11th March, 1894 — Selwyn Home, Wales
Trystan Selwyn
Elias Grimstone

Loose-limbed and with half-lidded eyes Ambrosia considered, not for the first time, that her marriage would be idyllic if they could exist only in moments like this. After so many years they had found a rhythm (so to speak) that suited them in this aspect of their life together, even in certain others were still woefully unsatisfactory.

Trystan might be an excellent lover – although, unlike him, she did not exactly have much comparison – but he was a complicated beast of a husband. True, he was hardly the first man of their class to stray but then the others had not been married to her so why shouldn’t she expect better? Was it not enough for them to lie together like this, in relative harmony and comfortable silence?

Perhaps one day he would come around to her way of thinking? Of course, the likelihood was that he would remain unfaithful until such time as he could not complete the deed with her either, which did not fill her with much more optimism.

She laughed suddenly. Speaking of limp husbands.

“I forgot to tell you,” Ambrosia said casually, recalling the planned strike that her husband had almost distracted her from. She remained reposed, quite languorous still, but her eyes fixed on her husband, waiting for his attention before she spoke: “I think Adrienne is expecting.”

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   Adrienne Lestrange, Angelica Selwyn

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It was a satisfied silence they had fallen into together, which was always one of their more pleasant states – but of course Ambrosia could not resist finding a way to have the last word, whatever the activity. He berated himself for getting so comfortable, and for not feigning that he had dozed off already.

He didn’t know whether his wife had ever forgotten to tell him something, either; indeed, as far as he knew, her every move and word was meticulously offered, a thousand different little ways to twist in the knife. Her unprompted laugh was warning enough.

But Adrienne, expecting? This was news to him, weaponised or otherwise – and Trystan was a little startled and a little wounded to think that his own daughter had hinted any personal news to Ambrosia first, rather than to him. He propped himself up into more of a sitting position and searched her face to see whether she meant it, or was idly throwing around speculation. “Oh?” He reined in his expression, careful not to let on too much. “You think – or she told you?”

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   Adrienne Lestrange, Marlena Scamander

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It was a predictably measured response but Ambrosia was not to be disheartened. She would drag a reaction from her husband if it killed them both and he could play cool until the end of time – she could wait until then, and beyond. He seemed to have grossly misunderstood the amount of her time she was willing to sacrifice to the cause of ruffling his feathers.

“She doesn’t know, dearest,” Ambrosia replied with a chuckle, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. She stretched out on the bed for a moment, resting her arms above her head and gazing at her own naked stomach, pleased of the reminder that her children had not wrecked her entirely. “She will, I expect. Though I am rather shocked it happened so soon,” she arched an eyebrow at her husband. “I didn’t think Cassius had it in him.”

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   Trystan Selwyn

She doesn’t know. He half-considered leaning over and finding some way or another to wipe that smugness off her face – no one wore self-righteous smugness like Ambrosia – but he was too distracted by the thought of her taking too much of an interest in Adrienne, paying her calls and – corrupting her, perhaps. Not that he ever wished the antagonistic relationship Liliana had with her to be the twins’ lot too, but he was still wary of Ambrosia having any marked influence on his children.

He doesn’t have the Selwyn touch, obviously, Trystan almost said, of the young Lestrange – but that was a cheap shot, so he vanquished the inward smirk and said instead, with affected idleness, “It was bound to happen eventually. I’m sure they were in no rush,” ...but it did hit him, now, the news that Adrienne was expecting. (He had accepted it as truth: Ambrosia was invariably obnoxious but she was not usually wrong). “But she’s still so young.”

This was enormously hypocritical to say, of course, from him; Anthea’s mother had been even younger. And Ambrosia hadn’t been any older when they’d married, had she?

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“That’s how they like them though, is it not?” She replied, taking a moment to readjust herself onto her side, propped up on one arm, revelling in the momentary pause a little longer than anyone could have plausibly called casually, but naturally it did not stir her husband to action – nor had she imagined such a small trifle would.

“All those men making decisions on which girl will be the next chattel for their family name,” she spoke lightly, resting a hand lightly on her husband’s chest as she spoke, tracing a pattern with her fingernails. “You all prefer youth over anything for that purpose. It happened to me. It will happen to your daughter,” she trailed off, stalactite eyes under her shuttered lashes.

  

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Ambrosia's got 99 problems but this hot af set from MJ ain't 1 of them