her eyes and settled down into the softness of the new dawn and the warmth of Henry’s arms.
The whole world could wait just another few minutes.
∞∞∞
Four hours later, after tea
Grace laid down her cards, revealing a winning hand. “Where have your husbands taken mine?” she asked of her sisters as they groaned in unison, slapping their own cards down upon the table.
“Off to the club, most likely,” Felicity said. “The very moment you brought out the cards. Ian swore off playing against you years ago, if you recall.”
Grace snickered to herself. “It wasn’t very sportsmanlike of him,” she said. “We weren’t even playing for money.”
“No, but I think his pride is a bit battered that he’s never been able to figure out how you do it,” Felicity said.
Grace widened her eyes in an expression of faux innocence. “Do what?”
“Cheat, you wretched little sneak,” Mercy said on a laugh as she downed the last of her tea. “You always cheat!”
“Of course I always cheat. And what’s more, I always win.”
“That’s it,” Charity said as she scraped the cards into her hands and tapped the deck into order once more. “I’m imposing a new rule. Grace is no longer permitted to deal cards.”
“What!” Grace slapped her hands on the table, pursing her lips into a pout. “That’s hardly fair!”
“Call it evening the odds,” Charity said, with a supercilious tilt of her nose toward the ceiling.
“I’m fairly certain,” Felicity said grimly, “that she could still manage to cheat without even touching them.”
She could, of course. Not for nothing had she secreted away a spare deck of the same design within her pocket. But her hands were so quick and light, they would never know.
“I think the gentlemen have got it right,” Mercy said. “The wisest course of action is to simply leave the house. There is no winning against you.”
“If they deliver Henry back to me in his cups again—”
“The one time!” Charity said, throwing up her hands. “Besides, they had a grand time together.”
“Henry didn’t. That is to say, hedid—at the time.” Because it had marked forgiveness for his earlier transgressions, so long as he continued to make good on his promise to make her happy. “But afterward, I mean to say, when he was casting up his accounts in the garden. That, we all could have done without.” And the following day had been none too pleasant for him, either.
