Page 51 of Duchess Material

“Why don’t you girls go shop for whatever you want, and I’ll go look around? Range. Text me when you want to meet up.”

“Winston, you don’t have to—”

“No one is making me swipe a card but let me spoil you. Forgive me.”

“Okay, okay. Where are you going?”

“Probably to look at shoes,” Winston replied. “Daps.”

“Oh, please don’t call them daps. So, cringe.”

He departed.

Francie shook her head. “God, let him pay already. He wants to spoil you and isn’t at a loss for cash. Let him have this, alright?”

“I hate it.”

“Look, if I had a boyfriend like Tim or Winston who wanted to shower me with gifts, I’d just let it happen.”

“Don’t use it as a free-for-all,” Lucy said. “You have to carry it all home.”

“I was thinking of getting a couple small, nice things, alright? Gloves maybe. I need some new gloves.”

They girls proceeded over to the gloves and hats, looking at calfskin this or that. Meanwhile, they received shit service. Lucy wanted to try on a lovely red pair, but the shop girls were unresponsive. She then discovered why they were being ignored. As if the city were not big enough for the two of them, she looked over to see none other than Patrick and George at the counter on the other side.

“Bloody hell,” Lucy murmured.

“What? Are we doing that now?” her sister took the piss.

“Yes, we are. Shit. Look away, sneak away!”

“What? Wait, isn’t that Prince George?” Francie said too loudly.

“Yes, and…”

George looked over and spotted Lucy. Their eyes met and she tried to communicate he should leave her alone. Patrick waved.

“Say nothing. Let me do all the talking,” Lucy said.

They approached.

“Oh, it’s Lucy Chandler! Lucy, how the hell are you?” Patrick asked as if they were old friends.

“We’re good. Trying to buy gloves,” Lucy said casually.

“Good, good. Same. Someone is still unprepared for a midwestern winter.” Patrick glared playfully at George. They were adorable as ever.

“Dreadful. Fancy seeing you here, Luce?”

“I’m home for Thanksgiving. Out shopping with my sister. Francine, this is George. George, Francine.”

“Do I bow?” Francie whispered.

George shook his head. “No.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Francine,” Patrick said.

A shop girl arrived. “Can I help you?”

---