Period of Pretties, Petticoats and Power

Eight - Tea With Lady Auclair.

Eight — Tea With Lady Auclair.

To Kayla, because you love this book and I love you. (HAPPY BIRTHDAY)

All morning I had been reading. Curled up in my parlour, listening to the rain and keeping warm with a cup of tea. I was deeply involved with this book—it was about Ancient Greek societies and they were the most interesting things. A blanket was placed over me, keeping me extra warm and making me feel almost as if I was in-between a sandwich.

“Ah,” said a much to familiar voice, “your still read like no other.”

I almost dropped my book in delight, and spun around to grin at Juliette. She stood by the doorway, looking dry, although it had been pouring with rain for hours. Beside her was Lily, looking a little sheepish.
“I am sorry, miss, she just walked in here…”
“No matter, Lily.” I said, rising up to my feet. “Juliette is a funny one. Do you mind getting us some tea and biscuits?”

With relief, Lily curtsied and left the room, leaving just me and Juliette. Juliette sat down gracefully on the lounge while I perched myself on the other side. She looked beautiful as always, with her pale blonde hair which was pinned up in curls, and her hazel eyes were alight with delight. Her thick lashes casted shadows over her ivory coloured cheeks, and her flushed lips were smiling. She wore a rose pink dress, with champaign shaped cuffs. 

“You seem like your up to something.” I said, once Lily had brought tea and left.

Juliette smiled and took a biscuit. “I am not happy, but yes I am up to something.”
“Care to share what it is with an old friend?”
“And my dearest friend.” She reminded me. “And it appears William is keeping secrets from me.” Her tone was annoyed.

I almost choked on my tea. Goodness, these men had no idea what they were in for. Should I tell her? Most likely not. “And what is he doing, Juliette? Do you think he has a secret lover?”
“Better not.” She said, stiffly. “But, that is not the reason. I do not think. He does write a lot of letters that he tries to hide from me.”

“Have you caught one?”

Juliette shook her head. “I am unsure how too.”
“Grab one and run. It is not rocket science.” I told her. “Or just merely go into his study and sort through his draws.”

She surveyed me with her hazel eyes—which had glints of browns, golds and greens. Such pretty eyes. “You are quite right. But, I would feel if I am imposing on his privacy.” Then, she shrugged. “Oh well, he kept secrets.”
“How do you know he is keeping secrets?” I challenged.

“It is too obvious.” Juliette drawled out. “He speaks to men that I am not introduced to—and he loves showing me off. And he leaves for weeks at a time, not telling me where he is going and expecting me to be all happy with it.”
“He does not tell you where he is going?”
“Well, he does.” She admitted. “He once said he was going to York with a friend of his. And when his friends wife, Adele, came over for tea, I asked her how her husband was in York and she told me that he did not go to York. And when I dug deeper, I found out that all the other times he said he was going out of the city with his friend—he was lying.”

I blinked. “Why have you not beaten him to death with your parasol yet? He is an accident just waiting to happen.”

How could he be so bloody careless?

Did anyone know that women were not idiots? We just chose what we wanted to see and what we wanted to not see? For your sake, or our own.
“Alys, one must not beat their husbands with parasols to death.” Juliette then admitted, “But, the idea did cross my mind.”