Things quickly deteriorated after that.

The three Tremaynes stopped trying to kill one another only after Noble leaped from the hack, roaring his displeasure at the foursome. Gillian wasn’t sure if it was the volume and impressive string of invectives that sprang from Noble’s lips or whether it was the sight of their huge, scowling employer clad in a white bedsheet that affected the men. She suspected from the stunned looks and open mouths that it was the latter but had no chance to verify her suspicion before Noble, with a powerful flick of his wrists, tossed a few of his employees aside, then stalked stiffly into the house.

“I do believe it was the bedsheet after all,” she mused some two hours later as she sat propped up in her husband’s bed, watching him pace the floor before the fireplace. “Crouch commented on how lovely the bow at your shoulder was, while Tremaynes Two and Three just stared at you as if you had suddenly sprouted toadstools on your head.”

Her words had an immediate effect. He stopped in mid-pace, spun around to face her, and gave her a look that would do Medusa proud. Gillian cautiously moved her legs to make sure they hadn’t been turned to stone. “On the other hand, both Tremayne One—at least I think it was One, it is so difficult to tell them apart, perhaps we can affix upon them some sort of identifying mark—both Tremayne One and Mr. Devereaux seemed to take your unconventional apparel in the best of spirits.”

Noble’s admirable body stiffened. The pulse beating wildly in the side of his neck was clearly visible from across his bedchamber. It was shameful, Gillian chastised herself. The poor man had been through a terrible evening, and she was clearly not doing her duty by offering solace and comfort. It was, after all, her job to help him relax so he could forget his troubles and enjoy his tranquil and serene home. Gillian blinked back a tender tear at the thought of his travails, and proceeded to buoy his foul mood.

“When I say good spirits, my dear, I do not mean they were laughing at you,” she reassured him. If possible, his silence and accompanying scowl grew even stonier. “Although I must admit they were laughing, but I’m sure it was not at you, but rather with you, if you see what I mean.”

It was obvious he didn’t share her perceptions. It was also evident that at that moment he was hard put to keep from strangling her. Since she wanted to have more than just one night of wedded bliss, Gillian decided not to press the point further. She would ask him in the morning, once he possessed a less belligerent attitude, who wished him ill. He would no doubt be happy she was so interested in his well-being and would, despite his earlier statement, be forthcoming with the whos and whys that so consumed her with curiosity. She smiled sweetly at the choked, guttural noises Noble was making in response to her buoying attempt. He was obviously overcome with gratitude for her tender solicitation.