VICES AND VIRTUES | Thomas Shelby

SIX

"When my mother isn't looking," Diana smiled at Florence.

"Alright," Florence sighed, retrieving a lighter and her cigarettes from the pocket of her dress, handing one to Diana, lighting her own before passing the lighter to Diana, "So, what do you think of George?"

"He's not exactly what I had in mind for the man I'd call my husband," Diana exhaled, no doubt having hoped that as the Carmichaels' oldest daughter she might marry a duke or an earl, not George Harrington.

"How many times have you actually met him?" Florence asked, taking a drag of her cigarette, slowly becoming intrigued by the girl who stood before her, looking so out of place in all of her finery.

"Three," Diana gulped in regret, as though she feared the future that awaited her, "But he seems nice enough."

"He's a good man," Florence nodded, even though she had always believed that George would never be the marrying type.

"But?"

"But, what?" Florence frowned.

"You just sounded as though you wanted to say something else, more than just that he's a good man," Diana answered shortly, folding her arms across her chest.

"He is a good man, Diana," Florence assured her, knowing that despite his faults, George was a good man at heart, but she wasn't going to be the one to tell Diana Carmichael that her future husband was as commitment fearing as he was kind, "That's all there is to say."

"If you say so," Diana huffed.

"I've got to head next door, you should go back inside, our mothers will be needing you to look at the designs," Florence told the girl as she tossed her cigarette onto the ground, stubbing it out with the ball of her foot.

She didn't wait for a response from Diana, that was the Peaky Blinder way, and now that she was one of them, she needed to be perceived that way too. Polly would never let someone get under her skin, so neither would Florence. But in the same breath, Florence's heart was too pure to be so brutally honest, especially with regards to George's reputation.

Florence headed for the back entrance of the Shelby home, the familiar sound of the busy bookies was absent, suggesting that they had finished early for the day.

"Hello, sweet girl," Polly smiled, looking up from her newspaper, "How are the Carmichaels?"

Florence exhaled heavily, picking up a whiskey bottle and a glass from the countertop, placing them on the table and pouring herself a large helping.

"That bad, hmm?" Polly smirked.

"People like that have more money than sense," Florence huffed, sitting across from Polly, "You know they already have two hundred people on their guest list?"

"I don't think I even know two hundred people," Polly laughed in disbelief, "Definitely not two hundred people that I'd like enough to invite to a wedding."

"Well, that's it, I doubt Ma and I will be getting an invite, whether or not George wants us there," Florence replied, taking a large gulp of her whiskey, "Margaret won't allow it."

"The woman who your mother always prioritises, and is the mother of your two closest friends won't you have at her son's wedding," Polly retorted, hating the whole facade just as much as Florence, "What's she so afraid of?"

Florence laughed under her breath, knowing exactly what it was, "The Peaky Blinders."

"You're worried they'll show up?" Polly remarked, "I can have words with them if so."

"I'm not the one that's worried, frankly I don't even want to watch George sign his life away like that, they've only met three times, what kind of relationship is that?" Florence rambled, which was one of the many moments that she reminded Polly of Imelda, the way the same passionate fire burned inside her.