Updates and Meet Cutes

 With July now ending, I think it's safe to say I've failed pretty spectacularly at my writing goals for the year. I've decided I'm going to admit that I'm simply a slow writer and stop thinking I can write ALL THE THINGS, because I end up getting so overwhelmed that I write none of the things.

I'm almost done with the rough draft of my 1920s mafia style romance, so I should be digging into editing that soon, but not sure when I'll release it. It's the first book in a planned trilogy, and I don't want to publish it until I'm a good way into the second book because, yeah. Slow. 

I got really muddled on the plot to Match Made in London, but I opened it for the first time in seven months and was like, OH, that's how to fix the plot! Going back through it reminded me how much I like the meet cute, so I thought I'd posted it here.

This is the rough rough draft of chapter three of Match Made in London. [spoilers?]

Ettie was running late, which wasn’t really a surprise. She’d decided to get to the meeting with her inevitable future husband early, but then she’d thought she was doing such a good job of keeping herself together that she wanted to reward herself with a biscuit. She’d tried to eat it with her gloves still on and gotten them dirty, so she’d gone to change them. Then while she’d been changing her gloves, she’d decided to change her bonnet as well.

After the ever increasing series of changes she’d made, she’d left the house far later than intended.

She was meeting her match at a tea salon on Bond Street. The letter from the matchmaking service had specified exactly which table she should go to, and she’d brought the letter with her to double check in case she forgot. Agatha accompanied her to Bond Street, then peeled off to do some shopping while Ettie had her tea. Surely no scandal would break out in a tea salon.

When she arrived, reread the letter, and counted over to the third table on the right, her heart sunk with despair. There was a woman sitting there. Had her match given up on her in disgust? It seemed like a thing someone would do. Maybe the woman who had the table would know what became of him. 

“Excuse me,” Ettie said. 

The woman looked up at her. She was, objectively, gorgeous. Dark brunette hair was framed by a bonnet decorated with yellow flowers. Her white day dress looked crisp and new, and her figure was accentuated by her stays.

“Ah,” Ettie said. “Was there a man sitting here before you?”

“The table was empty when I arrived,” the woman said. “I’m waiting for someone. Someone who’s running late.” The woman frowned and pulled out a pocket watch.

Ettie blinked. The pocket watch was such a masculine accessory that Ettie felt oddly embarrassed. This woman’s time was clearly valuable if she carried such a thing, and here Ettie was trampling her ungainly self into it.

“I’m supposed to be meeting someone at this table, too. I’m afraid I’m running a bit late.”

The woman blinked. “You wouldn’t happen to be meeting someone for a matchmaking service, would you?”

“Indeed. However did you know?”

The woman sighed and pulled a letter out of her pocket. At a glance, Ettie could tell it was identical to her own.

“We’ve been had,” the woman said. 

“Oh. Oh!” Ettie sat down abruptly across from the woman. The service had been recklessly negligent in setting up this match. “Obviously we can’t get married. Not that- under other circumstances- you’re very pretty.” 

The woman raised an eyebrow and Ettie stopped talking, her cheeks burning. The woman pushed the teapot toward Ettie. 

“Faye Sweet,” the woman introduced herself with a wave toward the empty cup by Ettie’s elbow.

“Henrietta Hartfield. You can call me Ettie, everyone does. Well, I tell everyone too, at least.” Tea splashed onto the saucer as Ettie poured it. “My solicitor told me not to file suit to avoid the embarrassment. I wonder if this will change his mind.”

“Likely not. It’ll only make the embarrassment worse.” Faye tapped her chin. “I must admit, I’m not inclined to let them get away with it.”

“They took our money!” Ettie emphasized the point by gesturing with the teapot. A server glared at her and she carefully set it down. “Promises were made.” Promises of not being alone anymore, of a bright new future to help her look forwards instead of aching endlessly for everything she’d lost. Despair threatened to sink her. 

Faye’s hand brushed against her own and Ettie looked up. 

“There are ways to exert pressure on a man outside of the courts,” Faye said. 

Ettie swallowed. “Like by dangling him out of a window?”

Faye’s mouth opened and closed. “What?”

“My friend Nash was telling me about this book he’s reading, and the daring secret heir had to dangle the villainous henchman out a window.”

“I was thinking subtler than that.”

“Oh. Good.” Ettie was relieved. She wasn’t sure she had the upper arm strength required to hold a man over a drop, let alone pull him back up again.

“You must have some money at your disposal if you can hire a solicitor.” Faye didn’t recognize the woman sitting across from her, but she knew the look. Her hair had been set by a lady’s maid, and the bracelet on her wrist looked to be worth a small fortune. Ettie was upper class, at the very least.

“I own an estate and live off the revenue. Plus there’s the lump sum I also inherited. I wasn’t looking to marry for money. I thought, maybe there’s some man who’d like to marry a wealthy heiress.”

There were plenty of men who’d love to marry a wealthy heiress and ascend to the rank of useless gentleman. The matchmaking service should have had an easy time pairing off a woman with such a pedigree. That they hadn’t made it seem that they didn’t even bother to try.

“What were you using the service for?” Ettie asked. “Men must have been tripping over themselves to court you.”

Faye bit back a smile. Men tended to find her intimidating. In all fairness, Faye was prone to glowering at them. “Respectability. I need to marry into the middle class before my looks fade and I can’t make my living whoring any longer.” Faye expected Ettie would bolt after that statement, and good riddance to her. Faye could sort out her own plan for dealing with the service.

Ettie tilted her head. “I don’t think you’re in danger of your looks fading any time soon.”

Faye preened. “I do try to take care to keep out of the sun.” Working at night helped.

“Well, you’re awfully lovely.” Ettie sipped her tea. “Can’t you marry one of your clients? Or are they all married?”

“My clients are all women,” Faye said.

Ettie’s mouth formed an O and she set down her tea, clearly flustered. “I wasn’t aware there were such places.”

“There’s places catering to all sorts of desires. If someone is willing to pay for it, then someone else is surely willing to provide. I specialize in flagellation.”

Ettie’s cheeks went so pink they matched her dress. “I see.”

Faye should have left it alone, but Ettie’s flushed skin was giving her ideas. She slid a hand across the table and deliberately ran her thumb along the side of Ettie’s hand. “Do you have any desires that need catering too?”

“N-no. I’m very well satisfied. That is, I, ah, my reputation. I’m to be married. Eventually.”

“Not every man wants a virgin for a wife. I, personally, prefer a woman with a bit of experience under her chemise.”

Ettie licked her lips. Based on her expression alone, Faye would have bet five pounds on Ettie having some experience. Faye’s curiosity burned, but she tucked it away. For now.

“I think we will make excellent partners in vengeance, Ettie. We should meet again once I’ve had a chance to gather some intelligence on the matter.”

“You called me Ettie!” She smiled with delight.

“You said you prefer for everyone to call you Ettie.”

“Some people get finicky.”

“Some people are rotten knaves.”

“On that, we can agree.” Ettie raised her tea cup as if it were a champagne glass. “A toast, to revenge on rotten knaves.”

“Cheers.”