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 The tail end of Brittany’s little scene with Sir Francis Dashwood which takes place just after she finds out, not just  how to get home to her own time, but to finally stay there too. Oh, and her feet just happen to be killing her

“Anyway, whatever is said of us, we’re not as bad as all that.” Sir Francis’s muddy brown eyes held a slimy twinkle. “Just different. There’s one shoe on. Let’s get the other one for you.”


“You know Mitchell thought you had come to us?”

“What? When?”

“Recently. He seemed to have trouble finding you.” He lifted her other foot. “Do you know he virtually accused me of stealing you?”

“Real—? Well.” She cleared her throat. “He was probably just . . . desperate. I left him a note because I was in such a hurry, but obviously it never reached him. The servants Christian sent are so unreliable.”


“Lazy, lying, conniving. What? You didn’t know she sent them to spy and report on everything we do, to her? They probably hid that note on purpose from him. She had to know though. She went and arranged this whole evening the second I was gone, in the hope I wouldn’t be here and Mitchell would be left high and dry. You have no idea of the spite of that creature.”

“Hmm. Well, I daresay it’s something we’re all capable of.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, didn’t I, that he used to come to our humble, little meetings?”

“I’m sure they’re anything but humble.”

“Well . . . Anyway but then he stopped. Maybe, you’ll be the one to bring him back?”

She might. But then again she wasn’t staying. She rose above her agony to fix on her warmest, most ingenious smile.

“Who knows what the future holds for any of us, Your Grace.” Unless you were Mort. Then it probably did hold certain non-existence. “But, who is to say indeed?”

“Of course he never really forgave us for Gabriella as such. The fact she preferred others to him. Silly, when he preferred so many to her.”

“You’re not saying that Gabriella pretended all that in order to make him jealous?”

“If she did, she did it well. Nor would you ever call Mitchell the jealous kind. No. That was a forced marriage of the worst kind. Still, why don’t you ask him?”

She offered her most enigmatic stare. “Why don’t you?”

“I would like to, my dear, but Mitchell and I don’t really get along any more, which was why I was so surprised he abased himself by visiting me. Here is your dear husband now. If you don’t mind, I shall make myself scarce.”