Work Text:
The door to her chambers opened, and Mrs. Smith grimaced, making a gesture to her maid, who was fixing her hair with a little too much force.
'I like your hair much better down, you know,' observed Mr. Smith from the doorway.
'And when it is only you and me, Mr. Smith, it stays down,' answered his wife, without moving.
'Do you plan on being much delayed, madam?'
'You will have to ask Sally,' she answered. 'Once my hair is done, so am I.'
He did not ask, but instead leaned against the doorway and watched his wife, unmoving for a long moment. 'Elliot is waiting for us downstairs,' he said, finally.
'Good!' she said. 'He has been missed. How is his lovely butcher's daughter?'
'Hide your claws, dear, and ask him. He has not said a word of it to me.'
'He is your friend,' she said, without conviction.
He smiled, looking down, and straightened up. 'Sometimes, I wonder.' And he added, before she could think of something to say, 'We will be in the drawing room.'
The silence of the empty doorway sounded more accusing than his words had been.