Classy

Chapter Nine

So we had a heatwave in the UK (I'm writing this in August) and frankly I think I'm going to move to somewhere that doesn't get a decent summer, because I can't cope with this weather. I'm British, we aren't BUILT for the sun. We're built for only overcast grey slightly rainy days. When this posts we'll be in autumn *-* happy

Love, Cam

♡

Frankie Bennet

In which I am free of a stately home

We had only been at Netherfield for a week and a half. I had never realised how long ten days could seem when in the company of people as ridiculously obnoxious as Caroline. She seemed to hover around like a bitter and unpleasant wasp; no one wanted her to be there, and I suspected even Gates agreed with that. It felt like when she knew we were leaving, she wanted to get in as many poorly-disguised insults as possible.

We moved out almost immediately after getting the keys, and all three of us heaved a sigh of relief when we were gone. Jane had enjoyed being around Gates, and we had both loved the food, but there was an impressive amount of tension in such a massive house thanks to Caroline Bingley. Thomas had just been overwhelmed by the size of the place.

"She's nice when I'm around," Jane said, confused. She, fortunately, believed me that Caroline was being a complete arsehole to me. "I don't really understand what her game is, other than trying to upset you. Like she could."

I grinned. "You know me well, I did find it funny. I think it was really affecting Gates, though, so I'm glad we won't be there to rile her up anymore."

"Yes," Jane said with feeling, lugging her suitcase from Gates' car. He'd insisted on us using the car, and none of us had argued. We didn't fancy trying to wrangle our things over via taxi.

We entered, only to find the supposedly unfurnished apartment decked out with furniture and decorations. It wasn't ostentatious, or expensive; just good, simple furniture that meant we didn't have to go trekking through charity shops to find cheap bits and pieces. It all matched, and that was the first time I had ever had matching furniture.

"Gates," Jane said, her voice fond.

I sighed, and took out my phone. "We can't accept it."

"I doubt they'll take it back," Jane said, eyeing the small table and chairs, perfect for three people to eat at. "I think he's scratched every single bit with a heart."

I looked at the table in disbelief, only to find a little heart carved into the side of it. "Oh, my God," I said, and started checking all the furniture for hearts. She was right; he'd gotten every single piece and carved a heart into them, or several hearts if the furniture was large. Un-fucking-believable.

I called him anyway, and when he answered with a chirpy 'hello!' I closed my eyes and said, "Did you buy us furniture and then deface it?"

"No," he said. "I bought you furniture and customised it!"

"Gates," I grumbled.

"Oh, Frankie, don't be ridiculous," he said airily. "I was bored, you did me a service by allowing me to browse IKEA. Do you know, I'd never been to one! I had so much fun. And they carry everything to the car for you! How helpful. You should just be pleased I didn't get hand-crafted furniture with historical significance."

I supposed I was grateful that I wasn't going to have to worry about my four year old near an antique. "Thank you," I said, with a bone-deep reluctance. "I appreciate it. I just wish you'd checked first."