Lord Day and Lady Night

64. 'ello, Future Mum, I'm Smoochin' yer Son

"Oh, no, my dear friend!" In a synchronous movement that had to have been practised, two of the middle-aged ladies clamped their hands around Lady Henrietta's arms, holding her down in her chair more tightly than iron chains. Broad smiles spread over their faces. "You just got here! And young Amy was only just introduced. Let's enjoy a nice, long afternoon tea together, shall we?"

Lord Patrick Day never thought anything could stop his lady mother. Not bullets. Not mountains. Not massive piles of explosives. And yet, here she was, being held in place by two smiling little ladies and a plate of biscuits.

"Really, I must insist that the three of us leave!" Lady Henrietta protested. "I just remembered that we have urgent matters to—mmph!"

"There you go, dear," Lady Gwendolyn said happily, withdrawing her skinny hand from where she had just stuffed a biscuit into her friend's mouth, effectively gagging her. "Aren't they tasty?" Then she leaned towards Amy, a corner of her mouth pulling up. "Now, young lady...you were saying?"

"Well..." Terror flooded through Lord Patrick at the impish smile spreading over Amy's face. "I guess I could stay for a little while longer to chat..."

And thus, the chat began.

Somehow, Her Ladyship the dowager duchess stayed calm, composed and conscious throughout afternoon tea. With every minute that somehow passed without a mention of the words "prostitute" and "brothel", Lord Patrick's sent more thanks heavenwards. With every passing second, his admiration for his mother grew. To have steered clear of the dangerous subjects all this time, all while apparently still not having realized what those dangerous subjects were...

Impressive rhetorical skills. Truly impressive.

Only...how long would it last?

Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. How the blazes was she still managing to ward off and steer around those enquiries?

Then again, this was the woman who once told the Prime Minister to shut up and find a real job.

Ding...ding...ding...ding...ding...dong...

The sound of the grandfather clock in the corner interrupted the unsuccessful inquisition.

"Well, will you look at the time?" Lady Henrietta exclaimed, taking advantage of the momentary distraction to slip out of her friends' grip. "Now it's really time to go!"

Lord Patrick breathed a sigh of relief. Or at least he was about to, when his mother's newly freed hand wrapped around his wrist with an iron grip.

"The three of us are going to have a little chat, son," she said, smiling. "Now."

Oh fuc—

—hsia. Yes. Fuchsia was a lovely color.

Not lovely enough to distract him from the current situation, however. Patrick found himself and Amy being towed out into the hallway, through the door and into a coach that somehow appeared at a snap of a ducal finger.

"Why, pray, are you grinning?" he hissed sideways at Amy.

"'cause I've never 'ad dis much bloody fun in me life," she told him with a grin that should have been illegal in most countries.

"Oh, you have, have you?"

Maybe he could do something about her smile not being illegal. He hadn't had dinner with the Lord Chief Justice in ages...

"You two!" Her Ladyship pointed towards the open carriage door. "Stop chattering! Inside!"

Lord Patrick was a proud, independent man who would never think of doing something like taking orders from his mother. So the fact that he climbed into the carriage instantly was surely pure coincidence.