kingdomsofrain | tfln open post

No one would care if Johanna took a spill; recall, so few care about the wellbeing of the 'help'. And that excuse would work only once. As for the other excuse, it would require opening my husband up to criticism, which I - steadfastly, you recall - refuse to do.

Nevermind that no one would believe Wallace is ill.

But please, do continue these communications. In the interim, I will have plenty of time to think of ways to make amends for causing you to - 'languish'.

Perhaps Johanna's a clumsy girl. And even if none of THEM care about her, they know you carry a soft heart. Borne out of country air, perhaps.

...You make a valid point regarding Wallace. You're determined to make this difficult, aren't you?

Wicked girl, toying with your husbands affections.

Not difficult. You know how I am so terribly inclined towards schemes.

I could simply tell them why I am suddenly required at home, each time I AM required at home? Honesty is an admirable quality in a woman, I hear.

[...]

I think the 'wickedness' is a result of the country air, not the soft heart.

Some of us may find it admirable. I doubt any of your companions are among them.

Besides, I doubt they'd credit your confession. It's a vast jump from 'never fucks nor looks at his wife' to 'frequently requests her artful attentions.'

Oh? And what wickedness does country air instill in such an agreeable woman as yourself?

As often as you bandy about the word 'wicked' when describing me, I'm almost offended you felt the need to ask.

However, as I am so agreeable, I will be sure to be thorough enough in demonstration of said wickedness that you need never ask again. Save to refresh your memory, of course.

But. I suppose you're correct about the 'confession'. You should look at me more often in public; perhaps I could then begin employing the excuse that my husband is languishing without my attention.

Or you could accompany me on these outings and find opportunity to -

Hm.

Please. I don't believe I've plumbed the depths of your wickedness. Sensed it, maybe. Seen it? Doubtful.

If you'd care to offer up those dredges, I wouldn't turn away. You might even receive my utmost appreciation, and some small token of my gratitude.

Take care what you suggest; I think we both know you'd soon regret my company. Though that might solve the problem of your being called away so frequently. Once they know you're sure to come trailing your wretched brute, they'll think twice about inviting you in.

Something to discuss in depth in an hour, when I may reasonably say that I am fatigued and must take my leave, as my alternative excuse would be dismissed as prevarication.

I think you ought to reconsider this belief of yours that I would tired of your company or affections. You would be surprised how much I desire.

And anyhow - I far prefer the company of my wretched brute to the inevitable encounter with Bernadette and Madeleine, who appear to have become fast friends. Madeleine must have sensed her own impending downfall.

Ah. Speaking of people who interest me not at all: I've solved the mystery of the Banana Man. Or, at least, why he wished to regale me with stories of bananas whenever he saw me.

A whole hour? I'll see what I can do to change that.

We can't very well fuck in public, Katrina. Or did you have more subtle expressions of desire in mind?

In any case, you know I don't care for spending my time in the company of lackwits. Or sunlight. Nor am I inclined to keep my vexation to myself.

That Madeleine's managed to wrap Bernadette in her snares is... What's the word for it? Horrific?

...I'm sure I don't care a damn what the Banana Man is or isn't about. But if you'd care to share, I might be capable of listening.

Now, Treavor, I'm sure you possess more imagination than merely stopping your train of thought at 'in public'.

Or you can trust in mine, I suppose. Uncouth farm girl that I am.

Heer Hennessy was laboring under the impression that he required my approval to court Johanna, and was attempting to give me his qualifications.

Yes, yes, I was wrong in supposing the attraction was one-sided.

I told him Johanna is of age and perfectly capable of making her own decisions. I suspect in seven or eight months' time, I shall require a new ladies' maid.

But there we have it. Johanna Banana.

Do you plan on ducking into an abandoned butcher's shop? Or perhaps some not-quite-out-of-the-way closet at the next party. Somewhere we might just chance to be discovered. Thrill of the risk, etc.

You're to have a banana in the family. Wonderful. I suppose this means I won't need to challenge Hennessy to a duel over my wife's honor. That's one weight off my mind.

It also explains why he's been trying to winnow an invitation to our home for weeks now.

I don't care for the idea of another new face in the house. At least Johanna has been reasonably... discreet.

Johanna Banana.

Banana.

Johanna.

The bedroom will become a tiresome venue, don't you think? Another year, another ten years, those not-quite-out-of-the-way closets will begin to look very inviting.

Yes. Thrill of the risk.

[...]

Would you really have challenged him to a duel? You don't seem the type.

WE are to have a banana in the family.

You are mine, and I am yours. Family, that is.

We, then. You can hardly fault me for wishing to distance myself from these walking bananas.

Suppose they reproduce. There'll be bananas for ages, Katrina. The whole of Manhattan drowned out in fruit.

And you've given your blessing. I hope you're proud of the future that awaits.

[ ... ]

Are you suggesting that those closets aren't already inviting? Were my wife to draw me in at, say, the Boyles' upcoming soirée, I wouldn't bat an eye.

I may have challenged him to a duel. I never said I'd uphold my end of the dispute.

As if I'd trust myself with any pistol. Lord.

You are inviting. The closet is a matter of location only. And I shall bear in mind that there will be no objections.

Yes, yes, Manhattan will drown in fruit. I've told you before, Van Tassels breed like rabbits. Most of them, anyhow. You had best resign yourself to our dear cousin filling the ranks of the social elite with bouncing baby bananas.

[...]

Please - refrain from challenging anyone to a duel if you don't mean to meet them on the field of honor. That has legal consequences in New York.

If you wish for satisfaction, I suppose I might manage the situation on your behalf. Mother did teach me to use Papa's pistols...

None whatsoever.

Mm. A closet or one of the illustrious hosts' rooms. Whichever you might fancy.

...I suppose the bananas can't be much worse than Manhattan's current assembly of garbage. As long as we're never obliged to spend time lost among bananas, they may do as they like.

Please. We both know I don't belong on any field of honor. And happily, it seems there's been no reason to take offense.

Still. Well done, Annaliese. Well done, Katrina. Is there anything you can't do?

It does seem as though it becomes an act of revenge when one engages in relations with one's wife in the bed of a past paramour.

Lucky for you, I have heard the word 'hogs' come out of her mouth just enough that revenge has its appeal.

[...]

Please promise not to challenge anyone. I mean it in earnest: I will manage such affairs for you.

[ He was very close to snapping back with something defensive. Anticipated rebuff and was ready to—

Well. It hardly matters now.

Wicked girl, indeed. ]

I believe love and revenge may walk hand-in-hand. Particularly if the act (in its vengeance as well as its climax) proves satisfactory for both parties.

Trust me, wife; I'll make certain you're not left wanting.

[ ... ]

You would really take up a pistol? You do have more of the temperament.

[ He might be. Sending a text to Venetia right now. A text that might read 'Kindly inform my wife that she is required at home. I'm not speaking to her myself, minx that she is, but she has duties to attend to.' ]

You haven't left me wanting thus far. For the most.

Yes, of course I would -

...What on earth did you say to Venetia? She's gone white as a sheet.

[...]

Oh, I have 'duties to attend to', have I? And what would those be? Or are you not speaking to me any longer?

[ Is he sending Venetia a follow-up text yes he is and yes it reads 'Don't let her argue her way out of it. She KNOWS what she's done, and she knows it must be mended. No, it can't wait for tomorrow. No, it can't wait for another hour. And please, Ms. Mercer. Consider that if I don't see her within the half hour, I'll know who to blame.' ]

I'm not sure. Perhaps we haven't been speaking at all. Perhaps it's Johanna who's been speaking to you all this time, while your husband stews over some mess you've created. Probably borrowed a book and failed to return it. Or left some mess that her serving girl's incapable of addressing. Johanna isn't much for neatness, after all. And I am dreadfully particular.

Perhaps your husband's growing weary of waiting for you. Perhaps he longs to see your face and brush a kiss against your cheek.

Perhaps your company has been withheld for long enough.

'For the most'? Then I'll need to work at perfecting my own approach.

'I'll know who to blame'...???

If you drive this poor girl to tears, I will be obliged to remain and comfort her until she stems their flow.

At the moment, staying is the last thing I care to do. I find myself desperate to make my way home.

[...]

After all. We both are in need of seeking perfection.

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