Manor of Convenience

An Un-Ideal Husband

"George put on your trousers!"

"And your shirt!"

"George, put some clothes on, any, we beg you."

If you're wondering who said this— it was myself, Meg, and Sophia in that order, pleading with him as he stood as naked as the day he was born, at the bottom of the stairs one freezing December.

You're probably more likely wondering why George was naked. We wondered that ourselves and concluded that it could only have been one of four different reasons.

Either 1. George had simply forgotten he was naked through tiredness or delirium. 2. He'd drunk far too much Christmas sherry and no longer had any inhibitions. 3. He'd finally lost his marbles and assumed he was somewhere else entirely or 4. He hated us all and wanted to punish us in the most barbaric way possible.

"Georgie, please, why are you doing this?" I cried, taking off my blazer and placing it around his middle.

"Doing what?" he asked.

So, it was either reason 1, 2 or 3. At least he wasn't being malicious!

"You're naked, you idiot!" Meg shouted.

He jumped, startled by her loud voice. "I am?"

There was a gasp and then we saw his pinkish flesh pass us in a blur as he disappeared up the stairs. It was then we determined it was reason number 1. He was tired and delirious which was no surprise considering Sophia's parents had been staying with us for the week. The pretence of acting normal had clearly sent him over the edge and I knew that Meg, Sophia and I would not be far behind him to jump.

Luckily Sophia's parents— Mr. and Mrs. Emberley-Phillips— arrived in the hallway from breakfast after George had displayed his splendid nakedness and therefore did not catch a glimpse of his crown jewels. For as lovely as his jewels were, they were not for public exhibition.

It was not that I minded the presence of Sophia's parents, more so I didn't like the person I became when I was with them. They had this image of their Tobias Wells, husband of their daughter, noble estate owner and honest and reliable fellow. Some of this was true but it aggravated me playing the reliable normal Tobias role when there was more to Toby than simply Lord of the Manor.

For much of their stay, they were pleasant enough and we knew it was about time I got to know them as my parents-in-law. But whether they were my relatives by blood or joined to me by marriage, the most infuriating thing about anyone's relatives was whenever they brought up the subject of offspring. Whether you had none, too many, or weren't sure, it was never right.

"You'll have your hands full when the children arrive," Mr. Emberley-Phillips would say as though it were a certainty.

To what was he even referring to about hands being full anyway? Weren't my hands full enough now? And another thing, why did people always make it sound as though children were being shipped to the manor rather than born in the bedroom with a midwife present?

Whenever the child subject arose, Sophia would glance quickly at me and then smile awkwardly at her father, nodding and laughing politely but wanting the ground to swallow her up. Did Sophia want children? I was afraid to ask but we'd all agreed upon our way of life and nothing was going to change it. It would be far too complicated.

...

At this point in the story you're probably wondering how this whole business began, how Sophia's parents came to be staying with us and why the four of us were beginning to lose the plot. To tell you that I should probably explain the events that took place during the autumn months when life for some unknown reason was quiet and calm and the beautiful red and orange leaves fell from the trees in the garden, creating a blanket of colour beneath our feet.