I hadn't planned on calling on my mother today. The words had slipped from my mouth when Isabella mentioned visiting Lady Rowena, and somehow I found myself in my mother's drawing room, engaged in our usual battle of wits.
"You're hovering again, Alaric," my mother said, her eyes fixed on the embroidery in her lap. "If you insist on pacing like a caged animal, at least do it elsewhere."
"I'm simply examining your new drapes," I replied smoothly, though we both knew it was a lie. "The pattern is... distinctive."
Mother's lips twitched. "A diplomatic way of saying you find them hideous."
"I wouldn't presume to question your taste."
"Which means you absolutely are questioning it." She set her needlework aside. "Just like when you were seven and informed me my new gown made me look like 'an overlarge blueberry.'"
Despite myself, I felt a smile tug at my lips. "I was an observant child."
"You were insufferable," she corrected, though without real heat.
