Page 15 of Restored

“Watch you drink and gamble yourself to ruin, you mean?” Marianne snapped. “Because that’s all you seem to do these days!”

“God in heaven, do you ever shut up, youharridan—”

Henry slammed his fist on the table and roared, “Freddy!”

Freddy startled and turned to face Henry, a flash of remorse touching his angry expression before he rallied and cried, “Well, she called me a pig, and a wastrel!”

“I did not,” Marianne protested. “I merely said that I should prefer to invite a pig to my table, and pointed out that you’ve been drinking and gambling incessantly. Both of which are perfectly true!”

Freddy spluttered.

“And you might care to consider,” Marianne continued implacably, “that I am your elder sister. A gentleman should treat both his eldersandhis sisters with the utmost respect, don’t you agree, Jeremy?”

Marianne’s husband, who had continued eating his breakfast with perfect equanimity throughout the spat, looked up and smiled at his wife. “Quite so, dearest.”

“Well of courseJeremyagrees with you!” Freddy howled.

“Not so,” Jeremy protested. “I only agree with Marianne when she’s right. It’s just that she’s generally right about everything.” He glanced Henry. “Vastly sensible woman, your daughter,” he said in the manner of one bestowing a compliment.

Henry smiled at Jeremy, grateful to him for at least trying to take some of the heat out of the argument. Marianne and Freddy had always clashed.

Freddy stood abruptly. “I’m not hungry,” he announced. “I’ll get something to eat when I’m out.”

“Before you go,” Henry said. “Apologise to your sister, please.” His tone was quiet but unmistakably firm.

“But—”

“And Marianne,” Henry added, turning to his daughter. “You too. You are not blameless here.”

Marianne’s cheeks pinkened.

Henry merely waited, his gaze moving between them.

Freddy’s nostrils flared with temper, but at length he turned to Marianne and said stiffly, “I apologise.”

Marianne nodded, not meeting his eyes. “I do too.”

“Thank you,” Henry said. “Freddy, you may go now, but I wish to speak with you later, before dinner. Is that understood?”

Freddy nodded stiffly and strode out, closing the breakfast room door behind him sharply.

Into the silence, Marianne said, “He’s becoming quite impossible, Papa.”

Henry sighed. “It doesn’t help when you scold him, you know. You’re only a year and a half older. Of course he resents it.”

Marianne flushed. “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly, “But I don’t want him to turn into a wastrel like that awful Percy Bartlett who—by the way, Papa—is at least five years older than Freddy.”

“He needs occupation,” Jeremy said quietly.

“I know,” Henry said wearily. He’d looked into a career in the church for Freddy—a well-trodden path for second sons—but Freddy had rejected the idea out of hand when he’d raised it.

“Perhaps,” Marianne said slowly, “you should consider buying him a commission.”

Henry’s gaze snapped to her and he said shortly, “What an absurd idea!”

Marianne met his look with a steady one of her own. “Papa, you know that’s all he’s ever wanted. His only ambition since he was a boy has been to have a military career.”

“It’s out of the question,” Henry said flatly.