Edmund flushed.
“I am gratified to hear it,” he said. “I had not thought the observations would prove of practical use beyond theory.”
Beatrice arched a brow, her smile wry.
“Practicality is no slight to scholarship,” she said. “Roman children did not learn their letters from theory alone.”
A ripple of laughter moved around the table. Catherine glanced toward Marcus. He caught her eye only briefly before turning back to William, yet the faint warmth in his expression spoke of pride.
I am not embarrassing him,she thought with wonder.He is pleased with the progression of things thus far.
Beatrice’s voice rose again.
“What strikes me most about Roman domesticity is the presence of order in both pedagogy and daily labour,” she said.“Children learning household roles early, education built into rhythm.”
Eleanor nodded firmly as if in agreement.
“Much like your own approach at Weston Academy,” she said with warmth.
Beatrice gave a dignified nod.
“We modelled some practices from antiquity,” she said. “There is no reason not to learn from what endured.”
William smirked, though he did so with tenderness.
“Did you also keep a Latin day?” he asked with amusement.
Beatrice held her head higher still.
“Tuesdays,” she said. “Though most of the pupils loathed it.”
Laughter circled the room, soft but genuine. Catherine rose briefly to signal the footman for more wine, then returned to her seat as another thread of discussion formed about burial rites.
“Cremation versus inhumation,” Sophia said, passing a page of notes to her brother. “There is variation, of course, but we are seeing increasing evidence of hybrid practice in the second century.”
Charles glanced at the page.
“Which supports the idea of localised ritual adaptation, even within legions,” he said.
James gestured to the siblings with exuberance.
“Your excavation at Caerleon suggested as much,” he said.
Charles gave a brief nod.
“Though it is still early for definitive conclusions,” he said.
Sophia lifted her glass but did not drink.
“It is always early, it seems,” she said. “Yet we must keep assembling the fragments.”
Catherine felt the pressure ease from her shoulders. The conversation moved fluidly, full of insight and good-humoured challenge, and she had managed to guide it without dominating.
Her seating plan had encouraged the right pairings. The menu had pleased their guests, and the rhythm of service had supported the tone rather than intruded upon it.
It seemed she had established herself as a competent wife and hostess, after all. And the appreciation in Marcus’s eyes was all the confirmation she needed.
Chapter Eleven
