It is wrong for her to call her cousin a fat-headed ignorant son of a puss-filled weasel. —Princess Christian of Sonderburg-Beck’s Guide for Her Daughter’s Illumination and Betterment Leo’s shoulder was on fire, his chest ached, and his head felt hot, all of which contributed to the general horrible nature of the day. He’d had no luck finding a hotel suitable for a gentlewoman, and his only relation who had a house in town had let it for the spring and summer and was off enjoying himself in sunnier climes. Leo climbed back into the hired hack, wanting nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed for a year or two, but his ears still rang with the words that his landlady had hurled at him. “I run a decent house, I do! Have yer hussies out by teatime, or ye can find yerself new rooms!” He had to find somewhere Dagmar and her maid could stay, and he had to find it soon. “Where to now?” the carriage driver asked as he hauled his aching body into the carriage.
