It’s Friday, my stomach is being strange, I’m humming “When I Grow Up” from Matilda the Musical, I want to curl up and continue on with Birdsong (I’m at the beginning of the Battle of the Somme), but I want to write a little more.
So that’s me.
My WIP’s current stats:
Words: 67, 526
This is a scene from my WIP. This is from page 30:
In their bedroom, Miles stripped off his riding coat and waistcoat. Delphine perched on the bed.
“So, everything in order?”
He went into the dressing room, opening a wardrobe. “‘Twas.” He selected a new waistcoat and slipped it on.
“There was a note from Taylor delivered around two-thirty.”
Miles paused in his perusal of his wardrobe. His chest felt a little tight. “Do you have it?”
“Here,” Delphine said, standing and walking to him, holding out a square of paper. Miles asked Delphine to retrieve his discarded coat, which she did. Miles found his penknife in an inner pocket and slashed through the seal. Delphine stepped into the dressing room with him and hung the coat on the clotheshorse, hands spread over the material, waiting.
Miles read the note aloud: “‘My overseer came to me this morning with news that Lamia has run. I expect that you will do your utmost to find her, but in the event that tracing Lamia becomes impossible, I will withdraw my request to manumit her. I would certainly appreciate the time to converse with you about Lamia and my son. Yours, Taylor.'”
Delphine exhaled in a whoosh. “Well, he hasn’t demanded a duel then.”
He flicked his eyes to his wife’s face. “Oh, Del. You didn’t actually expect him to?”
“Wasn’t sure what to think,” she said, lifting her hands away from his coat, leaning against the tub. “You white men and your bloody duels and your uptight sense of honor.” As if owning a hundred captive humans was honorable, Miles could hear Delphine finish her thought.
“Sweetheart,” Miles said. He went to his wife, embraced her. “Suppose I’ll write him, see him tomorrow, if he’s amenable.”
“But you haven’t done anything to track her, have you?”
“I’ll speak to Fraser about that,” Miles muttered. Delphine’s head was under his chin. “Pearl did your hair today?”
A tiny puff of air from her mouth blew across his neck. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s true. Now, do I stink of horse?”
“Yet you’re not complaining.”
“I wanted to be sure you weren’t going to be dying by duel in the immediate future.” She pulled away. “And now that I’m reasonably assured of that, I’ll ring for washing water.”