Something had definitely happened between his mother and Arthur, but Malachi had half a mind to never even ask about it for his own sake. Arthur wasn’t into women, for one, or at least he had implied as much before… unless he had been referring specifically to young ones.

Even if that was true, he was his. He had promised him anything and everything; life and death. There was no way of leaving Malachi behind when he carried his name in his skin.

An awkward breakfast and an even worse dinner with Miriam would not change that.

Still, Malachi’s grip tightened on the stem of his glass when he caught a glimpse of Arthur’s reddened cheeks. If he had not spent years cultivating a deathly calm façade, he would have slapped the hand on his thigh for daring to touch him while he looked at someone else.

His eyes darted across to Miriam. She met the doctor’s gaze with a satisfied twinkle in her eye.

“Yes, I do not wish to keep you too late after your big conference today,” she offered, and turned her head to smile at her son and his wife. “Nor do I wish to endanger your home for the sake of another glass of wine. Please, do not linger for my sake.”

What she meant was, get the fuck out.

Malachi was warm, slightly flushed across the high points of his cheeks. It had not been his intention to drink as much as he did, but neither had he wanted to let his mother speak with Arthur in private – so he had anxiously downed another glass in the short time they were away. He was not drunk, of course, but he was… warm.

His brother did not need the hint. Levi finished off his glass with one small sip, and then made to stand.

“Thank you, mother,” he said first, as if she had done anything but tell the servants to make more food than usual. A friendly smile curved his lips as he addressed Arthur and Malachi next.

“And Doctor Adams, what a pleasure it has been to make your acquaintance. Please, do stop by the next time you are in London, and perhaps we can catch up over cake in the East End.”