"Check it out," he said. "It's your new summer home."
Elderly Lord Haythornthwaite blinked at his young ward. “It isn’t quite what I had in mind,” he remarked stiffly.
Nigel looked wounded. “It’s not as if you couldn’t afford it, you know. And you do rather need something befitting your station, sir.”
“Not to mention, something which would befit you when you want to entertain your – errr, crowd.”
Nigel ignored the sarcasm. “I really searched for something big and rambling, but elegant – all at the same time. Inside, it’s truly a treat. Nothing but the best. I’d hoped you’d be pleased. It even has an exquisite view of the sea on the north side. You always said – ”
Lord Haythornthwaite sighed.
Ever since he’d taken in his late daughter’s child, it had been a challenge. One he’d accepted with good grace, obviously, but then again...
Cicely had always been headstrong and wild. Her choice in Kenneth as a husband had been no exception. Except, after Cicely’s death, Kenneth had figured his estranged father-in-law would welcome them both with open arms – and funds. Nigel, Lord Haythornthwaite’s grandson, was one thing. Kenneth, quite another. It would never do.
Nevertheless, once Kenneth had been dispatched, (Lord Haythornthwaite shuddered at that unfortunate necessity) the boy needed somewhere to go. It wasn’t guilt, however, on his Lordship’s part. Lord Haythornthwaite knew his duty and provided that somewhere for the boy, probably spoiling Nigel quite a bit in the process. It was just a shame that Nigel had so much of his father in him. Apples falling not far from the tree and all that.
Lord Haythornthwaite sighed again. “Fine, Nigel. We’ll take it.”
“Check it out,” he said. “It’s your new summer home.”
I winced whenever I heard my husband say things like that. I kept my nose buried in my book, and tried to pretend I didn’t hear him. He already thought I couldn’t listen and read at the same time, so it wasn’t a particularly hard sell. I just hoped he wasn’t feeling persistent.
“Honey,” he said in tone that was well into begging and just a hair short of whining. “Don’t you want to see your new summer home.”
Hiding my face behind my book I gritted my teeth and braced my spirit for whatever was bound to follow. I loved my husband dearly, but he was awfully fanciful. I was the one who read fiction non-stop, and he was the dreamer. Go figure.
With as gentle a sigh as I could muster, I lowered my book and looked over at him. “It’s lovely,” I said,b before even looking.
“Look at it, honey,” he urged proudly.
Reluctantly, I looked at the image on his computer screen. Towers, turrets, and spires. More windows and doors than I could imagine were necessary. A manicured lawn. Even a little heraldic pennant flying in the front. “It is quite gorgeous,” I admitted, keeping my voice dispassionate so as to not encourage my husband any more than I had to.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it.”
“Do you want it?”
“How do you mean?”
“You can have it,” he assured me with excitement in his voice.
“Like a timeshare room in one tower?” I was confused, more curious than I would have cared to admit, and a little nervous about where this might be leading.
“No, the whole thing!”
“Really.”
“Really!”
“How are we going to pull that off?” I asked. I’m a part time clerk at the library. He’s a union woodworker at a local shop. We both loved our jobs, but we weren’t really in the market for a manor, or palace, or castle, or whatever that place was.
“It’s already built!”
“Cleary, but --“
“And paid for!”
“By . . . ?”
“By me!”
I sighed. “Honestly, sweetie, I wish you would get your head out of the clouds.”
“It’s all yours,” he insisted with remarkably sincerity. “It’s a guild hall. All you have to do is create a WoW character, and it’s all ready for you.”
[Author's note: I probably shouldn't have read Heather's blog just before writing this.]
Cleaver? Ummm - Deb? Was that Freudian? Are you planning on writing a story where you kill off a character now?
hehe
PS - thanks for the nice words. I actually knew someone in college with that last name (a very long time ago,) Her parents were British - and when I was looking for a name for 'His Nibs' in this story, that was the name which came to mind. Weird, right?
Well, I did read Alfred Hitchcock stories under the covers when I was in third grade...scared the crap out of myself but I couldn't stop. Then again, the Cleavers...Leave It To Beaver. Eddie Haskell I loved because he thought he was so cool but the Beaver was smarter than he was!! hahaha. The Beaver and Wally. My oh my.
“Check it out,” he said, “It’s your new summer home.”
I rolled my eyes. Turning on my heel and heading back toward the car. There are just some things you don’t do. And dangling crack like that in front of a certified anglophile was certainly one of them.
“Wait.” He called as I pulled open the passenger side door to his beat up eighties-mobile.
“What?” I huffed, pissed that our sightseeing excursion had taken such a displeasing turn.
“I’m serious.” He said, looking me dead in the eye.
“Shut up.”
“Soph” He said, his eyes imploring me. “I swear on things J.K. Rowling, I am not joking.” Damnit if that man didn’t know my weaknesses.
I gasped.
“Don’t you dare use her name in vain. You take that back.”
“I most certainly will not.” He spoke, slamming his right heel into the ground for effect. His British lilt, momentarily distracting me. My mind returned to the eve of our introduction. I closed my eyes enjoying the moment. Shaking my head, I returned to the issue at hand..
“Seb.” I said, taking in several calming breaths. “There’s not a chance in hell that you could afford this house. The last time I checked, I met you serving drinks at a pub, not sitting on the right hand of the freaking Queen!”
He laughed. I huffed.
I’d come to London two months ago to study for a semester at Oxford. Being admitted to the exchange program alone was an honor, but meeting Seb had been the ultimate surprise. It had only been just over a month since we’d begun dating, but already I was in love. A word, I’d yet to say to him or anyone else ever, but that had been resonating in my thoughts relentlessly for weeks.
Until now, love had only been something I’d read about. I’d dated a few guys back home, but it seemed I had notoriously bad taste in men. Even the youth minister I’d gone out with turned out to be a total douche bag, sneaking off with my roommate behind my back.
Needless to say, my thoughts on love were less than stellar and so, I shied away from mentioning anything to Seb. In two months time I’d be headed home anyway. It felt like any verbal acknowledgement would pull the pin of our relationship out, most certainly blowing us all to pieces. So, I bit my tongue, refusing to be the one to jinx things.
Seb closed the distance between us, placing his hands on my shoulders.
“Since when does working in a pub equate to beggary?” He asked.
“It doesn’t,” I shrugged. “I just, don’t want to be teased.”
“I’m going to tell you this one more time,” he said, drawing out the last three words. “I am not teasing you, Sophie Marie Andrews. My family has lived in this town for many years now and despite my charming humility,” a grin lit his face. “I do come from a rather well established home. This—“ He pointed at the elegant white house, looming behind him, “happens to have been built by my great, great grandfather.”
My jaw dropped. His hands fell from my shoulders, wrapping my left with his right and pulling me back towards the house.
“But, I thought…” I said, trailing off. I thought we were just sightseeing.
“I wanted to surprise you.” He said, understanding my hesitation.
“But what do you mean my summer home?” I asked, still confused.
“Well, it won’t technically be yours, but I thought you might want to come back with me this summer and stay here. My family doesn’t stay here year round, they just use it for holiday sometimes.”
Flabbergasted, I simply stood there staring. My gaze torn between him and the house.
“Come back with you?” I questioned, still not fully comprehending.
“Yeah,” He pause, a smile almost escaping right off his face as he grinned loudly. “I applied for a transfer to university in New York, with you. I got my acceptance this week.”
“Shit.” I thought, then realized I’d in fact said out loud.
“What?” He asked, suddenly self conscious. “It’s too much, isn’t it? I should have talked to you first, it was stupid to assume. I just thought—“ He resolve wavered.
“No. It’s amazing.” I squeezed his hand, finding my voice again. “I just— didn’t know you felt the same.” I admitted.
“Of course, I do.” He said, wrapping his arms around me now, pulling me close. “Of course I do, Soph.” He said, placing a kissing on the top of my head. “I’m in love with you.”
"Well, Hyacinth, I will simply not take off the blindfold until you do."
"Ever since you got back from your trip to America, you have been insufferable. You used to be so genteel." Hyacinth sighed, thinking back to the first time Reginald had asked to call on her. Of course she had said no, you couldn't afford to be too eager, but he was a catch. The heir apparent to the duchy and the manor.
For the manor, she would do this. She rapped her fingers on the leather wrapped dashboard of his immaculate Jag. bud-a-bud-a-bud-a-bud-a-bud-a-bud.
"Voila!" He whipped his silk cravat from around her head. "It's your new summer home."
Hyacinth couldn't breathe. What had he done? What would the council say? How much would it cost to repair?
"Check it out," he said. "It's your new summer home."
ReplyDeleteElderly Lord Haythornthwaite blinked at his young ward. “It isn’t quite what I had in mind,” he remarked stiffly.
Nigel looked wounded. “It’s not as if you couldn’t afford it, you know. And you do rather need something befitting your station, sir.”
“Not to mention, something which would befit you when you want to entertain your – errr, crowd.”
Nigel ignored the sarcasm. “I really searched for something big and rambling, but elegant – all at the same time. Inside, it’s truly a treat. Nothing but the best. I’d hoped you’d be pleased. It even has an exquisite view of the sea on the north side. You always said – ”
Lord Haythornthwaite sighed.
Ever since he’d taken in his late daughter’s child, it had been a challenge. One he’d accepted with good grace, obviously, but then again...
Cicely had always been headstrong and wild. Her choice in Kenneth as a husband had been no exception. Except, after Cicely’s death, Kenneth had figured his estranged father-in-law would welcome them both with open arms – and funds. Nigel, Lord Haythornthwaite’s grandson, was one thing. Kenneth, quite another. It would never do.
Nevertheless, once Kenneth had been dispatched, (Lord Haythornthwaite shuddered at that unfortunate necessity) the boy needed somewhere to go. It wasn’t guilt, however, on his Lordship’s part. Lord Haythornthwaite knew his duty and provided that somewhere for the boy, probably spoiling Nigel quite a bit in the process. It was just a shame that Nigel had so much of his father in him. Apples falling not far from the tree and all that.
Lord Haythornthwaite sighed again. “Fine, Nigel. We’ll take it.”
“Check it out,” he said. “It’s your new summer home.”
ReplyDeleteI winced whenever I heard my husband say things like that. I kept my nose buried in my book, and tried to pretend I didn’t hear him. He already thought I couldn’t listen and read at the same time, so it wasn’t a particularly hard sell. I just hoped he wasn’t feeling persistent.
“Honey,” he said in tone that was well into begging and just a hair short of whining. “Don’t you want to see your new summer home.”
Hiding my face behind my book I gritted my teeth and braced my spirit for whatever was bound to follow. I loved my husband dearly, but he was awfully fanciful. I was the one who read fiction non-stop, and he was the dreamer. Go figure.
With as gentle a sigh as I could muster, I lowered my book and looked over at him. “It’s lovely,” I said,b before even looking.
“Look at it, honey,” he urged proudly.
Reluctantly, I looked at the image on his computer screen. Towers, turrets, and spires. More windows and doors than I could imagine were necessary. A manicured lawn. Even a little heraldic pennant flying in the front. “It is quite gorgeous,” I admitted, keeping my voice dispassionate so as to not encourage my husband any more than I had to.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it.”
“Do you want it?”
“How do you mean?”
“You can have it,” he assured me with excitement in his voice.
“Like a timeshare room in one tower?” I was confused, more curious than I would have cared to admit, and a little nervous about where this might be leading.
“No, the whole thing!”
“Really.”
“Really!”
“How are we going to pull that off?” I asked. I’m a part time clerk at the library. He’s a union woodworker at a local shop. We both loved our jobs, but we weren’t really in the market for a manor, or palace, or castle, or whatever that place was.
“It’s already built!”
“Cleary, but --“
“And paid for!”
“By . . . ?”
“By me!”
I sighed. “Honestly, sweetie, I wish you would get your head out of the clouds.”
“It’s all yours,” he insisted with remarkably sincerity. “It’s a guild hall. All you have to do is create a WoW character, and it’s all ready for you.”
[Author's note: I probably shouldn't have read Heather's blog just before writing this.]
RJ, I love the distinct tones of the characters in your story!
ReplyDeleteC.N. Nevets - you are too funny! So, ummm,,,Heather inspired you, eh? Wow!
ReplyDelete=D
And btw...Thanks for the nice words, too.
OMG! ROFL!!! THAT WAS THE BEST!
ReplyDeleteDamn. How am I going to top that?!
Well, Heather...we're waiting...
ReplyDeleteR.J.- I LOVE that name...Lord Haythornthwaite!! Especially how it sounds when you say it out loud! And that story has the makings of a good book.
ReplyDeleteNevets, veeeery cleaver!
Okay, I can't type today...CLEVER. You new what I ment, rite?
ReplyDeleteCleaver? Ummm - Deb? Was that Freudian? Are you planning on writing a story where you kill off a character now?
ReplyDeletehehe
PS - thanks for the nice words. I actually knew someone in college with that last name (a very long time ago,) Her parents were British - and when I was looking for a name for 'His Nibs' in this story, that was the name which came to mind. Weird, right?
Deb, I did know what you mean, but now I have cleavers on the brain, so we'll have to see what tomorrow's prompt inspires in me. LOL
ReplyDeleteHmm. Cleavers on the brain? Hmm.
Well, I did read Alfred Hitchcock stories under the covers when I was in third grade...scared the crap out of myself but I couldn't stop. Then again, the Cleavers...Leave It To Beaver. Eddie Haskell I loved because he thought he was so cool but the Beaver was smarter than he was!! hahaha. The Beaver and Wally. My oh my.
ReplyDelete“Check it out,” he said, “It’s your new summer home.”
ReplyDeleteI rolled my eyes. Turning on my heel and heading back toward the car. There are just some things you don’t do. And dangling crack like that in front of a certified anglophile was certainly one of them.
“Wait.” He called as I pulled open the passenger side door to his beat up eighties-mobile.
“What?” I huffed, pissed that our sightseeing excursion had taken such a displeasing turn.
“I’m serious.” He said, looking me dead in the eye.
“Shut up.”
“Soph” He said, his eyes imploring me. “I swear on things J.K. Rowling, I am not joking.” Damnit if that man didn’t know my weaknesses.
I gasped.
“Don’t you dare use her name in vain. You take that back.”
“I most certainly will not.” He spoke, slamming his right heel into the ground for effect. His British lilt, momentarily distracting me. My mind returned to the eve of our introduction. I closed my eyes enjoying the moment. Shaking my head, I returned to the issue at hand..
“Seb.” I said, taking in several calming breaths. “There’s not a chance in hell that you could afford this house. The last time I checked, I met you serving drinks at a pub, not sitting on the right hand of the freaking Queen!”
He laughed. I huffed.
I’d come to London two months ago to study for a semester at Oxford. Being admitted to the exchange program alone was an honor, but meeting Seb had been the ultimate surprise. It had only been just over a month since we’d begun dating, but already I was in love. A word, I’d yet to say to him or anyone else ever, but that had been resonating in my thoughts relentlessly for weeks.
Until now, love had only been something I’d read about. I’d dated a few guys back home, but it seemed I had notoriously bad taste in men. Even the youth minister I’d gone out with turned out to be a total douche bag, sneaking off with my roommate behind my back.
Needless to say, my thoughts on love were less than stellar and so, I shied away from mentioning anything to Seb. In two months time I’d be headed home anyway. It felt like any verbal acknowledgement would pull the pin of our relationship out, most certainly blowing us all to pieces. So, I bit my tongue, refusing to be the one to jinx things.
Seb closed the distance between us, placing his hands on my shoulders.
“Since when does working in a pub equate to beggary?” He asked.
“It doesn’t,” I shrugged. “I just, don’t want to be teased.”
“I’m going to tell you this one more time,” he said, drawing out the last three words. “I am not teasing you, Sophie Marie Andrews. My family has lived in this town for many years now and despite my charming humility,” a grin lit his face. “I do come from a rather well established home. This—“ He pointed at the elegant white house, looming behind him, “happens to have been built by my great, great grandfather.”
My jaw dropped. His hands fell from my shoulders, wrapping my left with his right and pulling me back towards the house.
“But, I thought…” I said, trailing off. I thought we were just sightseeing.
“I wanted to surprise you.” He said, understanding my hesitation.
“But what do you mean my summer home?” I asked, still confused.
“Well, it won’t technically be yours, but I thought you might want to come back with me this summer and stay here. My family doesn’t stay here year round, they just use it for holiday sometimes.”
Flabbergasted, I simply stood there staring. My gaze torn between him and the house.
“Come back with you?” I questioned, still not fully comprehending.
“Yeah,” He pause, a smile almost escaping right off his face as he grinned loudly. “I applied for a transfer to university in New York, with you. I got my acceptance this week.”
“Shit.” I thought, then realized I’d in fact said out loud.
“What?” He asked, suddenly self conscious. “It’s too much, isn’t it? I should have talked to you first, it was stupid to assume. I just thought—“ He resolve wavered.
“No. It’s amazing.” I squeezed his hand, finding my voice again. “I just— didn’t know you felt the same.” I admitted.
“Of course, I do.” He said, wrapping his arms around me now, pulling me close. “Of course I do, Soph.” He said, placing a kissing on the top of my head. “I’m in love with you.”
EJ, that's a really nicely crafted scene. I could definitely sense its implied before and after "chapters." Well done!
ReplyDeleteWOW! The flash just keeps getting better, I swear.
ReplyDeleteThanks C.N. Definitely drawing on characters created for an entirely different WIP. A nice break from that.
ReplyDeleteNext time, I'll work on editing! Too many typos, yikes.
EJ, who cares about typos?? That was GREAT!!
ReplyDelete(in your best Harry Caray voice) Coming out of nowhere, the relative unknown EJ Griffin hits this one out of the park!
ReplyDeletelightverse- dispatched. great word choice, the reader see the Lord very clearly through this.
Nevets- Bwa ha ha!
"Drumroll, please." And he waited.
ReplyDelete"I will not do that, Reginald."
"Well, Hyacinth, I will simply not take off the blindfold until you do."
"Ever since you got back from your trip to America, you have been insufferable. You used to be so genteel." Hyacinth sighed, thinking back to the first time Reginald had asked to call on her. Of course she had said no, you couldn't afford to be too eager, but he was a catch. The heir apparent to the duchy and the manor.
For the manor, she would do this. She rapped her fingers on the leather wrapped dashboard of his immaculate Jag. bud-a-bud-a-bud-a-bud-a-bud-a-bud.
"Voila!" He whipped his silk cravat from around her head. "It's your new summer home."
Hyacinth couldn't breathe. What had he done? What would the council say? How much would it cost to repair?
"You painted the manor white!?"
B. Nagel - hahahahahahaha! Didn't see that one coming!
ReplyDeleteEJ Griffin - nicely done - and so sweet.
Nice twist on the prompt, B. Nagel!
ReplyDeleteEJ - I wondered that too! ;)
ReplyDeleteWelcome!
Thanks Heather!
ReplyDeleteWhat Heather said. And yeah, welcome!
ReplyDelete