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Timothy took the tea things to the sink and added some hot water from the pot on the fire. “Not all of us are as independent as you are.”
He made it sound like a bad thing.
Four
The Barringtons had eluded the obligation of the Sunday Meal one week too many and could no longer defer. Timothy had been happy enough to go, keen for society and comfortable in it; Tabitha, not as much. He refused to attend without her, a stance that was not at all selfless: it was his way of goading her into going, for she would not deprive him of the chance to be in company. To be fair, once she had made forays into the many social circles they visited throughout their travels, she’d enjoyed herself. This would not be any different, except for the fact they lived here now. They would not be leaving here. Ever.
Tabitha tipped back her sherry, and the Lowell butler, Mr. Coburn, was by her side in the blink of an eye. She smiled with gratitude, sighed with resignation, sipped with pleasure. If this libation was a weekly reward, it was another endorsement for settling in Sussex.
She noticed that only she and her brother were imbibing and remembered Felicity mentioningversipellesonly lightly partook of wine with meals. Tabitha suspected it had to do with those heightened senses and shuddered to think of a Shapeshifter who had taken too much liquor.
The drawing room was a soothing chamber in tones of ivory and brown, and the Lowell Hall contingent was arranged decorously within it. The duke was dressed to a standard generally met in Carlton House, with Felicity not far behind in a gown that, while notá lacurrentmode, spoke to setting future fashions. At first glance, Mr. Bates, the pack’s Beta, or Second, appeared to be kitted out to the same high degree: the cut of his clothing was smart but did not hold up under scrutiny, as his cravat was wrinkled and his waistcoat a disaster of badly stitched seams. It was a poor showing for a lord of his status, given his brother Nathaniel was the heir apparent of their pack, and he, the spare.
Bates was outshone by O’Mara, Lowell’s chamberlain and the pack’s Omega, who was characteristically sporting her masculine attire. Timothy was quizzing her on the provenance of her tailcoat; as always, he, too, was turned out well, and for once Tabitha regretted her disinterested approach to fashion. The fabric of her garment was good stuff, at least according to the Florentine modiste who made it, but it lacked flair, which was not the fault of the dressmaker. Tabitha looked a very plain partridge indeed, but she was nigh invisible in comparison to Llewellyn, whose ensemble included a waistcoat the hue of a cluster of ripe cherries, not terrible on its own merits, but when added to the yellow coat… Tabitha laughed into her sherry. If Lowell’s expression at the sight of his peer was anything to go by, he might require hersal volatile.
“I am delighted you have joined us, both of you.” Felicity beamed at them, and Timothy left off interrogating O’Mara about her tailor.
“We had much to sort out after so many years abroad,” Tabitha said.
“And I like to establish myself with my students before socializing with my employers,” Timothy added. “Happily, there was opportunity to do so on the Continent, unlike the general practice in England to keep the help behind the green baize door. Or in the attics.”
“We never did live with any of Timothy’s charges,” Tabitha added, “as the majority were adults keen to learn or improve their English.”
“So no chance of being tucked away out of sight in some drafty Belgiangrenier,” Timothy quipped.
Tabitha squinted. “In a what now?”
“Anattic,Tabitha,” Timothy scolded. “Honestly, the context was right there.”
“We are thrilled you are settled in to your satisfaction and have joined us at last.” Felicity cut off the sibling spat without missing a beat; well done, for an only child. “His Grace has been our only new face at the table. I daresay you are relieved, Llewellyn.”
Tabitha could not fault Felicity for attempting to draw out the Welsh duke but could see it agitated him beyond measure. He paced back and forth before a hearth whose mantel hosted a mélange of ceramic animal figures, plus one rosy-cheeked shepherdess. He paused by a window at one end of the room that overlooked the drive, paced past the hearth, and gazed out at the park from the window at the back of the Hall.
“I must say I am in sympathy with the duke. I am not at my best in company.” Here, this was the perfect chance to fulfill her end of their bargain.
“Not at all, Tab—Miss Barrington,” Felicity said. “Only think of the wonderful time we had at Arcadia.”
“Partaking of the duke’s brandy and likely speaking of feminine mysteries,” Timothy guessed.
“I have a habit of defaulting to health topics no matter what the circumstances,” Tabitha explained. “To the dismay of my brother.”
“It is always illuminating, if not always comfortable.” Timothy and Tabitha burst into laughter as one, and Tabitha cringed a bit at the politely inquiring faces that met their mirth.
“Timothy, we are rude. Apologies, all, my brother and I are somewhat rough around the edges for an English social setting. We adopted less stringent manners abroad. We are little better than feral.” A cough issued from near the hearth. “Or not as feral as some.” Good Lord, what was she saying? Even Llewellyn looked at her askance.
“I am thrilled to thank you in person, Your Grace, for our beautiful cottage.” Timothy addressed the Duke of Lowell, covering herfaux pasas usual. “And Your Grace, of course.” He bowed his head to Felicity. “We received a wealth of linens just last week, and in turn, we sent Miss Mossett off with all our mending.”
“Oh, she is a wonderful seamstress,” Felicity said. “She tailored Miss O’Mara’s waistcoat herself.”
“Did she?” Timothy eyed the garment with interest.
“Miss Mossett was shocked to hear how much we paid for such services in Italy,” Tabitha added. “Timothy is engaged on a barter with her, as she seems keen to learn.”
“She is keen about everything.” Felicity’s smile was fond. “The preparations for thecursioat Ostara have her in alt.”
Llewellyn froze at the front window, his fingers clutching the frame. Once again the company held their breath; they were so attuned to his distress, Tabitha did not know if it was helpful or harmful. “Ostara?” Tabitha asked, stumbling over the pronunciation.
Timothy set aside the sherry he had hardly touched. “Would that be a festival of some sort?”
