*Rated 12 for some brief language
Transylvania
“My dear,” Lady Basil said, peering over the top of her husband’s paper, “did you see the want ads?”
“No,” he replied shortly, not looking up at her.
“I think you should look at them.”
“Why? Are we in it?”
“No silly. There’s an ad I’d like to apply for.”
He deigned to glance up at her then, faint annoyance evident on his face. “What’s it for? Someone needs a woman who can chatter their ears off?”
“Foreign students!” she said, ignoring her husband’s biting comment. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
“No.” Lord Basil resumed his perusal of the paper.
“I think it would.” Lady Basil was quite adept at prattling on whether anyone was listening or not. “It’s been far too long since we've had young blood here.”
“Need I remind you what happened the last time we had young people here?” Lord Basil folded his paper down to peer at her.
Pleased that her husband was now paying more attention to her, Lady Basil merely shrugged.
“Their corpses are currently rotting in the grave,” he continued.
Lady Basil tittered, setting her husband’s teeth on edge. “Oh, posh! We’ve still seen them roaming about sometimes.”
“As rotting corpses.”
“Either way,” Lady Basil said, not to be strayed off course, “you said whatever I’d like to do this winter, I could.”
“I did no such thing,” Lord Basil said, appalled.
“You did so. Need I call Hetty in to affirm it?”
“Bloody hell,” Lord Basil replied.
Satisfied, Lady Basil continued. “You said it last Christmas, when I went through the droll-dumbs.”
“That’s 'doldrums',” her husband corrected her.
“And I was so terribly bored that winter," she continued unheedingly, "and quite down, so you said that next winter, which is this one, whatever I wanted to do for the season, I could.”
Lord Basil tried to think back that far. “I was probably drunk,” he replied. “You should never take anything I say when I'm drunk seriously.”
“But darling,” his wife said, starting to pout. “I would so dearly love to have younglings here.”
“Eleanor, I've put up with a lot of your ideas. The hunts, the balls, the pet rats—”
“Oh yes! They were such dears!”
“—and I've borne them all very well, I'd say. But this is really too much.”
Lady Basil bent down so that her dark eyes were trained intently on his face. “My lord, this is all I want this year. I promise, it won't be a bit of trouble and I'll keep them out of your way the whole time.”
Lord Basil sighed, but his wife knew he was weakening. “How long do they stay?” he finally asked in a philosophical manner.
“Oh, not that long,” she replied cheerily. “Four to six weeks, at most.”
“That's a month and a half!” he cried.
“What's a mere month to someone with all the time of the world left to live?” she said flippantly, trotting out of the room. “They'll be gone before you know it.”
Lord Basil waited until she was completely gone before muttering darkly, “They'd better be, if they know what's good for them.” He gave one more resigned sigh, then resumed his reading.
