is Michael.
His stone is golden amber — clear, warm, and with blemishes that make the piece all the more interesting …
Well, enough of all that. This game is foolish, I’ve grown out of it. Michael is Michael. He is a comfortable glove I can put on and take off as I fancy. He makes no demands. He’s a good friend to laugh with, and sharp enough too, in his own way. I will marry him, as everyone expects, and we will rub along together well enough. Bella will have her grandchild, and Michael will have — what? What does Michael want out of it?
There now, I’m stuck again. I’ve come up against the mirror. Does Michael want the status of marriage? To be the respected family man? Yes, that is surely part of it. Michael loves to be admired, and a striking woman on the arm is admirable. I am no catch financially (well, not as far as anyone up here knows!) but I am certainly noticeable. I am talked about, and feared a little. Michael likes that. People will think him spirited to want to marry such a termagant!
Look at Michael with Bella. That is good. That is certainly good. Bella likes Michael. He plays cards with her, and admires her clothes. He makes her laugh. Watching Michael and Bella together I see no restraint or hidden part. Michael is all clear glinting water, and I want to drink him up!
Last night, with Bella more lively, and the wedding day set for one week away, Michael stayed for the special dinner Bella had cooked. It was such fun. Michael flirted with Bella outrageously, complimenting each dish lavishly, praising the delicacy of the black lace at her throat.
‘Ah, am I making a terrible mistake?’ he cried. ‘Marrying the daughter instead of the mother? Promise me, Mrs C, you will not be jealous? Otherwise we will call the whole enterprise off immediately!’
Bella laughed until she hiccuped. ‘Oh, Michael, you are arogue! No, no, sweetheart, not a hint of jealousy, I promise. We will be one family, Michael, and I will love you like a son.’
‘A son! Ah, Mrs C, if only I were twenty years older, son would not come into it.’
Bella’s two paying gentlemen, the sops, frowned at their plates, glowered at Michael and excused themselves early. Their silly little compliments and fawnings around Bella were quite outclassed by Michael’s antics. We all three laughed to see them scuttle off to bed.
‘Now,’ said Michael. ‘Now that we are alone, what about a preview of the wedding dress?’
Bella clapped her hands to her bosom and berated Michael for even suggesting such a thing; the bad luck it would bring.
‘Madam, you mistake me,’ cried Michael. ‘Not Rose’s gown, but your own!’
And he flattered her and cajoled until she brought it out of its tissue and laid it on the settee. It was not black but a shimmering royal blue taffeta, ruched with cream lace from throat to waist, seed pearls sewn into the lace, and sleeves puffed at the shoulder, tightly buttoned at wrist. It is truly spectacular. Michael gasped and pranced as expected. Held it up against her.
‘Mrs C, Mrs C, how can Rose and I compete? You will outshine the bridal pair! I will have to reconsider my suit; it will be completely obliterated by this creation. Who can have sewn such a masterpiece?’ Knowing full well she had spent the last year perfecting it. I love watching the pair of them. Michael is right — he would have suited Bella. There is nothing false about all his chatter. He genuinely enjoys her company and loves to gossip about the people on the Hill: who is flirting with whom, who is cheating the Company or a wife or a business. Michael is better at keeping Bella happy than I am. Bella will sometimes nod off with my talk; with Michael, never.
Well, that is Michael. When I said we must live here with Bella he shrugged, smiled and agreed; why not? I doubt Brennan would have been so easy. He would want to provide a house of his own. He would want me to himself. But whoever wants me must, of course, share me.
His stone is golden amber — clear, warm, and with blemishes that make the piece all the more interesting …
Well, enough of all that. This game is foolish, I’ve grown out of it. Michael is Michael. He is a comfortable glove I can put on and take off as I fancy. He makes no demands. He’s a good friend to laugh with, and sharp enough too, in his own way. I will marry him, as everyone expects, and we will rub along together well enough. Bella will have her grandchild, and Michael will have — what? What does Michael want out of it?
There now, I’m stuck again. I’ve come up against the mirror. Does Michael want the status of marriage? To be the respected family man? Yes, that is surely part of it. Michael loves to be admired, and a striking woman on the arm is admirable. I am no catch financially (well, not as far as anyone up here knows!) but I am certainly noticeable. I am talked about, and feared a little. Michael likes that. People will think him spirited to want to marry such a termagant!
Look at Michael with Bella. That is good. That is certainly good. Bella likes Michael. He plays cards with her, and admires her clothes. He makes her laugh. Watching Michael and Bella together I see no restraint or hidden part. Michael is all clear glinting water, and I want to drink him up!
Last night, with Bella more lively, and the wedding day set for one week away, Michael stayed for the special dinner Bella had cooked. It was such fun. Michael flirted with Bella outrageously, complimenting each dish lavishly, praising the delicacy of the black lace at her throat.
‘Ah, am I making a terrible mistake?’ he cried. ‘Marrying the daughter instead of the mother? Promise me, Mrs C, you will not be jealous? Otherwise we will call the whole enterprise off immediately!’
Bella laughed until she hiccuped. ‘Oh, Michael, you are arogue! No, no, sweetheart, not a hint of jealousy, I promise. We will be one family, Michael, and I will love you like a son.’
‘A son! Ah, Mrs C, if only I were twenty years older, son would not come into it.’
Bella’s two paying gentlemen, the sops, frowned at their plates, glowered at Michael and excused themselves early. Their silly little compliments and fawnings around Bella were quite outclassed by Michael’s antics. We all three laughed to see them scuttle off to bed.
‘Now,’ said Michael. ‘Now that we are alone, what about a preview of the wedding dress?’
Bella clapped her hands to her bosom and berated Michael for even suggesting such a thing; the bad luck it would bring.
‘Madam, you mistake me,’ cried Michael. ‘Not Rose’s gown, but your own!’
And he flattered her and cajoled until she brought it out of its tissue and laid it on the settee. It was not black but a shimmering royal blue taffeta, ruched with cream lace from throat to waist, seed pearls sewn into the lace, and sleeves puffed at the shoulder, tightly buttoned at wrist. It is truly spectacular. Michael gasped and pranced as expected. Held it up against her.
‘Mrs C, Mrs C, how can Rose and I compete? You will outshine the bridal pair! I will have to reconsider my suit; it will be completely obliterated by this creation. Who can have sewn such a masterpiece?’ Knowing full well she had spent the last year perfecting it. I love watching the pair of them. Michael is right — he would have suited Bella. There is nothing false about all his chatter. He genuinely enjoys her company and loves to gossip about the people on the Hill: who is flirting with whom, who is cheating the Company or a wife or a business. Michael is better at keeping Bella happy than I am. Bella will sometimes nod off with my talk; with Michael, never.
Well, that is Michael. When I said we must live here with Bella he shrugged, smiled and agreed; why not? I doubt Brennan would have been so easy. He would want to provide a house of his own. He would want me to himself. But whoever wants me must, of course, share me.
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