Cathy's eyes widened, her cheeks expanding to a smile. She had never even brought a friend home in her time at the Becks, let alone been asked on dates. A jolly night we made of it, as you may suppose; for four such monarchs don't often come together. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. He suggested they take the remains of the household to his country estate, where he could at least hunt through the winter to provide them venison and grouse. He would pursue that little pastime on some other occasion. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. Marvel, in a tone intended to be consolatory. Or run me through.
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