Adam hadn’t suspected that his comfortable wife had a temper until the day he and Giles came home muddy to the eyebrows and chilled to the bone. Even the daffodils which Giles offered weren’t enough to forestall the command of “Bath! And then to bed with you!” which sent their seven-year-old son scuttling off to the safety of the nursery.
“Without his supper?” Adam asked, his meekness only partially feigned.
“He can have yours!” Jenny snapped, and began shooing Adam up the stairs. “Go on, then! Bath and bed!”
But Adam reached a hand back for her. “You come too!”