Usual disclaimer. Well, do you like? If you do, REVIEW!! If you don't. .
.well, you can review anyway.
Chapter Ten
For the next week I went about in a daze. My fellow Drones Club members commented on it. Bingo Little for one would not stop pestering me until I told him why. Indeed, it turned out my friends had been betting on the outcome. Only one of them, Barmy Fothergill-Phipps, a worse chump than myself, had guessed on love. And he only as a joke. I believe he won a substantial amount out of it, which I felt would do him good.
Unfortunately, a small blip appeared, in the proceedings. While it was common knowledge in the Club that Bertie Wooster had at last teamed up with someone, the rest of London was un-aware.
It remained so until, after writing a short scribble to my beloved, I confused it with a chatty letter to my Aunt Dahlia. I had not mentioned anything to her in the letter I'd written, so it was a bit of a shock to receive the following phone call.
"Bertie? Are you sober?"
"Why yes, dearest Aunt."
"Then what is this nonsense I hear about you being engaged? You're only ever engaged against your will. I should know, it's often been my fault."
I made a strangled noise, my eyes rolled somewhat, and then I managed:
"What? How the dickens do you know?"
My aunt seemed shocked as well. I heard a cry, and then;
"Bertie! You can't be! This will mean you will very shortly be elevated out of the blue room, when you come to stay."
The blue room is the ghastly hole my aunt keeps for visiting bachelors. I have oft enjoyed it's hospitality. This was however beside the point.
"But aged relative, how do you know? I never told you!"
My aunt made a noise like a displeased rhinoceros, which threatened to send me deaf in one ear. I held the receiver at arms length. When I felt it was safe, I returned the bally thing to my ear.
"Bertie? Are you still there?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me, nephew? It's big news."
I struggled with the thing. Why indeed had I not told her?
"Um, because I've only known the girl a few days. And besides, we're not engaged, merely friends."
My aunt snorted again.
"Bertie, darling, I may be getting on in years but I still recognise a love letter when I see one. I am, at this very minute, holding in my hand a letter from you to a Miss Emily Cooper. However, the envelope was addressed to me. You've mixed the letters, you silly ass."
I felt the colour of the setting sun in Africa begin to rise up my face. The embarrassed silence that followed was rather uncomfortable. Then my aunt began to chuckle lightly, and spoke thus;
"Oh well. I suppose the sporting thing to do would be to send this back to you. Shall I mention this to anyone?"
The yell I gave startled my blood relation so that she dropped the telephone. She managed to recover it, however, and carried on.
"No? Oh well. But hang on . . . if I don't tell anyone, you must do a little something for aunty."
"This is blackmail!"
"Yes it is isn't it? But I shan't worry, I know you're used to it. I want you to convince Tuppy to marry Angela."
"What? Has there been a lovers tiff?"
"No, but I would like the dashed fellow to get along. There will be a lovers tiff if he doesn't soon. Angela is fair fed up. Toodle pip!"
I put back the phone, weakly. I didn't like the idea of my letter to Emily biffing about at random. It worried me. My aunt Agatha might get her claws on it, and then all hell would break loose. It might not go down well that I was in love with a parlour maid, soon to be actress. My Aunt A. liked neither vocation.
But soon, all thoughts of such unpleasant circs. had quite left my head. Weeks and days of dearest Emily's company drifted by, until it was the day I took Emily out to lunch at the Savoy. It was one of those candle lit dinner jobs. All very romantic and heart-string-tugging. As we sat making general conversation, it struck me how pretty she looked in the candlelight.
I have spoken before of sudden impulses. You get them at the theatre, when the aforementioned impulse starts egging you on to shout fire. Or when you're talking to someone, and the impulse tells you to biff him in the eye.
And so, the sudden impulse came upon me to sweep the girl out of her chair, shower her upturned face in burning kisses, and ask her to marry me.
However, it did occur to me that proposing in the middle of a crowded restaurant wasn't really suitable, so by some diversion, we left the place and ended up in a picturesque spot by the river.
Emily insisted on wandering up the bridge, which we did, and then we proceeded to race twigs under the bridge.
There was no one else present. We were alone on the bridge, with the gurgling and sloshing below us, and the merry twittering of wildlife above.
So, without further ado, I swept, kissed, and asked.
Haha!!! Cliff-hanger! *grinz evilly* I did warn you, but you obviously didn't listen. But beware, worse is to come.
Chapter Ten
For the next week I went about in a daze. My fellow Drones Club members commented on it. Bingo Little for one would not stop pestering me until I told him why. Indeed, it turned out my friends had been betting on the outcome. Only one of them, Barmy Fothergill-Phipps, a worse chump than myself, had guessed on love. And he only as a joke. I believe he won a substantial amount out of it, which I felt would do him good.
Unfortunately, a small blip appeared, in the proceedings. While it was common knowledge in the Club that Bertie Wooster had at last teamed up with someone, the rest of London was un-aware.
It remained so until, after writing a short scribble to my beloved, I confused it with a chatty letter to my Aunt Dahlia. I had not mentioned anything to her in the letter I'd written, so it was a bit of a shock to receive the following phone call.
"Bertie? Are you sober?"
"Why yes, dearest Aunt."
"Then what is this nonsense I hear about you being engaged? You're only ever engaged against your will. I should know, it's often been my fault."
I made a strangled noise, my eyes rolled somewhat, and then I managed:
"What? How the dickens do you know?"
My aunt seemed shocked as well. I heard a cry, and then;
"Bertie! You can't be! This will mean you will very shortly be elevated out of the blue room, when you come to stay."
The blue room is the ghastly hole my aunt keeps for visiting bachelors. I have oft enjoyed it's hospitality. This was however beside the point.
"But aged relative, how do you know? I never told you!"
My aunt made a noise like a displeased rhinoceros, which threatened to send me deaf in one ear. I held the receiver at arms length. When I felt it was safe, I returned the bally thing to my ear.
"Bertie? Are you still there?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me, nephew? It's big news."
I struggled with the thing. Why indeed had I not told her?
"Um, because I've only known the girl a few days. And besides, we're not engaged, merely friends."
My aunt snorted again.
"Bertie, darling, I may be getting on in years but I still recognise a love letter when I see one. I am, at this very minute, holding in my hand a letter from you to a Miss Emily Cooper. However, the envelope was addressed to me. You've mixed the letters, you silly ass."
I felt the colour of the setting sun in Africa begin to rise up my face. The embarrassed silence that followed was rather uncomfortable. Then my aunt began to chuckle lightly, and spoke thus;
"Oh well. I suppose the sporting thing to do would be to send this back to you. Shall I mention this to anyone?"
The yell I gave startled my blood relation so that she dropped the telephone. She managed to recover it, however, and carried on.
"No? Oh well. But hang on . . . if I don't tell anyone, you must do a little something for aunty."
"This is blackmail!"
"Yes it is isn't it? But I shan't worry, I know you're used to it. I want you to convince Tuppy to marry Angela."
"What? Has there been a lovers tiff?"
"No, but I would like the dashed fellow to get along. There will be a lovers tiff if he doesn't soon. Angela is fair fed up. Toodle pip!"
I put back the phone, weakly. I didn't like the idea of my letter to Emily biffing about at random. It worried me. My aunt Agatha might get her claws on it, and then all hell would break loose. It might not go down well that I was in love with a parlour maid, soon to be actress. My Aunt A. liked neither vocation.
But soon, all thoughts of such unpleasant circs. had quite left my head. Weeks and days of dearest Emily's company drifted by, until it was the day I took Emily out to lunch at the Savoy. It was one of those candle lit dinner jobs. All very romantic and heart-string-tugging. As we sat making general conversation, it struck me how pretty she looked in the candlelight.
I have spoken before of sudden impulses. You get them at the theatre, when the aforementioned impulse starts egging you on to shout fire. Or when you're talking to someone, and the impulse tells you to biff him in the eye.
And so, the sudden impulse came upon me to sweep the girl out of her chair, shower her upturned face in burning kisses, and ask her to marry me.
However, it did occur to me that proposing in the middle of a crowded restaurant wasn't really suitable, so by some diversion, we left the place and ended up in a picturesque spot by the river.
Emily insisted on wandering up the bridge, which we did, and then we proceeded to race twigs under the bridge.
There was no one else present. We were alone on the bridge, with the gurgling and sloshing below us, and the merry twittering of wildlife above.
So, without further ado, I swept, kissed, and asked.
Haha!!! Cliff-hanger! *grinz evilly* I did warn you, but you obviously didn't listen. But beware, worse is to come.