by Beth Byers
“Yes!”
“Russia?”
Ro paused. “Perhaps Cote d’Azur? Egypt? Somewhere warmer. I always think of snow when I think of Russia, and I only like it with cocoa and sleigh rides. Perhaps only one or two days a year.”
“Agreed—” Hettie trailed off, eyes wide, as she saw Mrs. Stone enthusiastically kiss the cheeky servant from earlier and then adjust her coat. She winked at Hettie on the way out, caring little that both of them knew Mrs. Stone would be climbing into Harvey’s bed later. Or, perhaps it was Harvey who would be climbing into Mr. Stone’s bed. “Is her husband really blind to it?”
“Oh yes,” Ro laughed. “He’s quite a bit older you know, and even more old-fashioned than my grandfather. He’s Victorian through and through. He probably has a codicil in the will about her remarrying. The type of things that cuts her off if she doesn’t remain true to him. Especially since he’s in his seventies, and she’s thirty? Perhaps?”
Hettie shook her head. “They have a rather outstanding blackberry wine here,” she said, putting Mrs. Stone out of her mind. “Shall we—ah—borrow a bottle or two?”
Ro nodded and walked across to the bar. She dug through the bottles and pulled out a full bottle of blackberry wine, another of gin, and a third of a citrus liqueur. “Hopefully someone will think to bring good mixers.” She handed one of the bottles to Hettie before tucking one under each arm.
The butler eyed them askance as they asked for their coats.
“Don’t worry, luv,” Ro told the butler. “Your master doesn’t mind.”
None of them believed that whopper of a lie, but Ro’s cheerful proclamation made it seem acceptable.
“Thief,” Hettie hissed innocently as her driver, Peterson, opened the door for them and they dove inside. She struggled with the cork and then asked, “Are we going nude or shall we grab bathing costumes?”
“My brother-in-law lives with us,” Ro said, looking disgusted, “I’ll be going nude before I go back and face that one. Look—” Her head cocked as the black cab sped up. “I think that’s him! We can rush back to collect my bathing costume before he returns to the house.”
“I’m a bit too round to want to go full starkers.”
“The men love the curves,” Ro told her. “If you wanted to step out on your Harvey, you’d need to up the attitude and cast a come hither gaze.”
“Like this?” Hettie asked, attempting one but feeling as though she must look like she had something in her eye.
“Like this,” Ro countered, glancing at Hettie out of the corner of her eye. “I’m thinking of a really nice plate of biscuits.”
Hettie tried it and Ro bit back a laugh. “Are you angry with the biscuits?”
“Let me try imagining cakes. I do prefer a lemon cake.” Hettie glanced at Ro out of the corner of her eye, imagining a heavily iced lemon cake, and then smiled just a little.
“No, no,” Ro said, showing Hettie again what to do.
“Oh! I know.” Hettie imagined the divorce act that Parliament was considering.
“Yes! Now you’ve got it! Was it a box of chocolates?”
Hettie confessed, sending Ro into a bout of laughter and tears that saw them all the way to Hettie’s hotel room. From her hotel room to Ro’s house, there were random bursts of giggles and stray tears. Once they reached to bath house, Ro said, “I’ll be drinking to that divorce act tonight. Possibly for the rest of my life.”
“If it frees me,” Hettie told Ro dryly, “I’d paper my house with a copy of it to celebrate those who saved us from a fate I should have known better than to fall into.”
Order yours here.