Dls’s Comments (group member since Sep 14, 2010)
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Nov 17, 2019 08:07PM

“Are all your meals this well prepared?”
“They are when friend cooks,” heroine answered.
“Heroine makes a very fine trout as well, my lord.”
“Herofirstname, please,” he invited. “I suppose this is why you’ve no one else to cook for you then. What would be the point, really?”
“I’m afraid a cook just wasn’t possible with the funds Lord…I suppose I should say Lady Hero’s stepmother send us,” friend replied.
Hero stopped eating. “How is it two intelligent, practical women are unable to keep a small house and…..” He trailed off as if just considering something. “How many pounds, exactly, did stepmother send you?”
“Five,” heroine answered around a mouthful of eggs. “I thought you knew that.”
“Five,” he repeated dully. He set his fork down, dragged a hand down his face, and swore under his breath. “As in, five-decimal-point-zero?”
“Yes, of course,” friend answered with a small laugh.
“He swore quietly again. “I beg your pardon. I rather hoped you were speaking in hundreds.”
“Hundreds?” heroine would have laughed herself, but the cold shock on hero’s face had a trickle of nerves dancing along her skin. “Lady stepmother didn’t steal half, did she?”
“No.” He blew out a hard breath. “Your allowance was set at eighty pounds annum.”
There was a simultaneous gasp of breath and clatter of silverware. Friend stared, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. Heroine moved her mouth to speak but found she was unable to form sound.
“There’s the bonus, as well,” hero reminded them. He scowled at his plate. “And given the extent of lady stepmother’s crime against you, whatever else you might like.”
Heroine’s mind stayed eerily blank except for a repetitive echoing of hero’s voice saying “Eighty pounds annum. Eighty pounds….”
“I want a London season for heroine.”
That sudden, decisive, and wholly unexpected statement from friend cut through heroine’s mind like a sharp knife.
“WHAT?”
Friend ignored her in favor of addressing hero. “You said anything within reason and I feel a season for a young woman of good birth is not beyond the realm of the reasonable.”
Obviously expecting an argument from him, friend straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly. She needn’t have bothered.
“A season it is.” Still scowling, hero picked up his fork and stabbed at his eggs. “Five pounds. It’s a wonder the two of you survived.”
Heroine shook her head in bewilderment. “This is absurd. What the devil would I do with a London season?”
“Find a husband, I imagine,” was hero’s reply.
It only served to mystify her further. “What the devil would I do with a husband?”
Nov 10, 2019 01:00PM