The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 2

by Beth Brower

“I was at a deathbed, Miss Lion, not a gaming club.”

Your sins are simply marvellous.

I would add murder to my black tally. Let us see how he would confess anything then. But as he is not presently in London, I will simply think slanderous thoughts.

Burn the clothes and reform the character. Promptly.” To which I couldn’t help but respond, “Ah, but here is some of the progress you so desire, Aunt. In the past, they would have burned the witches and reformed the clothes.”

“St. George is not the only one who can slay a dragon, Emma Lion. I’ve seen you wield a sword.” It was, perhaps, the most wonderful compliment I’ve ever been paid. I intend to keep Roland.

It is impossible, but impossible has been done before.”

The worst of it is not that he hovered about my person, it was that we danced not once but twice. My quota for the evening if I were to still remain an insect of the most humble order.

“Wasteful education.”

“Your school taught you a good deal more than needlepoint.”

“Mr. Pierce,” I said, “I have found that on occasions of high absurdity, one either discovers a great friend or someone to never speak with again. Having now experienced a disastrous evening in Lapis Lazuli House, I leave it to you to decide which you would prefer.”

“If I cannot worship in a majestic building, I have no interest in the practice,” she snipped. Which I assume is not a direct quote from the New Testament.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in a crypt somewhere, for your sins?” Islington asked in a ducal tone. “They evicted me,” I snapped. “Who?” “The dead.”

People say all the time to throw open the curtains, but no one actually ever does it. They simply open them. Well. Mr. Pierce threw open the curtains. All three sets of them. And looked quite lovely doing so. If photography ever fails him, he could consider the route of Professional Curtain Thrower.