Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Chelsea turned to me. “Obviously, to each their own, Vivienne.”
“Obviously,” I replied as Harry and Scotty came in to remove the fish course.
“One thing I learned about you during our brief fling, Chels,” Battle started.
Oh boy.
I braced again.
Mostly because the “brief fling” comment made Chelsea look both pissed as shit and wounded as hell.
Battle kept going.
“You put grave effort in not wasting your time on anything of value.”
I pressed my lips together.
Chastity whisper-tittered.
“I wasted my time on a relationship with you,” Chelsea pointed out.
Battle caught her in the crosshairs of his gaze.
“Exactly my point.”
Ouch!
And…
Score!
He then turned to me.
Uh-oh.
“I hope old Bess fucked her way through her entire court. I do believe from your book that you don’t believe she died a virgin.”
“Uh…no. But I think she gave up the goods to Dudley. Though, obviously, no one is sure.”
“It actually sickens me they still refer to her as the Virgin Queen like that’s some kind of remarkable challenge she bested,” he returned. “Like virginity, something we’re all born with, is something for a woman to aspire to guard, only if she’s not married. Elizabeth is arguably one of the most brilliant politicians in all of history. She demonstrated the depths of her intelligence from a very early age. For better or worse, better only for the Englishman, and yes, I denote the gender of that purposefully, she started the British Empire. The Ingenious Queen, the Cunning Queen, the Crafty Queen, the Wily Queen, all of these are better epithets for her rule and the state she left her beloved country in after her death. Frankly, calling her the Virgin Queen, like that was all she accomplished in her reign, is a bloody insult.”
And shit.
Yeah.
I might just have to like this guy.
“Says the man with three crafty, talented, intelligent sisters,” Rally quipped.
“And how would you describe me, love?” Courtney queried.
Without missing a beat, Rally answered, “Oh, my Beautiful, Kind, Loving, Supportive, Eternally Interesting Queen, obviously.”
“Well said,” Prue murmured as Courtney cast adoring eyes to her fiancé.
Fortunately, dinner after that, along with discussion continuing when we returned to the parlor for after dinner drinks, involved a rather spirited and definitely stimulating discussion about Queen Elizabeth, Walsingham, the Cecils, the Spanish Armada, Drake, the historical Raleigh (no relation) and a profound dissection of both Cate Blanchett movies (passable, but entertaining), the Helen Mirren miniseries (excellent) and The Tudors TV show (also entertaining, but mostly twaddle).
Chelsea didn’t utter a word.
“I cannot believe I’m going to say this, but I’m historied out,” Courtney eventually announced.
“Shall I whisk you to bed, my love?” Rally asked.
“If you would.” She turned to Tempie. “I know tonight was unexpected for you and your staff, but as ever, it was fabulous.”
Tempie rolled a hand at this like she was what we’d been discussing.
A queen.
Courtney turned to me. “And I know this is gauche, but I hope you don’t mind. I brought my books, hoping you’d sign them for me?”
I leaned toward her and stage-whispered, “I’ll share a secret. Authors like to be asked to sign their books maybe more than readers like them signed.”
She smiled in relief.
Wishing us all to sleep well, they took off.
Chastity whispered some words of goodnight and melted from the room after them.
“I think I’m for bed too,” I announced while setting aside my cognac glass and standing. “I want to get an early start tomorrow so I might be able to dive into some reading.”
Battle stood too, stating, “I’ll walk you.”
I froze.
Prue shined a smile at us.
Tempie cast a smile into her glass of port.
“I’ll walk with you,” Chelsea said, rising.
Prue frowned at Chelsea.
Tempie glared at her.
“Shall we?” Chelsea asked.
Pointedly, Battle took my hand, rested it in the crook of his elbow and walked me out.
Chelsea trailed us.
He walked so fast, I wasn’t sure I could keep up with him in my heels.
As he intended, Chelsea had the same problem. What she didn’t have was him to hold her up.
I managed it, though he was holding me so close, my fluttering chiffon skirt wisped around the legs of his slacks in a manner that was bizarrely, but intensely, titillating.
When we made my room, Battle did no more than glance over his shoulder and say, “Until cocktails tomorrow, Chels.”
And then he pulled me right into my room, closing the door behind us directly in her stunned, irritated face.
I opened my mouth.
He put his finger to it.
I said nothing.
He listened.
From a distance, probably/maybe we heard a door close.
He took his finger from my mouth.
“What the—?” I began.
“Thank you for taking the girls to Glastonbury.”
Oh.
Well then.
This wasn’t a play.
He wanted me alone so he could say that to me.
I pulled my shoulders forward. “Not a big thing. We had a blast.”
“It was a big thing, and you three having a blast was the biggest of the lot.”
“I really like your sisters,” I said quietly.