Despite its inauspicious start, the first year that the young Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy spent in the Manor ended up immensely satisfying to both. Less than a month after the Samhain gala, a minor investment opportunity summoned Lucius to Vienna. Perhaps the matter could have been settled by owl, but he elected instead to go in person and invited Narcissa as well, and permitted her to plan a long weekend there. After that trip he orchestrated one to Italy, and they ended up spending almost a month there, as meeting in Rome segued easily into the opera at La Scala in Milan and carnivale in Venice and back to Florence to see the Uffizi before Lucius declared he couldn't spend another day there and promised he'd take he back to watch the Palio in Siena that summer.
There were things to do in the meantime anyway; he took her to Japan to try raw fish for the first time, flying her around the world to watch her skepticism, surprise, and finally delight when she managed to lift a sliver of maguro sashimi to her tongue with chopsticks (he was fairly sure she cheated and the bite was briefly levitating, but he elected to let it pass unnoticed). They went to Portugal, paying a brief visit to Lucius's parents before exploring Lisbon and Porto. Narcissa reached out to Fager cousins in Uppsala that Lucius had not seen since he was a small child and after staying with them for a week they crossed the Baltic Sea to see St. Petersburg.
They went to Kenya with Rodolphus and Bellatrix for some large game hunting— erumpents, nundus, and tebos; Narcissa observing the wildlife from a safe distance. Afterwards the couple crossed the continent to spend a weekend at a runespoor sanctuary near Ouagadougou. Egypt was a natural stop on the return journey, and both thoroughly enjoyed learning about ancient tomb curses and meeting the preeminent mummy reanimator in the field.
Narcissa liked New York more than he had suspected she would; the wives of his business associates there were taken with her immediately and insisted on bringing her to high end boutiques and the Cloisters and lunches in the Palm Court that lasted half the day and overflowed with champagne. She loved the Metropolitan Museum, entering the wizard-only collections through the Temple of Dendur and spending every free morning of the trip wandering through the exhibits. Lucius owned a floor in a Prewar building on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 64th Street and despite an unshakable distaste for the general notion of Americans, it was one the more valuable pieces of real estate he owned and one of the most elegantly outfitted. The last time he'd visited the city it had been with Rodolphus, and Lucius had by now reached an age where he could admit a preference for returning home to find his wife enjoying a quiet glass of wine in the study rather than a Muggle vivisection on the dining room table.
At the end of their first week there he sent word that she should join him for a late supper in an exclusive club, to which Lucius had reciprocal membership through the Walpurgis Club, with dark wooden paneling and opulent crimson velvet chairs. Five years ago this club had taken the radical step of permitting the wives of members to enter certain dining spaces when accompanied by their spouse. The more traditional Walpurgis Club would never have permitted such a thing, naturally, but this was America after all. He had spent the majority of the day in a board meeting, simultaneously annoyed that profits of this particular venture were not where he felt they should be at this stage and crushingly bored. He'd agreed to the dinner early in the day, and was further irritated with himself for not foreseeing his utter lack of desire to spend another minute with his fellow directors after the meeting. Narcissa spent her morning at the Frick, personally finding it less lovely than her own residence in Wiltshire, and after receiving Lucius' owl around noon, designed to go shopping with the other wives who would be attending the evening meal.
American fashions at the time were rather different than those in London, and even amongst Pureblooded witches rather immodest to her eyes. However, she was loath to appear démodé in any social situation. Though she would never venture from the boudoir with her legs visible in the short hemlines the American women easily donned, she was still able to find a gown to make the other women squeal with admiration and envy.
Lucius was on his third glass of bourbon by the time Narcissa and the others arrived, his eyes very nearly glazed over in boredom until he caught a glimpse of muted gold near the entryway. The gown was a halter with a high, collar-like neck that covered her throat but left her shoulders bared. He stared for several seconds, drink halfway to his lips. He was certain he had never seen her with bare shoulders and arms in public. Her hair was parted to the side and pulled into an elegant chignon and a sweeping, diaphanous cape flowed behind her, shielding the exposed skin of her upper back. The dress fell in iridescent pleated silk, billowing rather than fitting to her form, but as she walked towards him the fabric clung just enough to highlight the swell of her breast, the curve of her thigh... Lucius rose quickly to pull out her chair for her, and she gave him a small, almost sheepish smile as she gracefully sank down. His head lowered so his lips were by her ear under the guise of greeting her, but he merely breathed, "you look..." and she shivered at the tone of his voice, and what was left unsaid.
He knew better than to touch her at the table, even as bottle after bottle of wine was emptied and the evening grew raucous. Modesty was not something he had any great appreciation for prior to his marriage, but he had developed a grudging respect for Narcissa's unwavering insistence on propriety. Still, he found ways to skirt it, to tease her without provoking anger. Towards the end of the meal Narcissa excused herself to the powder room, and Lucius counted to one hundred, swirling the dregs of wine in his glass thoughtfully, before rising to follow her. He timed it just so that they would have to pass through the narrow, darkened corridor leading from the dining room at the same moment. She was just emerging from a door marked with an elaborate gold "W" when he turned the corner, and did not look surprised to see him there. Wordlessly he blocked her escape, forcing her to take one step back and then another and when she pressed her back against the wall to slip past him he placed a hand on the rich mahogany paneling to prevent her return to their table. With calculated gentleness he brushed the back of his fingers against the sensitive flesh of her inner elbow, and let a heated look tell her what she would never permit him to speak aloud: a warning that she should not hope for much sleep that night, and a promise that it would be for the best of reasons. He then stepped aside with a gracious inclination of his head, and when she sat back amongst their companions her cheeks were pink and she blushingly declined a final digestif.
In a year they'd seen much of the world together, but not all of it. They didn't go to Paris, or the Malfoy estate in Leon, or Narcissa's chateau in the Loire Valley. He never offered to take her to France and she never asked to go.
Monday, 8 August 1977
Their trip around the globe was not entirely without tension. It was not unusual that Lucius would vanish in the night, leaving Narcissa alone in a strange country for days at a time. She knew better than to ask any questions when he returned, exhausted and solemn, or express any displeasure or anxiety at his departures, but still he could sense her resentment.
In early August they had returned to Wiltshire with no upcoming holidays planned, and Lucius was up well past midnight answering post when his elf, trembling in fear, announced a visitor. He stood at once, knowing immediately that there was only one person who would appear unexpectedly at this late hour and inspire such terror in the elf, and was already pouring two glasses of one of his finest scotches when Voldemort swept into the study. Lucius bowed in greeting and Voldemort accepted a glass without thanks.
"What news have you for me, Lucius?" he asked drily, taking a seat in a winged armchair by the fire.
"Minchum is placing more Dementors at Azkaban, despite Crouch's protestations. It might be more of a concern if anyone truly valuable from our organization had be captured, but for now..." Lucius waved an unconcerned hand. "Who are they guarding, really? It's a problem for a later date."
"Not a problem," corrected Voldemort. "Dementors are our natural allies, and when the Ministry falls it will be advantageous to have an increased number on hand." He paused, studying Lucius carefully with bloody irises. "Have you considered what role you'd like in my new administration, when I have the Ministry? Perhaps Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot?"
Lucius dipped his head in acknowledge of the distinction. "Any position would be an honor, my Lord, especially one with such high esteem." He paused, wanting to say more but uncertain of how to begin, and Voldemort looked rather amused.
"Do you want to be Minister, Lucius? It would not be an unreasonable request. I think it best that I lead the government though its transitional period but I do not see why, after things have fallen into place, you should not take over the role. You have served me loyally and well, and moreover you would be suited to the office… I shall have to think of alternate rewards for others, such as the Lestranges, if I do not wish to see the world I plan to build dissolve into chaos…"
"You offer too much, my Lord," Lucius protested quickly. "I merely hesitated because, while I will gladly serve as you see fit, I believe I might be better suited to running Gringotts. The goblins will eventually be brought to heel, but there is no reason they should not stay on in the day-to-day management of the bank, and I've worked with them successfully in the past."
Voldemort was regarding him thoughtfully, so Lucius pressed on. "As for the Ministry, I've given that some thought as well. Nott would do well as Chief Warlock, and Rookwood as the Minister— he's already a bureaucrat. With guidance, I actually could see Rodolphus doing well as the Head of Magical Law Enforcement— after some persuading to take on the responsibility. I can think of no one else who would devote the same level of passion for bringing Mudbloods to justice. MacNair is already working in the Magical Creatures department and due a promotion. Depending on how loyalties play out, some departments could remain largely intact— Games and Sports, for one, and Millicent Bagnold over in International Cooperation is exceptionally competent. Of course, all the offices dealing with Muggles could be eliminated, so no need to worry about staffing those. Then there's also Hogwarts to consider… I know he's still young, but I think Snape has the necessary penchant for academia to oversee our interests there."
"You have given this some thought," Voldemort agreed silkily. "For some time now, I've begun to think that your role in this cause has superseded the position of foot soldier. My interests are no longer best served in sending you abroad to find allies, or in skirmishes with the Order and Aurors. But do not consider the fact that you will no longer be called for these responsibilities a demotion." He reached into the pocket of his robes and Lucius leaned forward in anticipation. However, the item he withdrew was mere a book— a rather slim, ratty one at that. "Looks can be deceiving, Lucius," he spoke softly, weighing the journal in his hand as he spoke. "This diary is of greater value than even you could fathom." After a long silence, he held it out towards his disciple. "I am asking you to guard it with your life. Whatever it takes, do not let this fall into any hands aside from your own, until I command you otherwise."
Fascinated, Lucius rose to take it at once. Before he could stop himself, he flipped it open to discover what secrets of such great value might live on the pages— but each leaf was blank. He frowned, turning it over in his hand and then looking up for further explanation. There was a sense of foreboding, but he could not tell if that was generated from the book or the situation.
"As you know, I am the last living descendant of Salazar Slytherin. As such, there is certain knowledge, a certain heritage, to which only I have access. And yet, even I cannot be in all places at once, and do all things. You have heard, I must assume, of the Chamber of Secrets."
Lucius nodded, frowning. "There were whispers that it had been opened some thirty five years ago, but it turned out the oaf Hagrid had merely been raising monsters in the school and one got loose, killed a girl…" He didn't know the story well, it had happened before his birth but after his own father's time at school, so he'd never heard a first-hand account of the events.
"The Chamber was opened," Voldemort amended quietly, eyes glittering as if at a fond reminiscence. "And it will open once more, when the time comes that the Ministry is under my power and it is time to cleanse the school of Mudbloods once and for all. In the right hands, that book you hold now will guide a selected student to complete my ancestor's noble ambition of a purer class of witches and wizards."
Lucius felt a thrill of excitement, staring down at the diary with renewed interest. Perhaps to this aforementioned student the pages would not appear blank, or writing would appear at the prescribed time.
"I will keep it here, my Lord, sequestered with the most valuable objects I possess. I have a secret chamber of my own, in fact, beneath the drawing room floor."
Voldemort nodded once, satisfied with this answer, and rose. "No task that I have ever asked of you is more significant than this one. You are to risk everything— your anonymity as my servant, your life, Lucius... if this book falls into the hands of Albus Dumbledore, it could be fatal to our cause."
Lucius assured him once more that it would sacrifice anything for its protection, and the Dark Lord swept silently from the Manor. Immediately Lucius moved to the drawing room to stash the diary, placing several protective wards around the item and making a mental note to research further protections in the coming weeks. His mind was reeling at the implications of their conversation, and he knew that one in particular would be well received by his wife. He went directly from the secret enclave to his bedroom; he would finish his correspondences in the morning.
Narcissa had been soundly asleep for some time and he undressed in silence as not to disturb her. When he slid into bed with her she did not stir, allowing him to move closer and watch her peaceful slumber for several long seconds before reaching out to gently rouse her. Her luminous eyes opened at the first touch of his fingers in her hair, suggesting she may not have truly been sleeping, but she lay perfectly still as he brushed the stray tendrils from her face. Perhaps she was right to be suspicious of this uncharacteristic tenderness and affection, but she permitted it nonetheless, even leaning into his hand as it cupped her cheek. Her curiosity got the better of her and at last she asked, "What is it, Lucius?"
He lowered his head to kiss her, and she responded willingly if rather tiredly by slipping her body beneath his and twining her legs around his hips; it was half past three after all. However, this what not what he'd intended— well, not yet, at any rate— and he drew back to meet her gaze once more. "It's time, Narcissa," he replied softly, unable to resist a small smirk at her confused frown.
"Time for what?" she demanded, ready to protest any activity at this hour that involved leaving the bed.
"Time for you to have my son." He bent to kiss her again, and this time, did not pull away.
The next morning, Lucius was unexpectedly woken by the soft fluttering of Narcissa's fingertips across his chest. He remained still for several moments with his eyes closed to ensure he has not imagined the caress, and then several seconds longer to enjoy the sensation. At last he turned his head and open his eyes, bright silver in the early morning light. Narcissa lay close to him on her side, smiling shyly. He stretched to kiss her and she moved closer still, her leg sliding over his to link them together. His hand ran lazily from her hip to her knee, and after a moment she drew away fractionally.
"Did you mean it? What you said last night?" she asked breathlessly.
"Did I mean...?" he echoed, mind momentarily blank. She withdrew further and raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Oh, that. Yes. Some matters were favourably resolved last night and I should expect to be called away for the Dark Lord's business far less frequently moving forward. He has entrusted me with matters beyond recruitment and incitement."
"You'll be home more often?" Narcissa surmised, dipping her head to press a flurry of pecks along his jaw and neck. He hummed in approval, and she sighed happily before slipping on top of him with a sheepish but determined expression. Lucius, on the other hand, grinned wickedly before capturing her lips once more.
"Was there something you wanted from me, Mrs. Malfoy?" he asked devilishly, fingertips teasing down the backs of her thighs. He was determined to savor this, if not victory, then at least momentous occasion: Narcissa had never before been the one to initiate physical intimacy. She flushed but refused to be deterred.
"Yes." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear that had worked its way free from her plait overnight and nipped at his earlobe. "A baby."
He captured her chin with two fingers, tilting her face towards his and studying her with a brief and searching look. Not finding, perhaps, what he sought, Lucius released her and the intensity melted from his gaze. "It may not happen right away," he reminded her mildly, his palms smoothing down her back.
"I've waited this long, haven't I?"
"And it's been unbearable, I suppose?" he groaned sarcastically. Narcissa paused, thoughtful.
"I suppose not all of it," she conceded at last. "I would rather have had a baby, but I did like Burkina Faso."
Sunday, 25 September 1977
The first time she told him that she was pregnant was the only time she did so without trepidation, without fear that it would end not with a child but heartbreak. She waited until they had retired for the night, and she sat on the edge of the bed while he undressed, beaming down at her hands folded in her lap. It was early still, only six weeks, but she had received confirmation from the Healer that afternoon and she could not wait a moment longer to share the news. It had taken all of her self-restraint to not announce the pregnancy at supper, but she feared that would be vulgar. Lucius had not been expecting it to happen so quickly, but when he took her in his arms and kissed her his pleasure at hearing the words was unfeigned.
She miscarried sixteen days later.
He woke before she did, disturbed from sleep by her incessant turning in the bed beside him. Annoyed that his own rest had been interrupted and half asleep, it had been on the tip of his tongue to tell her off for waking him, and then he recalled her condition. He instead reached for his wand to illuminate the room. Narcissa was curled on her side, ghastly pale and eyes shut, damp with a clammy sweat when he reached out to touch her.
"Narcissa," his voice was low and rough, and he had to shake her shoulder gently to bring her to consciousness. She looked disoriented and gave a soft moan of discomfort, blinking at him in confusion and turning her face from the light of his wand while her hands gripped her midsection.
"I feel..." she breathed, and then her eyes widened, suddenly alert in her panic, and she sat up and kicked the blankets off her, whispering "no" frantically under her breath over and over again, a wrenching cry escaping her when she saw the blood...
Several hours later, Narcissa had been bathed, changed into a new night dress, and was laying in relative comfort under the influence of a number of potions in the bedroom across from the chamber she and Lucius shared. Lucius had summoned a Healer at once, an elderly man called Marlowe who had discreetly aided him and a number of his associates on several dire occasions without asking any superfluous questions. He was well compensated for his tact and arrived within minutes of receiving the summons despite the late hour. Lucius restlessly paced the sitting room as the Healer examined his wife, a gnawing disappointment in his gut that he attempted unsuccessfully to ease with a glass of scotch. He had accepted the inevitable long before Marlowe emerged to confirm that there was no longer a child; Lucius had seen the dark stains on the sheets, he did not need an official diagnosis to know the truth.
At last Marlowe reappeared from the bedroom, closing the door gently behind him. He pushed his spectacles nose with a nearly inaudible sigh and adjusted the case under his arm.
"Here are the potions I've given her," he began in a reedy voice, handing over a piece parchment with several lines scrawled across it. "Have your elf get these from the apothecary, there is a sedative and blood restorative. She is in good health but not spirits. There is no physical reason to wait before trying again; all tests returned indicating that there is no reason she should not be able to carry a child to term. She said this is her first pregnancy? Miscarriage is not uncommon and often spontaneous in the first trimester." He spoke with little emotion, adjusting his glasses once more. "I should warn you that she is distraught. I have not shared any information with her, I thought it best that you convey the results of the tests and, as her husband, tell her how you would prefer to proceed." If his bedside manner was rather lacking, the man made up for it with efficiency and chauvinism.
Lucius nodded and shook his hand. "I appreciate your prompt arrival and will be in touch should we need you services in the future. An elf will show you out." And would also deliver a handsome sack of galleons for his trouble, but Lucius did not need to mention this; it was assumed.
Before entering the other room, Lucius poured another splash of scotch into his tumbler and tossed it into his mouth. At some point over the past year she had redecorated it along with much of the rest of the Manor, and despite the fact that she never slept there she had designed it freely to her tastes. This room, along with her study and music room, were the only distinctly feminine spaces in the grand house, its closets and armoires filled with her excess robes and gowns and belongings. She was in the center of the bed when he entered, propped up by square lace-trimmed pillows and covered with a fluffy white duvet, staring blankly at her folded hands in her lap. She did not look up when the door opened. Her face was pale and tearstained but currently dry, and there were two incongruous bright spots of pink on her cheeks as a result of the replenishing elixir.
He stood watching her for several moments, but she did not make his task easier but acknowledging his presence. Though her eyes were open, she was entirely consumed by her own thoughts, and he was not sure she even realized he was there.
"Narcissa," he murmured, and her gaze flickered over to him at last. "May I come in?"
She nodded once, and resumed staring at her knitted fingers. He approached the bed cautiously and, after a beat of hesitation, sat down on its edge. It was not as large as the one they shared, but large enough that she was not easily within his reach. The distance seemed vast.
"Healer Marlowe said that you were well." Lucius immediately regretted his words, though she did not flinch. "Physically," he amended quickly. "He told me that there was nothing... wrong..." But everything was wrong, particularly each word that he spoke. "You should have no problems conceiving again. What happened was not due to any deficiency or fault, it was simply a natural—"
"Stop," she half-sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "Please, stop."
He fell silent at once, struggling against the tide of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm him. Face still hidden, her shoulders shook, though she made no sound. A dull ache was spreading beneath his ribcage that he could not define, and he longed to touch her but feared it would only upset her further.
"Narcissa," he whispered, miserable. "Tell me what to do."
Her trembling subsided after a few moments, and she raised her head to him at last. Her eyes looked huge and impossibly blue when rimmed in red, her grief painfully apparent in her now-wet gaze.
"I want..." her tongue darted over her lower lip to moisten it; she looked nervous. He leaned forward, trying to wordlessly convey that should should continue; he could think of nothing he would not grant her in this moment. "I want to..." she tried again, but her attention dropped to her lap once more before she was able to finish the request. "... to go home."
His brow knotted fleetingly, not grasping her meaning. They were in the only home he'd ever known; the London house had been a fleeting displacement. Why would she want to return?
But of course she did not want to return to London.
"To the Loire Valley, you mean?" he asked softly. "Your chateau there?"
She nodded without meeting his eye and drew a shaky breath. "Just for a few weeks. I think the climate in Blois would... help to speed my recovery."
"Very well." Relieved to have a tangible course of action, Lucius rose to his feet. "I'll have an elf pack our trunks. I think you should rest now but I'll have a carriage ready to take us first thing tomorrow morning, if you're feeling up to it. I imagine you have an elf there that can prepare for our arrival? We can—"
"Lucius, no." Though quiet, her words were enough to silence him at once. "I want to go by myself."
There was a strange lurch in his gut and he paused halfway to the door. His mouth felt dry as he attempted to process her statement.
"I don't think you should be alone right now," he managed at last, speaking each word carefully.
"I'll owl my mother," she conceded after a brief hesitation. "And ask her to meet me there."
He was numb as he dipped his head in acceptance of her terms and swept from the room. It was as though he'd been dealt a great blow and had yet to recognize what had just occurred. He moved blindly into their bedroom— his bedroom— and stood for several long beats without moving.
"Dobby!" he snapped, and the elf appeared before him at once. "Pack a trunk for your mistress, she will be departing for a week. Quickly!"
Dobby bowed in acknowledgement, his bat-like ears nearly touching the floor. "And a trunk for my master as well?"
Rage flamed suddenly in his throat and boiled over in a searing flash; Dobby was flung across the room with a shriek of pain. "Do as I say and do not question me!" he snarled, turning sharply to the en suite bathroom. He threw off his robes and opened the faucet to its fullest, sending an icy jet into the sink, leaning over to splash his flushed face but it did little good to calm him. His anger threatened to consume him, but he could immediately not pinpoint its primary target— he suspected it was directed towards himself.
"Fuck!" he roared, slamming his fist onto the marble countertop, the shattering agony in his knuckles momentarily distracting him from the mental turmoil that was making him feel nauseated and disoriented. He gasped another string of obscenities and thrust his hand beneath the stream of cold water, thoughts racing. It was unfair to begrudge Narcissa her privacy in this trying time, he told himself stiffly. After all, theirs was a marriage of convenience and mutual beneficence to their families. If she did not want to share her grief with him, it would be unnecessarily cruel to force her to do so. Panting, Lucius sank to his knees, broken hand still lying limply in the sink. His forehead rested on the stone edge of the vanity. A small but insistent voice seemed to echo in his mind: was this not his loss too? Had he not also been ready to welcome a child into their lives? No. He firmly pushed the thought aside and dragged himself reluctantly back to his feet. This child was the thing Narcissa had longed for since their wedding, she one who had had the thing she so desired callously snatched away by some unknown and unjust force. Besides, he need not fear an indefinite absence this time; after all, there was no reason to believe her wishes had changed, and she would have to return to him in order to try again.
Lucius spent a restless night alone, rising several times to pad across the room separating him and his wife, but stopping each time outside her door. In the unlikely event that she had found respite he was loath to interrupt her slumber, and he heard no signs that she stirred. When dawn arrived at last, its first weak rays filtering through the drapes, he gave up on sleep and decided to begin the day. After he showered and dressed, he emerged to find Narcissa slumped listlessly in a brocade upholstered armchair before the windows of the shared sitting room, an untouched saucer of tea on the table next to her. Wordlessly he moved to take a seat near hers, and saw that she was already wrapped in her traveling cloak.
"Did you take your draughts yet?" he asked, if only to break the silence.
"Yes." She didn't look at him. He reached out to pour himself a cup of tea as well and she gasped softly, her eyes widening in alarm at the sight of his swollen and blackened fingers. Cursing himself internally, he withdrew at once, but she sat up a bit straighter, concern for him painted clearly on her features. "Lucius..."
A dozen half-formed excuses began to form in his mind, but he swept them away. He would tell her the truth: that he'd acted out in a moment of frustration at his own ineptitude and unhappiness at her loss— their loss, and he would ask once more to accompany her to Blois; he did not want to be without her right now.
But the question never came, and her expression hardened suddenly as she arrived at her own conclusion. "You were out last night," she surmised coldly, sinking back into her chair and staring out the window once more. "Doing his bidding. I thought I heard you moving about out here..." Her words were bitter, and he instinctively reacted with similar iciness.
"It's nothing, a foolish accident." He drew his wand and pointed it at his hand, muttering "Episkey," and the bruises melted away at once, leaving his fingers as pale and elegant as before. "See? A mere trifle."
When she did not reply, he turned his attention out the window as well. "The Abraxans are harnessed and ready to depart whenever you are ready. Perhaps after breakfast—"
"I'm ready now," she interrupted, rising to her feet at once. He rose as well, albeit more slowly.
"Very well." Neither spoke as they headed out of the Manor, but as they stood on the gravel of the drive, he could not resist the urge to add a final reminder. "Send word when you arrive. If you do not feel up to corresponding, have Druella write."
"Yes, Lucius," she agreed, watching with dull eyes as he pulled open the door of the carriage for her.
"If your condition declines in any way at all, I want to know at once. Send word first to Healer Marlowe but then notify me. Even if you do not think it an urgent matter, let the Healers make that decision, do not risk your wellbeing by taking matters into your own hands."
"Yes." She stepped up into the phaeton, ignoring or not seeing the hand he offered in assistance.
"Narcissa." It slipped into his voice before he could stop it; a bare trace of anguish slithering into the syllables of her name. She froze, her back to him, and by the time she looked over her shoulder he had regained control once more and was watching her with an inscrutable silver gaze. "Have a pleasant journey. I'll see you in a week or so." He closed the door of the carriage firmly and did not wait outside to watch it vanish into the clouds.
