What Ho!
You trudge back towards the dismal manor house, with Cuddy firmly attached to your arm. She babbles on about how your various defects can be polished up.
"Really, Petey, I wonder that you've managed to survive all these years. I mean, who feeds you and gets you dressed in the morning?"
"Well, Timpson, actually. Not that I couldn't do it myself, if I needed to."
Cuddy smiles indulgently "Well, we can see what sort of nursemaid he's been- look at you! You're a complete mess!"
"Um, perhaps I would look a bit more spiff if I hadn't been grabbed with such vigor," you say with stern dignity.
Many modest young ladies would see such an accusation as their cue to blush modesty with shame. Cuddy, on the other hand, makes a dismissive snorting sound.
"Now, then Petey, you're going to have to stop making so many excuses. Relying on Timpson just won't do in a husband of mine."
You don't care for the way this is going, but then so very little has been going your way lately, you decide to give it a miss.
She prates on. "Frankly, Petey, I consider myself to have had a very lucky escape. I was thinking about your words last night when I was watching Charles eat dinner. Could you imagine facing that every morning across the breakfast table? Crikey, you ever seen him eat a sausage?"
She has a point.
"Anyway, the only real problem now is how to fund that orphanage- no, no, I won't take your cheque. You've already made it clear to Daddy that you won't write it, and I don't want him to get disillusioned with you. Not just now, anyway.
"No, maybe I can find a way to crack Daddy's black heart open."
As usual, this doesn't sound good, but thankfully you've reached Cuddy's room by now, so you bung her inside before she comes up with another hair brained plan.
You endure a quick peck on a cheek, then
"Really, Petey, I wonder that you've managed to survive all these years. I mean, who feeds you and gets you dressed in the morning?"
"Well, Timpson, actually. Not that I couldn't do it myself, if I needed to."
Cuddy smiles indulgently "Well, we can see what sort of nursemaid he's been- look at you! You're a complete mess!"
"Um, perhaps I would look a bit more spiff if I hadn't been grabbed with such vigor," you say with stern dignity.
Many modest young ladies would see such an accusation as their cue to blush modesty with shame. Cuddy, on the other hand, makes a dismissive snorting sound.
"Now, then Petey, you're going to have to stop making so many excuses. Relying on Timpson just won't do in a husband of mine."
You don't care for the way this is going, but then so very little has been going your way lately, you decide to give it a miss.
She prates on. "Frankly, Petey, I consider myself to have had a very lucky escape. I was thinking about your words last night when I was watching Charles eat dinner. Could you imagine facing that every morning across the breakfast table? Crikey, you ever seen him eat a sausage?"
She has a point.
"Anyway, the only real problem now is how to fund that orphanage- no, no, I won't take your cheque. You've already made it clear to Daddy that you won't write it, and I don't want him to get disillusioned with you. Not just now, anyway.
"No, maybe I can find a way to crack Daddy's black heart open."
As usual, this doesn't sound good, but thankfully you've reached Cuddy's room by now, so you bung her inside before she comes up with another hair brained plan.
You endure a quick peck on a cheek, then