What Comes of Attending the Commoners Ball

by Elisabeth Aimee Brown

“You can start with your age and where you are from.” “Nineteen this summer, and a village in Ramsfeldshire,”

Ah yes, what a nice young age of 25!

I hope those men don’t come back down this alley, because a giggling pickle-barrel is probably not something they would overlook.

Lucas doesn’t squawk—that would be undignified—but the noise he makes would be classified as a bleat, at the very least.

“Are you trying to say that I’d be better politics than whatever princess you were supposed to be courting?” He clears his throat. “That’s precisely what I am saying, Miss Flanders.” “Plus, my bride-price will be more affordable, I suppose.” “That’s on page five,” Lucas agrees. “My father appreciated that point especially.” “When I asked Hester’s mother to marry me,” Dad says mildly, looking at the ceiling, “I told her I loved her.” Lucas flushes. “That is pages six through twelve.” “Oh, read that part.” Mum leans forward. “I’d like to hear.”

Did he really just propose marriage, or did I fall asleep after the last week of fretful nights? Is this all a very odd dream?

good thing she’s a sensible age of 25