January 20th, 1890 — Antigone's Bedroom, Oakshire Hall
Since June, Tiberius had been visiting his wife whenever the whim struck him. This was a stark change from their relationship previously. He'd always tried to treat his wife as respectfully as possible in the bedroom (except when she provoked him into doing otherwise), and had been strategic about his visits there — frequent enough to get her to conceive, followed by nearly a year of avoiding the bedroom after she announced she was pregnant. Since the last pregnancy had failed — well, there really hadn't been any point, from his perspective. He had never seen Antigone as a means to meet his needs in that regard — there were whores, paid or otherwise, for that.
Now, things were different. Closer to the affair he'd been carrying on with Valeria, during the early years of her marriage. He enjoyed these encounters, and had reason to suspect that she did, too. Antigone might never actually come out and admit as much, but she didn't stop him from visiting or question him when he came — and what was more, there was something about her body language during these interactions that lead him to the conclusion that she wouldn't have complained. Maybe she even craved his touch when they went too long between visits — but if that was true, he knew neither of them would ever admit to it.
It was late enough that he supposed she might have already been in her dressing gown, so Tiberius undressed in his room and wore a house coat across the hall. He found her sitting on the bed when he came in, and crossed to sit behind her. His hands slid over her hips as he leaned down to lightly kiss her neck. "Good evening, Antigone," he said in greeting. They did not tend to speak much during these little encounters — which was perfectly fine by him — but he still felt there ought to be some sort of interaction to get them started, so to speak.
