@canonfoddcr
“And that’s how I know you’re always honest with me,” the Duke jokes, wine glass in hand. He sighs. “Oh, no, that was cruel; I don’t mean it.”
He takes a sip.
“Children are hilarious,” he says. “And honestly, I appreciate the forthrightness of their observations. Today Eveline asked me if I was poor because I didn’t have any shoes.”
“ You ought watch yourself, you convivial rat. ” Alcina mutters darkly, a smirk flickering for a second, before it is swallowed by her large wine glass. He amuses her, she’ll let him have that. The time is midwinter and how does he travel in it? Anyone who isn’t a fool is indoors so they sit on opposite couches by the fire, golden heat proving a true balm for old bones. He tells her his little anecdote, and at the mention of Eveline, Alcina shuts her eyes tightly, and pinches the bridge of her nose. Mortification less at Evelines manner but her existence eats at her. Once more, she is landed with little things to raise alone as if her use is in her maternal nature. This was once the exact future she loathed for herself, being treated like some leashed St Bernard, pups in her mouth and fulfilling whatever duties a good dog-wife might do. This ignored that Lady Dimitrescu was rotten and liked it that way, thank you. Surprisingly, she snorts. It’s something Daniela has questioned to her before too. “Children are ignorant.” She says, because it is proper. Then, when the aftertaste of the wine ebbs and it is only her grey tongue in her mouth once more, she adds: “The child asked me where my husband had gotten to.” And, here, she sounds both thickly vicious with disgust and ... perhaps amused at the notion, also. Eveline is not nearly so bad as the circumstances of her birth, and the cloud of dishonour tethered here now by her veins, like some sick child’s birthday balloon.