Alexandra had hoped that the dramatic shift in Philip's demeanor was related to either their daughter going off to school or his father's stroke, and as such would have settled back into his normal behaviors as the dust settled. Phillipa was sorted (a Gryffindor, Alexandra still wasn't sure how that had happened) and had already begun her classes. His father was comatose still and would either wake or wouldn't. There was no need to carry on as though the very ground beneath his feet had shifted.
The larger issue at hand was how even the way he moved seemed to be altered now. Alexandra had grown accustomed to her husband's behavior over the course of their decade long marriage — she knew how he functioned, how he thought and breathed. Everything about Philip was so entirely predictable that when he'd returned home days ago Alexandra had noticed immediately how something was off. There was a look in his eyes that was entirely unfamiliar to her, a certain energy about him that she didn't quite understand.
She ignored it for the first three days, deciding not to question his apparent breakdown in hopes he might soon settle back into himself. Then, when the fourth day set into night and he made no mention of their scheduled marital duties, Alexandra had determined something was gravely wrong with her husband. After all, Philip had never once squandered an opportunity to further the Rowle legacy. Never once.
And yet, the man sitting opposite her had done just that for going on three days now.
Alexandra sat with a rigid spine as she pondered what might've brought about this great change. She supposed he might've found himself enmeshed in an affair with some floozy, but that still didn't explain why he was prowling around the house like a lion stalking its prey. It also seemed entirely outlandish a prospect, for there were no unexplained absences or signs of such a thing. She wouldn't mind if he had either, so long as he was discreet about the affair and was mindful over fathering bastards. Perhaps then she would receive more than an one month's reprieve from her duties.
The weight of his stare was impossible to shake. Philip, who she had once pleaded with to show her any ounce of emotion, was looking at her as though he'd never seen her before. Alexandra refused to meet his gaze until she had finished her meal and the plates cleared away. Let him stare, she thought bitterly to herself. Nearly thirteen years of marriage and he chose now to act like a man possessed. She reached for her wine glass and took a small sip. Then, and only then, did she meet his gaze as if to demand, what?
The larger issue at hand was how even the way he moved seemed to be altered now. Alexandra had grown accustomed to her husband's behavior over the course of their decade long marriage — she knew how he functioned, how he thought and breathed. Everything about Philip was so entirely predictable that when he'd returned home days ago Alexandra had noticed immediately how something was off. There was a look in his eyes that was entirely unfamiliar to her, a certain energy about him that she didn't quite understand.
She ignored it for the first three days, deciding not to question his apparent breakdown in hopes he might soon settle back into himself. Then, when the fourth day set into night and he made no mention of their scheduled marital duties, Alexandra had determined something was gravely wrong with her husband. After all, Philip had never once squandered an opportunity to further the Rowle legacy. Never once.
And yet, the man sitting opposite her had done just that for going on three days now.
Alexandra sat with a rigid spine as she pondered what might've brought about this great change. She supposed he might've found himself enmeshed in an affair with some floozy, but that still didn't explain why he was prowling around the house like a lion stalking its prey. It also seemed entirely outlandish a prospect, for there were no unexplained absences or signs of such a thing. She wouldn't mind if he had either, so long as he was discreet about the affair and was mindful over fathering bastards. Perhaps then she would receive more than an one month's reprieve from her duties.
The weight of his stare was impossible to shake. Philip, who she had once pleaded with to show her any ounce of emotion, was looking at her as though he'd never seen her before. Alexandra refused to meet his gaze until she had finished her meal and the plates cleared away. Let him stare, she thought bitterly to herself. Nearly thirteen years of marriage and he chose now to act like a man possessed. She reached for her wine glass and took a small sip. Then, and only then, did she meet his gaze as if to demand, what?