spiderlegs
Indubitable and Inscrutable
The younger woman kept glancing at the bickering socialites. She had a nervous air to her, and admitted as much in words--to which Helen smiled slightly. In some ways, the anxious young girl, so obviously out of place, reminded her of herself, ages ago. When she first met Mr. Masters . . .
"You have nothing to be nervous of, least of all this lot." Gesturing at the flashily attired men and women around them, she shook her head. In a lower voice, she added: "I'd wager half of them haven't the slightest idea how to iron their own shirt."
Indeed, they likely didn't. Her own husband hadn't, not until she showed him, giggling. Giggling! Now when had she last had a good giggle? She sighed ruefully. And hadn't he looked silly, holding the iron as if it might bite--which it had, come to think of it. Poor Rob had burned his thumb. He'd still had it in a bandage the day he left . . .
"Mr. Black?" she asked, called suddenly back to the present. "I must admit, I do not know him at all well. But, were I you, I'd do my best to keep my distance from him. His sort is not one to trifle with . . . Though I'm sure you know that much."
Helen stiffened as the brash young American briefly turned the crowd's attention on the pair. Pulling herself up to her full height, she turned her gaze forcibly back to the young woman before her. She had no desire to engage the rest of the party, or even give them room to suppose she wanted to.
I am too old for this nonsense . Oh Rob, if you were going to leave me at their mercy, you might have warned me your people were a pack of bloody hyenas.
But that's old hat now.
"I don't believe I've introduced myself yet," she sighed. "Or I have, and I'm losing my mind. Helen Masters. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss . . . ?"
@Smile @GhastlySquash