Chelsie Drabble
Title: Coming to Terms
Rated: T
(300) word Chelsie drabble, part of a post-nuptials series I was thinking of writing but, of course, I have no time for such a thing...
“Mrs Carson...”
The name did evoke emotion and passion.
I’d learnt the title attached to it was not one simply put there as a sign of respect.
Soon after the wedding, I’d dropped into the bank to withdraw a small amount of money to purchase a gift for Charlie, only to have the manager inform me he’d taken the liberty of closing my account and transferring my savings into one administered by my husband.
“You can rely on a man now, Mrs Carson,” he’d said after pointing out the account’s meagre balance.
“I should have told him I spent it on toilet water and lisle stockings,” I told Charlie later, who only distractingly thanked me for his new fob watch chain.
I’d discovered delivery boys insisted they needed more than a signature from Mrs Carson, and tradesmen wanted to check with the ‘man of the house' before carrying out work requested by Mrs Carson.
And my temper still flared when I thought about Mr Murray acting as our property conveyancer. He’d only agreed to sign off on the purchase of our cottage once my name was removed from the deeds.
“Mrs Hughes is redundant,” he’d said. “And Mrs Carson’s inclusion on the papers is unnecessary.”
I wasn’t sure how Charlie would respond, but I was vehemently proud when he did not laugh nor bring up the futility of women’s rights. Instead he’d suggested his last will and testament be updated to make Mrs Carson a full beneficiary, rendering me incapable of protesting further.
“Mrs Carson?” Charlie’s deep tone, repeating the name again, brought me back to the here and now.
One of his hands was on my hip, the back of the other brushed along my cheek.
Yes, luckily, not all the emotion or passion the name evoked was disagreeable.
Rated: T
(300) word Chelsie drabble, part of a post-nuptials series I was thinking of writing but, of course, I have no time for such a thing...
“Mrs Carson...”
The name did evoke emotion and passion.
I’d learnt the title attached to it was not one simply put there as a sign of respect.
Soon after the wedding, I’d dropped into the bank to withdraw a small amount of money to purchase a gift for Charlie, only to have the manager inform me he’d taken the liberty of closing my account and transferring my savings into one administered by my husband.
“You can rely on a man now, Mrs Carson,” he’d said after pointing out the account’s meagre balance.
“I should have told him I spent it on toilet water and lisle stockings,” I told Charlie later, who only distractingly thanked me for his new fob watch chain.
I’d discovered delivery boys insisted they needed more than a signature from Mrs Carson, and tradesmen wanted to check with the ‘man of the house' before carrying out work requested by Mrs Carson.
And my temper still flared when I thought about Mr Murray acting as our property conveyancer. He’d only agreed to sign off on the purchase of our cottage once my name was removed from the deeds.
“Mrs Hughes is redundant,” he’d said. “And Mrs Carson’s inclusion on the papers is unnecessary.”
I wasn’t sure how Charlie would respond, but I was vehemently proud when he did not laugh nor bring up the futility of women’s rights. Instead he’d suggested his last will and testament be updated to make Mrs Carson a full beneficiary, rendering me incapable of protesting further.
“Mrs Carson?” Charlie’s deep tone, repeating the name again, brought me back to the here and now.
One of his hands was on my hip, the back of the other brushed along my cheek.
Yes, luckily, not all the emotion or passion the name evoked was disagreeable.