Chapter Text
Ethan meets Vanessa’s eyes across the table and takes another slice of cake. Vanessa’s nails bite into her palm, one for every slice he’s eaten so far. Victor’s eyes flick between both of them.
Victor and Vanessa are cut from the same cloth, even if their patterns differ slightly. They’d had a long, brandy-fueled discussion late one night after Lily’s untimely disappearance, and he’d confessed to her that he’d always felt like some strange, misfit being among the perfect heterosexual English specimens that were his elder brothers. Vanessa, awash in strangeness, could commiserate, even if her sexual preferences are the least of her oddities. Vanessa desires romance but could do without the rest of it; she’s had a taste with other partners and has decided she doesn’t enjoy anything more unless it’s with herself. Victor thinks little of self-pleasure and less of romance, but he enjoys a bit of playacting as a prelude to sexual congress.
Not that Vanessa doesn’t enjoy her own preludes. She’s just chosen not to disclose them as of yet, except to Ethan. But then, she and Ethan have chosen not to disclose their entanglement to the rest of their company yet, either. They’ve stolen moments, hours, even one precious overnight when Sir Malcolm was out of town with Sembene and they blissfully, sexlessly shared Vanessa’s bed. Not to mention quite a lot of food from the larder.
But now, watching Ethan determinedly fill himself with sweets across the table and deflecting Victor’s shrewd looks from her right, she’s fairly sure he’s figured them out — or, at least, figured her out.
At least, it doesn’t take much to figure out that something is going on. Ethan is broadly built, but in the last few months, he’s filled out heavily, his body widening and softening. The buttons on his waistcoats have strained to the point of popping, and he’s had to loosen his gun belt several notches. Oh, he’s just as fluid with a pistol as he’s always been, and Vanessa takes a proud sort of thrill at seeing his movements evolve with his size, watching him master his altered center of gravity to move with as much grace as ever. But there’s no denying that he’s eating doubly well as he was, and Vanessa fears that their company can only cycle through so many explanations before the roulette wheel lands on her.
“More tea?” she asks the table, and Malcolm and Ethan both nod. Victor gives a slight shake of his head. She pours a cup black for Malcolm and adds cream and sugar to Ethan’s, then offers around a plate of scones. Ethan takes one; Malcolm refuses. Victor skewers her with a look.
Tea is serving as their main meal today; they had an appointment with one of Sir Malcolm’s associates this morning and are expecting Mr. Lyle at six, so Victor is here for the bulk of the day. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t be taking quite as many risks with Ethan, but Sir Malcolm’s friend had coincided with breakfast and she expects supper will be delayed because, though she loves Mr. Lyle dearly, brevity is not among his virtues. And she’d caught Ethan’s stomach growling shortly before tea, and she knows he can focus better once he’s eaten, and she also takes a bit of pleasure in the thrill. It would, of course, make her personal life slightly easier if none of their party is aware that she’s the reason for Ethan’s sudden expansion, but what’s the fun of a secret if it isn’t almost found out?
Besides, Vanessa has spent so much of her life keeping most of herself tucked beneath a prim, put-together facade that if this is the thing her companions learn about, well. She can handle that.
Ethan finishes his scone and suppresses a belch in his fist. Victor’s eyes snap in his direction, but Ethan just rests a hand on his round belly and says mildly, “You make those scones, Miss Ives? They’re excellent.”
Vanessa absolutely did not and he knows it; they are, after all, edible. “No, but I’m flattered,” she replies, spreading her napkin needlessly in her lap. “They’re from the baker that makes those lemon pound cakes you like.”
Ethan makes a soft sound of pleasure, and for a moment Vanessa thinks Victor might up and leave altogether. Instead, he dabs at his lips and takes it upon himself to pour another cup of tea, black and perfectly ascetic.
“Biscuit, Victor?” Vanessa offers placidly. Victor declines.
By the time Mr. Lyle arrives, Ethan has slowly worked his way through another two slices of cake and yet another scone. Sir Malcolm, largely hidden behind first the newspaper and then the day’s shipping logs, doesn’t seem to notice; Victor stares at Vanessa and mouths What witchcraft is this?
Vanessa smiles demurely. A lady never tells .
They each rise to greet Mr. Lyle, and Ethan only sways a bit, bracing a hand against his belly as he does. He tips an affectionate smile at Vanessa across the table, and she smiles warmly back at him as Mr. Lyle makes his rounds. Per usual, he and Victor exchange a nod; he and Malcolm, a handshake, although Vanessa is waiting for the day when he counts them close enough to try for an embrace from Malcolm.
“Mr. Chandler,” purrs Lyle in his thickly ornamented accent. “Aren't you looking well !” He reaches out and pats the curve of Ethan’s stomach, and Ethan grins widely. He offers his hand and pulls Mr. Lyle into a casual embrace, careful not to put too much weight against his overtaxed belly.
“Careful there, Mr. Lyle,” he drawls. “Carrying a lot of weight these days, I’m a little off balance.”
Mr. Lyle chuckles richly. “Oh, but you wear it so well,” he enthuses, and he kisses Ethan’s hand before turning to Vanessa.
Vanessa squeezes Mr. Lyle rather too hard to conceal her reaction to his words, but he pulls her in close anyway and whispers, “You’re having a magnificent effect on him, my dear. The measure of a man’s happiness is his waistline, and Mr. Chandler certainly does look euphoric .”
His accent flattens the r s into an airy, uvular sound that tickles her. “Doesn’t he,” she agrees softly before letting him go. “Would you care for some tea, Mr. Lyle?”
—
Later, after Ethan has insisted on helping Sembene clean up after tea, despite the fact that he’s eaten practically an entire cake and half a dozen scones and can’t move well without groaning or belching, Vanessa curls around him on the loveseat by the fire. Ethan’s nursing a glass of whiskey and reading, and Vanessa is slowly slipping him rich chocolate truffles at intervals determined solely by her whims.
She expected that Victor might have left by now, but he and Sir Malcolm tucked themselves into the study for a bit to discuss what Vanessa can only imagine are the many and varied burdens of the men of science. When Victor emerges, he takes a seat conspicuously close to theirs, and Vanessa shoots him the kind of look she used to shoot Peter when he was interfering.
“Coffee?” she asks, rising from the loveseat and tousling Ethan’s hair. Ethan nods up at her, and Victor’s gaze narrows. She narrows hers back. “Victor? A hand, please?”
“I can help you,” Ethan offers, setting down his novel. “I don’t mind.”
“No, you sit,” she soothes, squeezing his shoulder. “Relax.”
She beckons Victor to follow her and he does, grudgingly, leaving his own book with the page unmarked in his seat. “I’m sorry,” he hisses, “am I to believe that you’re not capable of making coffee on your own?”
Vanessa scoffs. “I’m sorry, am I to believe that you haven’t been staring daggers at me all afternoon? Whatever you have to say to me, Victor, for heaven’s sake, just say it.”
Victor doesn’t waste a moment. “ This is what you declined to tell me? That your proclivities are stuffing your — your — companion with the contents of an entire bakery?”
Vanessa raises her eyebrows as she fills the coffee pot. “Was I wrong to decline, considering your reaction?”
“To what end? Will you simply continue feeding him until he’s beached on that sofa like a whale? Relax , you just told him, like he’s been working strenuously all day.”
“Have you ever tried consuming the contents of a bakery?” she interjects. “I daresay it’s quite a lot of work.”
“Not real work, anyhow,” sniffs Victor. “It just seems .. inelegant. You comport yourself so well, and you’re always very proper. I find it odd that you’d find such a display of gluttony so … fetching.”
Vanessa gives a sweeping, exaggerated bow. “I contain multitudes,” she tells him dryly. “Now, would you like me to comment on the ways in which your proclivities are crude and uncultured, or did you have more to say?”
“I’ve a bit more,” says Victor.
The coffee begins to percolate, and for a long moment they exchange a long, filial glare. “Oh, go on then,” says Vanessa.
“Pardon my saying so, Miss Ives, but you’re quite … delicate. Even if you don’t engage in … certain activities, isn’t it difficult to —?”
“I’m going to chase you out with a broom,” says Vanessa, making for the birch in the corner, and to her surprise Victor laughs.
“My last question isn’t quite so intrusive,” he promises, backing away with his hands raised in surrender. “Does he enjoy it?”
Vanessa softens. “Yes, very much.”
“Well, as long as you’re not visiting stones and stones on our unsuspecting friend,” says Victor, fetching the milk from the icebox and sugar from the pantry. “And don’t try to contradict me. I can see that it’s stones, plural.”
“Yes, it is,” says Vanessa proudly.
Victor pauses, fiddling with the coffee spoons. He’s avoiding her eyes, but she waits him out. “Do all women find it so attractive?” he asks finally, and she very nearly laughs.
“Oh, Victor, is that your concern? No, I don’t believe so. I should think London would be swarming with plump men if it were.”
“It’s not my concern,” he mutters, but he doesn’t object when Vanessa adds a selection of biscuits to the coffee tray.
Ethan looks as if he might be dozing off when they finally return to the sitting room, but he perks up at the smell of coffee. “Perfect timing!” he says, closing his novel around one finger. “Victor, you staying for coffee?”
Victor shakes his head. “I think I’ll take my leave,” he says, and bids them good night. Vanessa hugs him goodbye and kisses his cheek as he goes. She pours coffee for herself and Ethan, then tucks herself back beside him on the sofa.
“What was all the ruckus in the kitchen?” he asks, pressing a kiss to her hair and balancing his book in his other hand.
“Ruckus?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Even half-asleep I could hear you two sniping at each other in there.”
“Oh,” she says, her face coloring. “Victor had some — questions — about you and I. Our particular practices together.”
It’s as tactful as she can manage, and she’s pleased with herself until Ethan guffaws and says, “All that to ask if you’re the reason I got fat? It’s not like I couldn’t see the two of you glaring at each other all afternoon, you know. That’s what it was all about? Christ. You really are like siblings.”
“Oh, you hush,” she says, pushing a biscuit into his mouth good-naturedly. “He called me inelegant , can you believe that?”
Ethan laughs again and pulls her closer. “I’d never stoop so low as inelegant , but I’ve gotta say, Miss Ives, this is the one area in which you’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are. Only reason I don’t think Sir Malcolm’s caught on is that he’s decided you’re incapable of desire because you’re his surrogate daughter now and he can’t bear to think about it.”
Vanessa offers him another biscuit. “I suppose there’s only one way to improve my ability to hide my intentions.”
Ethan smirks. “Practice?”
Vanessa grins. “Practice.”