Page 71 of Apt to be Suspicious
They lay there for quite a while, he thought, before she took a breath. “Is— I should wash. But some food?”
Slowly, regretfully, he pulled away from her, blinking owlishly at the lights over the door, and the clock above them. “No wonder. It’s past ten. Have a bath first. Plenty of hot water, no worries about running short. Do you want to sneak away? I could manage that, if you want. Or you could meet my parents.” He let out a little huff of breath. “Well. Full house. Parents, Uncle Alexander, both my sisters.”
That got Pen shifting onto her back, peering up at him as he turned back to look at her. “Best begin as we mean to go on. If I can manage it without turning beet red and melting into a puddle.”
“The puddle was last night. And just now. No need to do it again just yet.” He got the tone right, the archness on the ‘just,’ that made her smile and relax again. “I’ll write, make it clear you stayed the night, and we will see them for luncheon. I’ll get one of the staff to bring up something to hold us until noon. A tray outside the door.”
“You think of everything.” Pen rubbed her nose. “A bath. Do you mind if I take a little?”
“No.” Edmund could tidy up in here. “I won’t need long.” Pen slowly pushed herself upright as he watched for the little signs of some piece of last night that might have caused some ache. She was moving differently, but not in a way that seemed bad. She disappeared, taking her bag with her, into the bathroom hall. He heard the water closet, then the running bath.
Once that door was closed, he made use of the water closet himself, then set to work dealing with the tasks of the day. Mama wrote back near immediately that luncheon would be delightful. By the time Pen re-emerged, perhaps half an hour later, Edmund had fruit and toast set out. The bedroom was clean and fresh, and he was in a dressing gown, ready for his own bath.
Chapter 44
June 30th, just before noon at Ytene
Pen had been feeling more and more nervous for the last few minutes. Edmund had disappeared into the bathing room to tend to his own grooming, and it left her waiting. She was wearing a perfectly appropriate dress for a summer Sunday in the country. She’d done the pressing charm while her bath was running, and she knew it both had no wrinkles and looked quite well on her. The expression in Edmund’s eyes when she’d come out had been sufficient proof of that, though she had to allow for a substantial amount of existing bias at this point.
Edmund’s absence also meant she had even more time to think about what she’d— they’d— done. Oh, she’d been entirely willing, for all of it. Especially once it had become clear that he was, if anything, understating his skills. This morning, oh, she’d be thinking about that for a long time to come. And what it meant that he’d spent the last month or so leaning on his non-magical skills, rather than showing off his magical ones in this form. She’d heard more than enough stories from other women about first times that weren’t particularly good. Pen had honestly expected that.
What Edmund had given her was a first time that had been grand. Oh, there had been awkward bits, she still did not know what to do with her hands most of the time, or what expression should be on her face. None of that had mattered. He’d made it so it didn’t. He’d been generous, start to finish, too.
She felt different, inside, outside, as if it must show on her skin or her face or something of the kind. In her magic, maybe. But it had been one that also suggested what might be even better, when they had more of a sense of each other’s moods and preferences. As if each time they went to bed, it would be a slightly different puzzle, a different slant to the clues, and the mutual fun of working it out together.
Finally, Edmund came out, and glanced up above the door. “Mama and Papa and Uncle Alexander are in the library. Shall we go down? My sisters are— I don’t even know. Courtyard, or with the mares. They’ll turn up, I’m sure. Especially since I’m certain they know you’re here.” He offered his hand. “Merry and Ros are both well mannered, I promise. But they will ask questions. Don’t feel you need to answer anything you don’t like.”
“That is not as reassuring as I think you thought it would be,” Pen said, but she stood, brushing her skirt out automatically and taking his hand. “But hiding up here won’t help, so.”
Edmund turned her, as if he were about to lead her in a dance of some kind, but kissed her firmly instead. Long enough and persuasively enough that it was, in fact, support in facing his family. And Pen knew this was the only way to make it get easier. After this, she’d have actual data to work with that wasn’t gossip and fancy and at least half entirely wrong.
Then, Edmund led her back downstairs, toward the library and the great French doors opening onto the garden. Edmund held the door for her, which was entirely proper, but also meant she had to enter the room by herself for just a moment. Then he was behind her, one hand on her back, as if it were entirely natural.
Three people looked up. Two were obviously his parents— the same golden hair, enough of the same face, certainly a lot in common about the eyes. The other person was Magister Landry. The men both stood automatically, the way men of their generation did.
“Mama, Papa, I’m pleased to introduce you properly. Pen, these are my parents, Lord and Lady Carillon. Mama, Papa, this is Pen Stirling.” Then he nodded. “Uncle Alexander, you’ve already had the pleasure.” There were nods all round, though Pen was still nervous until Edmund said, “What would you prefer as a form of address, please?” He added conversationally to Pen, “Mama and Papa are often a bit more formal than some we know, with everyone.”
“I feel, Edmund, that the same terms that apply to Ursula might apply here. We are Geoffrey and Lizzie to her these days, but if you’d feel more comfortable with the title, that is understandable.” That was Edmund’s mother. “As to Alexander....”
“At home, I am Alexander or Uncle Alexander. In public, the formality will get less comment.” He did not sit. “Shall we go along to the dining room rather than get comfortable here? I believe the clock’s about to chime.”
“As you wish.” Edmund’s mother stood. “I hope you’ve had a pleasant day of it. We’ll be a few days recovering from the Faire. It’s a long stretch with a great deal of activity. Edmund, did you see your sisters on the way down?”
“I only had eyes for Pen,” Edmund said, but then he was laughing. “No. I think they might be out in the courtyard by now?” His uncle shrugged and went off down the hallway to the main doors as the rest of them went the other direction. Two minutes later, Pen was in a chair at one end of a formal table designed to seat a dozen comfortably. Her chair was at Edmund’s mother’s right hand, with Edmund at his mother’s left. Two spaces to Pen’s right and two to his left were set, the others empty. Edmund’s father took the seat next to Pen, without making any comment about it.
Pen glanced around, then said, a little hesitantly. “Edmund mentioned, Lady Lizzie, that often you have others here to dine from time to time?” It would explain something about the size of the table. She thought she would start with moderate formality, not least because it allowed for a visible movement to greater comfort later. It was one of the many social tricks she had learned at the vicarage.
“Oh, yes. Benton and his wife most frequently. Sometimes Rufus and Ferry. He’s head of our stables; she restores tapestries.” Pen didn’t think Edmund actually said anything, but then his mother added, “Oh, yes, you’ve met Cassie, of course. Sometimes we’ll have guests, but if that’s the case, we expand the table. When we’re fewer in number, we gather at one end.”
All of this conversation was ordinary enough— even the number at table. Certainly Pen was not unfamiliar with that number if her family were all together, including Grandfather and the current curate, and so on.
Edmund’s father let the silence settle for a moment before he said, “It’s a rather ancient house, much fiddled with over the years, but I am fond of the place. Did Edmund have time to show you much yesterday?”
That too was an understandable topic. “Oh, yes, Lord Geoffrey.” There, now that she’d used a name properly once each, it should get easier from here. “The stables, the mews, the garden.” Just as she said the last, Magister Landry— Alexander— came in, followed by two young women who could not be anything other than Edmund’s sisters. They took places on either side of the table with Alexander next to Edmund. One woman— the older— had hair coming out of a braid, wildly blown about by the wind. The younger looked almost prim, at least in comparison, but then Pen caught the look she was giving Edmund, which was definitely not entirely proper.
“Pen.” Edmund cleared his throat. “These are my sisters, Merry and Ros. Properly Meraud and Rosalba, but please don’t.”
“You could just not have mentioned it, Ed.” Merry snorted.
