Let a Woman in Your Life

It was noon on a summery Wednesday when Higgins stood in his chambers wondering how to make his boudoir, the bedroom of a bachelor, into a suitable establishment for a female. But the idea of exchanging his decor, specifically the luxurious red silk bedding for something pale and flowery made him ill.

"Mrs. Pearce?"

"Yes, Mr. Higgins?" his housekeeper stuck her head in his bedroom door.

"What do you think perhaps is the most gender neutral colour?"

"Green, sir."

"Green?" the inflection indicated his disgust

"Or perhaps a deep yellow."

"Oh that's simply ghastly Mrs. Pierce." He waved her out of the room.

Higgins groaned to himself. Although the idea of marriage no longer frightened him as it had, the concept of converting his stately home into a place suitable for an ornate female was daunting and frightening. Granted, Eliza's femininity was unquestionably not nearly as unbearable as others, his years as a confirmed old bachelor has made him unusually sensitive to lace and flowers and perfumes. He despised them. He had a fear of seeming too weak around her, but in truth he was neither weak nor foolish, because in the presence of Eliza, he was in the presence of his equal. And in truth he found her eyes quite pleasing.

His internal monologue was interrupted by the chatter of servants and the opening of the downstairs door. Eliza and the Colonel had returned from a morning stroll to Covent Garden. The servants were very fond of Eliza, although there was a certain amount of jealously from a few of the female maids who wondered how it was possible that a common flower girl could enter under their noses and win the heart of the professor. There was also the continual question of whether or not they had ever had a chance to woo the professor and become lady of the house. But Eliza's demeanor was so down to earth and pleasing, they found themselves entranced with her also.

The Colonel assisted Eliza in removing her duster. Pickering had proven to be quite useful in the match between the two. Rumors had circulated around town that Eliza was a cousin of Pickering, some had even heard that she might be Hungarian royalty and the eyebrows that had been raised due to the presence of an unmarried female in the house with two bachelors relaxed, And surely, given Mrs. Pearce's sterling reputation, the girl had been well looked after, they reasoned.

Eliza, dressed in white, held in her hand a bouquet of white roses, surely purchased from the flower gardens at Covent, made her look every inch the bride to be. Her demeanor, unlike most soon to be married females, was quiet and serene and calm. The ceremony itself, had yet to be decided upon, much to the annoyance of the Professor's mother. Perhaps a civil ceremony or a garden wedding. Henry detested the idea of large ceremonies with a myriad of family members he wasn't aware of having, and flowers, and painfully embarrassing declarations. It was embarrassing enough that despite his objections to marriage, he had fallen under the spell of a woman. He often thought of being colder to Eliza in front of Pickering and his mother to prove his independence, but it was no use. They knew better.

Hell, HE knew better.

He exchanged a few pleasantries with Eliza, ironically about the weather and her health, but as the parties stood around chatting, Higgins was very aware of the watchful eyes of the servants and Pickering. Amongst themselves he knew they discussed the marriage of the two. Did he love her? 'Surely, not. The Professor loves only his work.' Was it a marriage of convenience? 'Perhaps. But they are quite a pair.' Had he even kissed her yet? 'How can you marry one without kissing them first?' It was too much for him to have to be guarded in his own home. And there were moments where he would have preferred to steal Eliza away and run off from the watchful eyes of the house, where it could be just the two of them. It was a scandalous thought, he knew, and her behavior had been nothing short of ladylike. She behaved like royalty. But there were flashes of something in her eyes at times that awakened feelings in Higgins, feelings that he had ignored for years. He had experienced those feelings in his youth, but he found those idle thoughts were drowned out by the shrill jabbers of the females his mother had hoped he would court.

But in that regard, Eliza was different. Unlike any of the other silly girls he had known. Yes she had her moments where he wanted to strangle her, and vice versa. He laughed thinking to himself that he had not been struck by an arrow in the heart, but rather a pair of slippers aimed directly at his head.

After the small talk dwindled to nothing, Higgins excused himself to his study. As uncomfortable as he felt in moments in his own home, the one place that had he still had solace was his study. The books, the gramophones, the paintings; those were his. Eliza and Pickering climbed the stairs and Pickering began guffawing at something Eliza said.

Higgins closed the door quietly and looked around. Alone. Amusing that in this very room he had once sworn to Pickering never to let a woman intrude on his personal space. How simple it had all seemed.

He climbed the circular staircase and momentarily lamented the loss of Bachelor-hood, but the idea of losing Eliza brought more despair. He comforted himself with the idea that his study would remain intact, no matter what color the sheets and draperies in the bedroom were changed to. Of course this train of thought automatically led to the idea of sharing a bed with Eliza. He shook himself back to reality

"Good heavens," he muttered to himself quietly, "such thinking of women led to the downfall of Samson and the fall of Troy." He began to reach for a copy of the Romic Alphabet when he heard a footstep behind him.

He turned around and there she stood, pulling the door shut behind her and leaning her head against the door.

"Oh? You startled me my dear." Making sure his voice wouldn't betray his worries that she had overheard his muttering earlier.

Eliza didn't respond. In her right hand she still held the bouquet of flowers.

'Did you and the Colonel have a nice excursion this morning?"

"Quite," she replied, " though I fear it's rather gloomy out."

"Well, what did you expect, this is London after all." Higgins continued searching through stacks of papers and books. The trivial small talk was beginning to irritate him. Finally after another awkward period, he spoke again. "Did you need something?"

Eliza bit her lip and shook her head in the negative.

"Well I must get back to work then. I shall take you somewhere this evening, a play perhaps. I should introduce you to Ibsen, he was really quite a good writer"

Eliza nodded, but continued to linger.

Henry finally realized that he would have to resort to his temper to get her to talk about why she lingered in his study, the one safe place he had left. In exasperation, but controlling his temper as much as he could as to not start a fight, he promptly turned to her and in as harsh a tone as he could muster he stated, "Eliza, I gave you the gift of rhetoric so that you could communicate great ideas, emotions, and thoughts. What good is all that time spent if you continue to stand there idly like a fine statue. What is it that you want to say to me?"

Eliza stepped forward and embraced him and pressed her lips to his and for a moment Higgins completely forgot what had irritated him in the first place. This was different from the first kiss they shared the night he had asked her to be his wife. That was small, polite, and momentary. This was full of longing and all the emotions that had been neatly tucked away. Neither wanted to pull away, but Higgins finally decided it best to stop it. Momentarily he cupped her face in his fingertips and traced her jaw line with his thumb, he suddenly realized he had lingered there longer than what was appropriate. He cleared his throat and released his hold on her and began to search for some invisible item on the floor. "You didn't actually answer the question, Eliza? What is it you wanted to tell me?"

"Only what words cannot express, Henry." She smiled as fixed a loose hair pin into her tightly wound hair.

Higgins knew exactly what she meant. There were many words to describe that feeling; admiration, amiability, infatuation...Love. No matter how he tried to restrain the word it kept finding it's way back into his throat. 'Surely she must know how I feel' he thought. He found himself unable to form the letter L by pressing the tip of his tongue to his teeth, and he was surprised to be unable to perform even the simplest of consonants and he a professor of phonetics

."Eliza, I..."

"Yes?" she replied unable to mask the hope swelling up in her heart.

Unable to continue his original train of thought, he chose an alternative.

"I believe today would be a lovely day to visit my mother." He straightened his jacket and began to walk towards the spiral staircase.

Clearly disappointed, Eliza spoke after him. "Henry! If you speak about your mother every time I kiss you in that manner, I fear we might be in for a bit of trouble! Besides it's surely going to rain."

"I thought I told you to steer clear of reading Freud, you insect! Oh no matter. We'll take a taxi to mother's. Now go along and freshen up and I will call up my mother and tell her to invite her friend the Bishop over. After all I shan't be able to marry you without him, and then the whole trip would be wasted."

Eliza beamed and threw herself into his arms. He found himself less resistant to the show of affection and he allowed himself to shower her pretty face with kisses. She would be his and for the tiniest moment he allowed himself to be swallowed with happiness and let out a boisterous laugh. She pulled herself away and began to run out of the study.

Higgins stopped her in her tracks by shouting her name "Eliza?"

"Yes?"

Which colour do you prefer? Green or yellow."

She looked rather pensive for a moment and then responded with a smile.

"Neither."

She exited the room with the panache of a queen.

'Thank heavens," he thought, 'I shan't have to replace the linens.'

As he started to stroll away from the door he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. On the shelf nearest him, amongst the volumes of Shakespeare and Byron, lay Eliza's bouquet of flowers. It was an elegant, feminine touch against the leather bound novels. How foolish he had been to think that Eliza's presence would not change everything, even his precious study. It was only now that he realized he was completely thankful for that fact. Nothing, not the words of Shakespeare or the study of languages, would ever be the same again.