A/N: *THIS IS NOT THE EPILOGUE*
This is an OUTTAKE!
So, more than a few of you reached out, supremely curious about what exactly the Dowager Baroness Masen, Lady Charlotte Cullen, was thinking throughout the last chapter! And also, what did the text she sent to her grandson actually say?!
Full disclosure, I hadn't really given the text EXACT thought beyond vaguely thinking that Lady Charlotte would NOT sugarcoat the situation when she texted her grandson.
So this morning, I sat down, only meaning to write a quick couple of sentences for my Facebook page, a short "text" from Lady Charlotte to Edward.
It grew into this text, lol. I hope you enjoy it. (And let's just say Lady Charlotte is a fast typer). ;)
The epilogue will be along in the next couple of days. :)
TWO HOLIDAYS AND A FUNERAL OUTTAKE - Lady Charlotte's Quick and Short Text to her Grandson
Edward, I am at Céleste, at the Lanesborough. I'm sure I need not provide an address.
While the fare this morning is quite lovely – the finger sandwiches are fresh, and the cucumbers have been sliced to a tolerably decent translucency – the tea could have been steeped for just a fraction of a moment longer. An establishment that not only claims Michelin stars but, more importantly, prides itself in honouring our English heritage should not be allowed to commit such atrocities against a cup of tea! Were he here, your grandfather would be turning in his grave.
Honestly, the more I consider it, the greater my indignation. You may rest assured that before I leave, I shall be having a word with Chef Andre on the proper preparation of tea. Then again, what can one expect when an English custom is given over to a French chef? Yet heaven forfend should we English profess ourselves experts on crêpes!
As for the assemblage of patrons this morning, they are an eclectic mix of rank and commonality. The Duchess of Tilbury is sat a few tables away with a woman I recognize as a shopping assistant at Burberry. One of your father's peers, Lord James, is also in attendance, but I shall not deign to mention with whom he is sat off in a dark corner whilst he performs an embarrassing, and may I say, a shoddy job at hiding his face. All I shall say is that I'd be shocked if his lovely companion has completed University. Meanwhile, his wife, Lady Victoria, is likely at their family estate, raising his heir and ignorant of her husband's leisurely activities.
It's true, I suppose, that regardless of the passage of time, some things never change…whilst others change drastically. These changes sometimes begin as small weeds, then grow with such momentum as will knock you right off your arse unless you grow along with them.
That being said, I begin to see that while change may be inevitable, it's not always detrimental. You see, some of these weeds are not only downright resistant to pulling, but they are also beneficial to our world in ways not instantly observable. Similar to our very own English ivy, they provide a subtle sort of beauty, a welcoming warmth to those who tread their environs with care, and when properly nurtured, these weeds grow brilliantly strong. It's little wonder they so easily attract those Majestic butterflies who simply cannot stay away from them.
It's an exceedingly different world from that in which I came of age, in which I became the Baroness of our great line…in which I became your grandmother. But I do not want to completely fade into the obscurity of a background dominated by these revolutionary…and forward-thinking weeds. I had much rather grow along with them.
I'm currently sat with the Bee and with a woman who called me this morning claiming to be the Bee's lover's wife and threatening to go to those shameless tabloids with a sordid tale, the likes of which I've rarely heard outside of the BBC.
Don't worry, grandson; I've taken full charge of the situation, as is my wont. My sage determination is that this woman, Didyme – a peculiar name, I know – is rather insane. Not only does she care little for a proper cup of tea, she cares nothing for the fact that our poor, sweet Bee – and I use the term 'sweet' loosely, for the language currently erupting from the Bee's mouth is appalling – was unaware that she was involved with a married man; with a predator, if I may be so bold to say! Meanwhile, the wife was wholly aware of all that was occurring! Oh, yes, and the wife's sister, Sulpicia – another oddly-named individual – is the Bee's employer!
It's a torrid tale, yes, but they're American, and so no shock there. It's also much more involved than I can currently take the time to explain, for I must now go save the Bee from yet another one of her mishaps.
But that's what we do for family…and for those brilliant weeds from which the rest of our line will grow strong.
You are, of course, welcome to join us if you're inclined when you receive this short text. I shall save you a cup of tea and one of those sweet scones of which you've been fond since you were a little boy.
A/N: Thoughts?
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*Hope you enjoyed this "short" text. ;) The Epilogue will be coming soon!*