The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok #3) - Alice Coldbreath Page 0,73

And my nephew and …” His eyes passed over the other small person regarding him through rounded eyes. “Niece.”

“Very good,” his sister said sarcastically. “Now demonstrate to me if you can remember their names?”

“Of course, I can,” he said glibly and placed a hand on the boy’s head. “Let me see.” He tapped a finger on his chin, sizing up the little girl who must have been about five or six. “My niece’s name is Currant Bun,” he said ruminatively, as the little girl giggled. “S’not! It’s Joan!”

“And my nephew’s name is Jam Tart.”

“S’not!” his nephew roared lustily. “S’not Jam Tart!”

“I was joking, of course,” he said, turning back to Anne. “Their names are, of course, Joan and Toby. Satisfied?”

“Still think fast and land on your feet, I see,” his sister smirked. “That much hasn’t changed.”

Armand came forward and he brushed her cheek dutifully with his own. He had always thought his sister tall for a female, but Una had at least two inches on her. “Anne,” he said in cautious greeting. “You are very welcome. How are you?” He looked around at the chaos of brass and silver strewn all over the tables. “I would offer you a seat, but …”

“The benches at are least clear,” she said, sinking down onto the nearest one.

Armand following her example, sat opposite her. He watched distractedly as Joan darted underneath one of the tables closely followed by a waddling Toby. “Have they no nurse?”

“I married a farmer,” Anne replied shortly.

“A wealthy farmer.”

She brushed this aside. “I thought you might want to see them,” she said in a faintly accusatory tone.

“Did you?” Armand’s brow puckered. What strange notions women did get into their heads.

“You haven’t even met Toby before,” she said waspishly.

Armand cast a dutiful eye over the child. “He seems very short.”

“He isn’t yet three years old!”

“That would explain it.”

“Is that it?” Anne demanded, struggling to find words. She huffed out a breath. “I see you’re still devoid of every proper feeling.”

Armand stretched out his long legs and leaned back on the table, elbowing a large, embellished butter dish out of the way. “Did you imagine I might have undergone some kind of change?” He asked, lazily. “Sorry to disenchant you.”

“Well, I did hear you’re now married,” she pointed out. “You may imagine how I felt being informed of the fact by Muriel!” she said bitterly.

“Why should that rankle?”

“I’m your twin! Yet I have to hear this news through our sister-in-law.” Armand shrugged. This was nothing new. Anne was always flying up into the boughs about something. “Where is she then?” she asked irritably. “Am I not even to be dignified with an appearance?”

Armand’s attitude of indolence disappeared at once, as he straightened up. “She’s at her bath,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “And you’re not to start in on her with that shrewish tongue of yours.”

Anne opened her mouth to hiss back at him, but Janet chose this moment to come sailing in from the kitchen with a tray of ale and milk for the children. Anne swallowed her words as Janet set their refreshment down in the midst of a suit of armor, curtseyed, and then retreated back to the kitchen.

“At least someone here knows what’s due to a guest!” Anne snapped, reaching for the milk jug. “Toby! Joan! Come and take some milk!” Once the children had dribbled milk all over themselves and the floor, they returned to their game under the table. His sister poured out ale for the two of them and regarded Armand thoughtfully over the rim of her cup.

“Muriel told me that you were pawing and fondling your bride the entire meal, in such a fawning manner it quite turned their stomachs.”

Armand nearly spat out his ale but managed to gulp it down before going off in a coughing fit. Gods, Muriel must have the most uptight views that he had ever heard of! He almost pitied Henry. “They burst in on us, unannounced,” he answered with as much dignity as he could muster, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “And we are newly wed.”

Anne regarded him with interest. “So, it’s a love match, is it?” she said smugly. “I knew you’d go off the deep end, one of these days. It was bound to happen. Muriel said she’s wildly extravagant, without a practical thought in her head. Says she’ll bankrupt you within a twelvemonth.”

“Oh, Muriel said that, did she?” He rallied. “Well, Muriel’s wrong.”

“Well, well, look at you springing to her defense, brother. I