“Yes, Aunt Maddy.”
To her delight, the children seemed to be willing to listen to her. They had leaned into her warmth like little seedlings that had not received proper care beforehand. Laughter replaced their solemn silences and enthusiastic swearing. They had promised, by crossing their fingers over their hearts, to guard their overall behavior. It was all that Madeline could wish for. It made her days so much easier, with the children so amiable and obedient.
The dress, though, was only half of tonight’s plan.
Fearhad failed her, so she had moved down her list to disgust, which seemed a far simpler emotion to provoke. No man could school his face into stone when something truly vile touched his tongue. Even Kenneth, she reasoned, must have a limit.
To that end, she had spent the better part of the afternoon in the kitchens, producing what Madeline privately judged to bethe most revolting dessert ever to leave a ducal kitchen. She had been rather liberal with the salt. And the vinegar. And one or two things she suspected did not belong in a custard at all.
If the purple silk did not crack him, the custard surely would.
That night, the dining room felt more cavernous than ever. She and Kenneth contributed to the illusion of expanding space with their silence. Only the gentle, somewhat refined clattering of silver against porcelain could be heard.
Madeline’s sharp eyes noticed that when she entered the room, Kenneth’s movements became more rigid. He held his wine glass tightly but refused to look at her directly. She tried to hold back her frustration, remaining unnoticed in her purple dress for a while. Even silence was not permanent because Malcolm, Alexander, and Emily were with them. The space between her, seated at the foot of the table, and Kenneth, at the head, kept her from making any contact with her husband.
To Kenneth’s right, Malcolm was already dozing off like an old man. By the time the main course and the heavier dishes had been cleared, he had already succumbed to the spirits. His chin rested against his chest, and a snore escaped his lips. Across the table from him, his children exchanged a look of mischievous understanding. Madeline could only hope that they would be content with just a look.
“Alex,” Emily whispered, nudging her brother with her elbow. “Papa is fast asleep!”
“I think we should wake him up,” Alexander whispered back. “I bet I can hit him on the nose.”
Alexander then did what Madeline never expected. He took a piece of roasted chestnut and threw it at his father.
“Alex, no!” Madeline began as she reached out to the boy. However, she was a couple of seats away and too late.
Thwack.
The chestnut did not strike Malcolm on his nose, but it did hit right on his chin. He groaned, mumbling something unintelligible. Madeline could swear he was talking about horse racing, but it could be something else entirely. Emily was giggling, barely even hiding it. Then, she threw bread crusts three times in a row before Madeline could do anything.
“Emily! What did we say? Ladies do not—”
“Yes, I know, Aunt Maddy. But gentlemen should not fall asleep at dinner either!”
“Damned right!” Alex chimed in to Madeline’s absolute horror.
“Alexander. Emily.”
Kenneth’s voice barely rose. It was his normal volume, with an icy edge. It cut through the dining hall like an icicle. The children instantly stopped, one last bread crust slipping from Emily’s fingers onto the table’s linen cloth.
Kenneth looked especially grave as he set his fork down on his plate. It was gentle and soundless, but the children followed his every move with wide eyes. There was not one shred of amusement in his expression.
“You have broken the rules once more at the dining table. You have played with your food, forgotten your manners, and disrespected your father and aunt. Because of all this, you are excused from the table and must go straight to your room with no toys or books. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Uncle,” both children replied.
“Nanny,” Kenneth addressed the shadow waiting at the doorway. “Take the children upstairs. They will be retiring tonight without any dessert.”
There was a stifled groan from Alexander, and Emily looked like she might burst into tears, but neither complained. Eyes downcast, they slid from their chairs noiselessly and followed their nanny.
Once the two children were gone, Kenneth turned to his brother. He reached out, one large hand shaking Malcolm’s shoulder.
“Wake up, Malcolm,” he said, a little louder than he usually talked to his brother. He never shouted. For that, Madeline had to admit she could admire him.
“W-what? Did everyone leave already?” Malcolm asked, his eyes unfocused. “Are we going to the races now?”
“Races? You are in the dining room, Malcolm, setting a terrible example to your children,” Kenneth corrected, his voice nearly a low growl that made Madeline shiver a little. “Go to your room, and sleep in your own bed.”
Malcolm groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. He looked miserable, broken, and still inebriated. He did not argue with his brother at all. Instead, he simply pushed himself up from the table, nodding weakly at Madeline before stumbling out of the dining room. One footman looked like he wanted to help Malcolm, but Kenneth shook his head.
