That smile of his... it was not right. There was something about it- a pain, a secret a... something. Goodness, her husband was a very poor liar when it came to his wife. She could tell why he did not do it often.
There was no doubt in her mind that he was ailing. She was quite unable to bear conversations full of obvious falseness, especially concerning such a serious matter. Lucius's pride was possibly the only thing Narcissa could even remotely consider a flaw... but even that, most of the time, was terribly entrancing.
"I shall be on my way then, I suppose," she said in a monotone voice. If he wanted her to believe nothing was wrong, she would act in accordance. She knew he could only manage alone for so long; perhaps she would start a tally on one of the manor walls, counting the days until he more blatantly cried for help.