“Daniel mentioned we might only be eight,” I said, keeping my voice quiet and even.
Eleanor adjusted the small gold cross on her neck, her thumb rubbing the polished metal.
“Plans change when a business grows, dear,” she said, her eyes fixed on the silver gravy boat. “Daniel has so much on his shoulders right now, and he deserves a peaceful home to return to.”
I picked up a large dinner plate from the stack of silver wedding china. The platinum vines along the rim felt cold against my palm.
“He does,” I said.
“A man who carries the weight of thirty employees cannot be expected to manage the domestic details,” she said, sliding a silver butter knife into its slot. “He needs to know his foundation is solid.”
“The foundation has always been solid, Eleanor.”
“Then we agree,” she said, giving the velvet box a firm tap with her polished nails. “Twelve settings, then.”
She picked up a small silver fork and turned it over to check the hallmark.
“We should use the linen napkins with the lace trim,” she said. “The ones from my mother.”
“I washed and ironed those last week,” I said.
“Good. One must maintain standards, especially when there are so many eyes on the family.”
“Whose eyes, Eleanor?”
She did not answer immediately, instead placing the fork precisely two inches from the edge of the placemat.
“The community,” she said. “The people who buy Daniel’s houses. They look at how we live.”
I watched her thin fingers smooth the linen runner. The gold cross caught the afternoon light coming through the heavy drapes.
“I have always kept this house exactly as he wanted,” I said.
“Of course you have, dear,” she said, but her tone was flat, empty of any real warmth. “Though sometimes a little more flexibility is required when a man is under this much pressure.”
I did not ask what she meant by flexibility. I knew Eleanor’s language too well, her ability to turn a compliment into a quiet warning.
“I will get the extra leaf for the table from the basement,” I said.
