This week’s word prompt for Tuesday Tales is Fudge. Since I am writing a Regency era story and the confection of fudge wasn’t created until 1895, I thought I’d use the 1766 definition that means nonsense or lies and was used by sailors. I have the heroine’s mother using it when she’s telling her daughter not to be embarrassed by an event of the prior day.
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Honora slipped out of bed and into her old riding gown from the prior day. She was sure Lord Cavanaugh wasn’t going to be joining her after all. When Charlotte entered the stables yesterday, he’d been being so kind and trying to cheer Honora up, but as soon as her sister showed up, he ignored the conversation they’d been having.
In fact, he tried to cover up what they planned this morning by telling Charlotte he’d planned the noon meal today out by the pond. It hurt Honora that he couldn’t tell Charlotte they’d arranged to ride together. Rejection again just when I thought he might actually be a nice man who wanted to see how I handled Aloysius.
Charlotte insisted she’d been sent by his mother to beseech him to return to his guests.
She recalled James did ask her to come with him and her sister, but it was too soon for her. Not ready to face the others, she’d made excuses to stay with the horse and later made her way back to the house, carefully skirting around the field where the fete was being held.
Once in her room, she rang for Mary and had her assist in readying her for bed. Feigning illness, she asked the girl to let her mother know she wasn’t going down for the evening.
Of course, her mother didn’t like that.
As she tucked her hair under her cap, she relived the conversation.
“You must come down, Honora. People will think you’re not a good sport. They weren’t laughing at you, they were laughing at Charlotte for thinking her C was a J. It’s all a game anyway. No one believes that nonsense is real.”
“They were not laughing at Charlotte, Mama. I can’t understand why you and Father think I have any role at all in society. I’m always the butt of the joke. Charlotte always comes out ahead. It’s the way things are. I can accept that. Why can’t you?”
Tears rushed to her eyes as she recalled her own words. They hurt to even think them and it pained her more to have to say them out loud to her own mother. Why can’t she understand how I feel?
Her mother brushed aside Honora’s comments as if they meant nothing. “Fudge. I’m sending Mary in to dress you and you will come down.” Mama stood and brushed her skirts smooth. “I mean it, Honora Jane Marlowe. It’ll only be worse tomorrow if you don’t face it today.”
