As promised, here's another quick update (I even think I'll have another chapter up sometime later today!) but for right now, here's a bit of foreshadowing...
THANKS AGAIN for all the comments and for reading!
Shadow
September 1910
He has a shadow now, much like Patrick once had with Edith.
The pretty blonde that he saw last summer at the Downton garden party, the one he saw speaking with Sybil. He saw her at last month's garden party again; she's grown a bit, (still lacks a pretty bosom) but she's fair, that cannot be denied. They met eyes at one point and she smiled, before bursting into a fit of giggles and blushing like a strawberry.
He likes strawberries.
They didn't speak, nor do they speak now. Now is the annual cricket match, and he's far too focused on the game at hand. Still, he's very much aware that she watches him with her eyes. And whenever he does something during the game, he hears her cheering. And when he moves across the pitch, or walks to the small tent that is set up to refresh himself on some lemonade, she also rises from her spot on the grass and follows him.
She's far too young, of course. But still, it's flattering to have an admirer.
…If only she were the admirer he wanted.
He glances again at the spot where she's sitting. She grins back at him and even lifts her hand to wave. But her face isn't the one he's focused on, but the girl by her side, whose face is once again buried in a book.
How can she waste her time reading? And at a cricket match of all things?
It bothers him that she doesn't cheer. It bothers him that she doesn't even look up from her book when he's at play.
Stupid Sybil and her stupid books. What is she filling her head with this time?
At the garden party she was reading a newspaper—a newspaper! He overheard her little blonde friend ask her why in heavens name she was reading that?
"Why not?" had been her response. "Aren't you curious about what goes on in the world? About what's happening in London?"
She didn't mean the latest gossip. Or what fashions were popular. No, it's much, much worse than that.
Politics.
Larry makes a face at the thought.
Politics! Why on earth is a fourteen-year-old girl interesting in politics? It's not like she can vote or hold office! It's pointless and stupid and for some reason, it really, really bothers him.
A woman's duty is to the comfort of her husband, he thinks. No wife of mine will waste her time on such nonsense.
He frowns; both at the idea of his future bride reading a newspaper…and the idea that this thought always seems to pop up whenever he thinks about Sybil.
She's still spotty. And chubby. And her skin is far too tan. She really shouldn't be allowed to spend so much time outdoors.
He glances again at her friend and sighs. Why can't Sybil be more like—oh God, what's her name again?
Why can't Sybil be more like his little shadow?
…And why can't his little shadow be more like Sybil?