A Chance Meeting

[Michael Fitzlacy]

Michael knew he needed to pick up some change of owner papers from the former owner's solicitor. Then the ship would be complexly his, and he could take in any gains--or loss--that the ship had upon its return to England in a few weeks. He wanted it done sooner, rather than later, in case the ship had an early return. Then the former owner--a Mr. Bixley--might try to claim the riches, and forget his honor.

Michael was not sure if that is what people did, but he was not going to let chance bet him on an investment. The math was sound with this one.

Walking into the offices, Michael paused to look around and decide where it was best to approach to pick up his papers. Seeing a woman--a very beautiful one--he found himself smiling as he approached. "Pardon, I am here seeking Mr. Bixley's solicitor. Might I assume this is the right address?" He knew it was but it was best to be polite about it.

^{Aurelia Thorne}

[Aurelia Thorne]

[nospaces]

the
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widow

the
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secratary

TEXT

black widow

Today was the first day Aurelia came out of mourning, donning a blue gown, low cut but no scandalously so -- yet, and her hair done with extra care. While she liked the way black coloured garments accented her figure and made her look rather slim, she was most looking forward to setting this chapter behind her. Her late husband was a popular man, especially among the ton. He therefore, had many visitors coming to pay their respects which meant . . . Aurelia was under particular strain with the amount of tears she forced from her ducts. It was exhausting, and yet necessary.
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After all, she couldn't complain about everything. Her husband's trade afforded her access to rather useful information. It was true that she had mountains upon mountains of paper work to sort through, ending all his accounts with others. It only strengthened her ambition to escape this daunting life of servitude: a slave to paperwork. And, she would be no one's -- no man's -- slave. An approaching figure prompted her to lift her eyes, as they rest upon him. She had meticulously studied each of his clients and had one clear in mind . . . but there was no picture to the name. She therefore, had to go by names.
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"You are correct," she told him. Men often enjoyed being told they were right. Arrogant fools. "May I ask your name, Sir?" She inquired, her tone matching her expression that held a somber appearance. Despite her out of mourning, she still could not seem over eager. The widow was not a role she could so quickly escape. Not until she solidified her title as wife once more. [break][break]

tag: Michael Fitzlacy --- notes:

MEL @ ADOX

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