Dad Hears My Thoughts novel · Chapter 13 of 32

Chapter 13: Sunday Dinner

"Tea," the Duke said. "The same tea I've taken every night for sixty years."

"From where?"

"From my own caddy, in my own rooms." He lifted his chin.

"Ralph has a blend sent from across the sea. For my heart. He brings it up himself."

Nobody said anything.

The baby blew a bubble against his waistcoat.

The old man looked at Tristram, then at me, and his face shut.

"You'd accuse your cousin," he said, "because an infant spat out my beard."

"Because you said Ralph brings it himself," Tristram said.

"Enough."

The Duke stood. He handed me the baby very carefully.

"At dinner today you'll sit at my left hand, Mistress Hawtrey," he said. "Watch my cup yourself."

He pulled up the hood of his plain cloak.

"And when you find nothing, you'll never say my grandson's name in that tone again."

The door shut behind him.

The silver cup was still on my counter.

"He'll go home and drink another cup before he sleeps," Tristram said.

"Then that one's his last," I said. "I'll be sitting next to him."

Sunday at Harcourt House, the table was laid for six.

The Duke at the head. Ralph on his right. Honoria beside Ralph.

On his left he put me, as he'd said, which made Honoria's mouth go small.

Tristram sat beside me with the baby on his knee in a clean white dress the widow had sewn.

Under his doublet, his stitches pulled every time he lifted his arm. He didn't let it show.

Ralph let it show for him.

"Cousin, you're very stiff today."

"Fell in a doorway," Tristram said.

"The streets down by the river are so rough." Ralph smiled into his soup. "One of my grooms broke his wrist there last night. Clumsy."

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