A whip might have been a good idea. Ambrosia was an unapologetic proponent of the stick and carrot method of getting things done, albeit one who tended to scrimp when it came to distributing the earned root vegetables, and there was an especially gormless looking bassoonist her fingers were itching to take to task but, inadvertently, as was usually his way, her husband had said something sensible.

It was one thing to be talked about, quite another to be notorious and Ambrosia had spent her entire married life willing thee family onto the course of the former as they skidded closer and closer to the latter with each passing year. One illegitimate child was bad enough, the two hidden away were worse and if Trystan thought for a moment she couldn’t see the resemblance between him and the twins he was very much mistaken. With the current trajectory she fully expected that one of their number – and honestly she’d be lying if she didn’t think it would be Cadawalader – would soon commit a murder and another – Emyrs or possibly Anthea – to be exposed as a sexual deviant.

Of course that particular headache was only an outlying possibility and the current throb at her temples was being caused by a conductor who was being very cavalier about his future employability.

“And very grisly you and I shall look dancing to this,” Ambrosia replied with a dismissive gesture towards the musicians, pondering for a moment whether she would get away with placing all of them under the Imperius Curse and orchestrating the whole thing herself. She didn’t actually have to play – just ensure they were doing their very best work.

Glancing over her shoulder, feeling slightly better with her half-formed potential plan in mind, she smirked coyly at her husband. “You have difficulty leading me at the best of times.”

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