Frederick was enjoying his favorite morning beverage when the knock came at the door. Enjoying may have been a strong word; the cup of coffee laced with a trace of cheap whiskey was just what made the mornings bearable, and any feelings of actual happiness rarely played into the matter. Frederick had never been a morning person, but as he'd aged he'd acquired a small-but-annoying headache that troubled him every morning, until he had a drink. The magic line to cross was about halfway down his coffee mug, and he was still an inch away from it when the noise interrupted him.

It could have been worse, he figured as he looked over his sister-in-law and swung the door open a little wider. If it had been one of his siblings he would have felt obliged to be nice.

"Miss Miriam, what an absolute delight," he said with obviously put-on cheerfulness. "To what do we owe the pleasure? We haven't forgotten a birthday for any of the little Trelawneys, have we?" Or a birth, he added sarcastically in his head. All of Sarah's siblings seemed to be procreating as prolifically as their mother had done before them, without a care in the world as to who would raise the resulting offspring. It was an odd turn of events that he had ended up with the one member of their large number who was opposed to handing her virtue out before marriage — and the one who, even years after the marriage bans had been read, still hadn't managed to create a small army of Trelawney infants.