Breakfast with the Lady:

      Forks clinked against plates. Other than that it was silent.
      The morning was bright and stifling. Cecilia waited in agony for her mother to speak. She knew she would. It was all a matter of when. You see, there had been a ball last night.
      And Cecilia had danced.
      With a gentleman.
      The clinking lessened. She looked up. Her mother was dabbing a napkin at the sides of her mouth. Mamma looked back down at her plate. She scooped up another bite. And then--casually, as if she was stating a common know fact, she asked a question. "How is Mr. Bradley?"
      Back to eating her sausage.
      Cecilia hid a smirk. "I hardly know." She was teasing, but her mother didn't know.
      A fork was dropped loudly on the table, Mamma couldn't contain herself any longer. "You hardly know?! You danced with him did you not?! Then, pray, what, in the name of heaven, did you talk about?"
      Cecilia shrugged--a highly unladylike thing to do-- and said in between sips of tea, "The weather, among other things; the refreshments, his fiancee...."
      Mamma pursed her lips and gave a little snort. "Well, we shall just have to try harder next time."
      Next time. Cecilia inwardly cringed.
      It was always like this; Mamma picked the boys, Cecilia gave her best effort--that is her best effort to deter them. But there was to be no avoiding it. They had received another invitation--another of the perks of the London Season. Another ball.
    At least she wouldn't be left completely destitute.
    Thomas would be attending. He at least wasn't a threat like the others.
    He was just Thomas. And she liked it that way.


    Just Thomas.