Lady Nott stood in Drusilla's room looking through the wardrobe her husband had provided the girl with a slight frown on her beautiful face. "Do you have a preference for your wedding gown?" she finally asked.
Dru ran a finger down the sleeve of one dress. Her expression mirrored that of the older woman at her side. "Something less… demure… than these."
Lady Nott made a questioning noise.
"He met me in a gambling hell dressed as a boy and he's a Nott and I'm a Black. These are all perfectly tasteful, of course, but…"
Dru made a disgruntled noise.
"Paris," Lady Nott said. "I'll get the portkey from Lord Nott."
"The ceremony is tomorrow," Dru said, "or so I have been informed." She paused. "Is Lord Nott always that… definitive?"
Lady Nott smiled. "Oh yes. But we'll find you something that suits your station and isn't quite as charmingly modest as these." She ran her eyes over the frame of the younger woman. "I think black with black embroidery and something that shows the curve of your breasts. Perhaps the Mark as a repeated pattern at the hem." She frowned. "You aren't going to be squeamish about the Mark are you?"
Drusilla snorted.
"People are," Lady Nott said.
"Fools are," Drusilla said. "Fools who've never been powerless and then had power handed to them in the shape of a man wearing that sign on his arm."
Lady Nott hooked her arm through Dru's. "Let's go shopping," she said. "How do you feel about shoes?"
"I like shoes," Dru said.
. . . . . . . . .
"Where are they?" Abraxas demanded, pacing in the parlour.
Theodore Nott looked at him. "Shopping, I assume," he said. "I was informed that none of my dress selections were appropriate for a Black bridal gown and they'd be back when they found one."
Abbie jerked his head back to look at his father. "Mother said that to you?" he asked.
Theodore smiled. "Don't make the mistake so many people do and assume I oppress my lady wife. She does as she pleases." He glanced down at his nails and frowned at an errant cuticle. "She, of course, didn't tell me my taste had erred where anyone could hear her."
"I've never heard her criticize you," Abraxas said, eyes narrowed. "Not even so much as to suggest your cravat was badly tied."
"Have you ever seen me with my cravat tied badly?" Theodore Nott looked horrified by the idea.
"To be fair, no," Abraxas admitted.
Lord Nott looked at his son with amusement. "Your mother would not more criticize me in public than, I am sure, the Lady Drusilla would allow a censorious word about you to cross her lips where anyone could hear it." He smiled. "Though I do think your tolerance for mouthiness in private might be greater than mine."
"Dru's never mouthy," Abraxas said, settling at last into a seat. "She's just… amused." He made a show of grabbing his hair and yanking on it. "And maddening."
"Well, I'm sure she'll do an excellent job keeping you in check," Theodore said, pulling out a wooden box and sliding it toward his foster-son. "I am rather tired of pulling you out of whorehouses and your mother, as I've mentioned, requires that you produce offspring."
"What's this?" Abraxas asked, opening the box. It was a nearly black wood with attractive carvings that only writhed when you didn't look directly at them. The inside had three chambers, each somewhat larger than a man's fist. A slice of fresh apple sat within one of them. "Apple?" he asked.
"I was testing the stasis charm," Theodore said. "If that apple slice hadn't browned, it would appear to be working." He reached over and plucked the fruit out. "It's part of your wedding present; I just need to make a quick jaunt back to London for the rest of it."
"Do I want to know?" Abraxas asked, pushing the box back to his father.
Theodore Nott shrugged. "The girl is giving you her heart tomorrow. I thought it might be… poetic… to ensure she had a spare or two."