The Lady Pursues (Alternate Mature Chapters)

Chapter Thirty-Six (Mature Edit)

Sorry for the wait. I wanted to get the rest of this story completely plotted out before posting any further, get things a bit more set in stone because I'm sometimes a bit nervous posting, thinking I might want to go back and change things (besides silly mistakes and typos, obviously). That being said, the next two chapters after this are roughly finished, so look for more posts this week and a quicker race to the finish.

As for this chapter, it's a whole rather than a half. Hope that helps. Also, you know, there's smut. Hope that helps, too. ;)

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Charity flushed in a rather fetching way as she looked up to find him there. Ian was tempted to snatch her up right then, but resisted, gesturing to the dressing table instead. "I'm sorry about that. That table needs more refinishing anyhow. It won't be much more trouble to get a new mirror cut," he said, pushing away the thought of the expense.

"There's no need to hurry on that," she said with a smile. "There's still a large piece of it left and I can almost see my whole face. Really, it's perfectly fine for me."

He still couldn't help but find it hard to take, the way she constantly made out as if everything was perfectly fine no matter what. "All the same, you should have a proper mirror."

"Really, there's no hurry. I feel sorriest for Mrs. Anderson. She's the one who'll be suffering seven years bad luck, after all." She dropped her smile as the thunder cracked outside. "That should teach me. I shouldn't joke about such things. I suspect that family has suffered more bad luck than they can handle. When I came upon Mr. Anderson, he'd been..." She seemed to stop herself. "Well, he'd seemed upset. But let's say no more on that. I shouldn't like to be one of those wives who spends her time gossiping about the neighbors."

"I think most of our neighbors spend enough time gossiping about us." He had no wish to speak of the Andersons any further, not tonight. He moved to mantle, lighting the other candles to cover his agitation. "You did a fine job with dinner tonight," he said, having nothing better.

She turned more fully to him, smiling widely now. "Do you really think so? I only got things prepared. It was down to Emilia to finish it."

"Oh, yes. I'll be telling Sticks as well."

She rolled her eyes. "If you could do so without calling her Sticks, I'm sure she'd appreciate it much more."

He gave her a sheepish smile. "I suppose it's a hard habit to break." He didn't want to talk of Sticks either. Then again, he had no idea how to begin the other conversation... not that it would involve very much talking. Or perhaps there should be some talking. Lord, he didn't know how to begin! "What are you writing?" he asked instead.

"I was making a start on my letter to my mother and father, that and another to Pru, though I suspect they will read that one as well." She laughed slightly. "I confess, I may end up wasting paper on a first draft. My mother is... difficult to communicate with clearly sometimes. She can often take everything one says in the worst possible way. Sometimes, even when one says nothing, she finds her own meaning in that. Poor Pru. She's more careful with her words than anyone and has always had the worst time explaining herself, which always made Mama..."

She was babbling. It was adorable. At the moment, he found everything about her adorable.

"...I'm glad of the distraction, though," she was saying. "I'm eager to put the rest off till tomorrow. I'm not even quite sure when the post comes through, but I think-"

"Friday," he broke in quickly.

"Oh, dear. That's putting it off a bit too long, isn't it?"

"Perhaps," he said distractedly. "But that's when the post comes through. I don't think writing is the way. I think, as soon as we can get away, we should... face them ourselves." They would have to secure things here enough that they could leave by the end of the week, if possible. He didn't like thinking of how he might explain himself to Lord Crewe, to Lady Crewe and - dear God- his own mother. He only knew he couldn't do it in a letter. He owed Lord Crewe the honor of facing him, man to man, and he owed his mother the opportunity to slap him upside the head as many times as she wished. As for Lady Crewe...