George absentmindedly swirled amber liquid around his crystal glass and gazed at the flickering winter fire.
“The brandy’s about to slosh over the sides, which is truly wasteful.”
George turned his head toward his wife. “Did you say something?”
“I said, you’re going to spill your brandy, which is not only wasteful but will mark the rug. Put the glass down and tell me what’s on your mind.” Mary snipped the last thread on the button she had added to her son’s shirt. “Don’t draw your lips into a line. Tell me what’s bothering you. Are you still brooding about Hasket’s new ship?”
George stood and stretched. “Surprisingly, I have other things on my mind. Tell me, how many sons do we have?”
Mary arched a brow. “The last time I counted, we had six, and five of them live in our house. Which one are you thinking of? Is it Edward or Geordie?”
“Why single out those two? They’re all stubborn. They take after you in that.”
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