Those words made Annabelle pause, her eyes flying wide. She snapped her head to stare at the footman, but he had nothing useful to offer on this subject and promptly retreated.
Annabelle sat, making sure James sat beside her. She was about to ask him what he’d meant by the words he’d just said when Dominic arrived, still in the coat he’d worn that morning, his cravat somewhat less ordered than it had been at noon. But at least he had no papers with him. He glanced at the three settings, then once at James, before taking his seat.
“Why are you eating with us?” James asked him.
The guileless question made both of them freeze, and Annabelle glanced towards Dominic only to find him already looking her way, with eyes slightly wider than they normally are.
“It’s my table,” Dominic said, and Annabelle blinked at the uncharacteristic slight reddening of his cheeks.
It was so slight that it was almost impossible to note, but she caught it…and it made her pulse skip.
“You’ve never eaten here with me before.” James pressed with that innocent confusion that made Dominic clear his throat.
“I eat late, generally. My hours are different from yours.” He reached for his wine. “I didn’t want to disturb your routine.”
James blinked at him, then glanced once at Annabelle sitting beside him. “Your routine is different now?”
Dominic finally looked at him. “I see no reason to eat late when there’s company.”
James looked at Annabelle again, then back at Dominic. And then he picked up his spoon without another word.
Annabelle turned to him. “Would it suit you, James? Dinner together, the three of us, going forward?”
He looked up as though confirming the question was meant for him. “Yes,” he said, and returned to his soup.
The corners of his mouth turned up and stayed up.
She smiled at him. He kept his eyes on his bowl, but the expression did not leave his face.
They managed the first course without incident. Then James looked up from his plate with the air of a person who had been carrying a question for some time and had now arrived at its place in the order of things.
“Uncle Dominic,” he said.
Dominic looked up.
“What about the music room?”
Dominic set his fork down. The hand beside his plate went flat on the table. “We’ll have a piano brought in,” he said. “A different room. There are more than enough rooms in this house. We’ll find one.”
“Why not the music room?” James asked. “The music room is made for music.”
“Because this is simpler.” Dominic responded, an edge creeping into his tone.
James considered the answer again and obviously found it lacking because his brows drew down over his eyes. “Before, you said you don’t like the piano.”
At this, Dominic took in a breath and said, “I recall what I said.”
James blinked. “Oh. I thought you might have changed your mind. People change their minds.” He turned to Annabelle. “He should hear you play. After that he’ll like pianos. He should hear you.”
“He has heard me play,” she said, her gaze flicking once to him to find disapproval already deepening the grooves of his face.
“I have,” Dominic said, the words coming out a degree harder than they required, and he must have heard it too, because his jaw moved once after he’d said it, and then he picked his fork back up. “The subject is done with.”
James stared at his uncle. “When will the new piano come?”
“I’ll arrange it.”
But James was not satisfied. “When?”
