Barring the few days of uncertainty before Elsie had arrived back in one piece from the Santa Antonina, everything had been going well. Perfectly, actually. Everything was finally falling into place: Elsie’s mother had approved - and maybe even liked him a little (or was at least happy enough if Elsie was happy, whatever she thought of him) - so for the last month or two they had finally been able to call themselves courting.
Pleased with Elsie’s plans for the future as she was, Mrs. Beauregard was far less likely to approve of their plans tonight. But he and Elsie had been managing this even before she’d known a thing about it, and it seemed a shame to have to forgo their occasional secret rendez-vous just because they were courting properly. Calling on her at her house to say happy birthday was not quite the same.
And besides the rest of the night, Tybalt was rather proud of himself already, because after countless years of getting homemade birthday treats from Elsie, he had actually managed to return the favour, and had baked something for her himself. With his own two hands! It had taken more practice attempts than anticipated and the recipe for a very simple lemon cake was the only one he’d been able to make sense of in the end, and there was a slight crack running down the top of it, but a cake was a cake. (He’d set it on his desk and covered it carefully with a cloth, too afraid to ruin it by sending it.)
He turned towards his door with a beam when it opened, but the look on Elsie’s face was so far from anything Tyb could have predicted that for a moment he just teetered on the spot, wide-eyed and horrified.
“What’s happened?” Tyb breathed out, darting over and slinging his arms around her in dismay, hoping that he wasn’t responsible for her tears in some way. “Els, what’s wrong?”
Pleased with Elsie’s plans for the future as she was, Mrs. Beauregard was far less likely to approve of their plans tonight. But he and Elsie had been managing this even before she’d known a thing about it, and it seemed a shame to have to forgo their occasional secret rendez-vous just because they were courting properly. Calling on her at her house to say happy birthday was not quite the same.
And besides the rest of the night, Tybalt was rather proud of himself already, because after countless years of getting homemade birthday treats from Elsie, he had actually managed to return the favour, and had baked something for her himself. With his own two hands! It had taken more practice attempts than anticipated and the recipe for a very simple lemon cake was the only one he’d been able to make sense of in the end, and there was a slight crack running down the top of it, but a cake was a cake. (He’d set it on his desk and covered it carefully with a cloth, too afraid to ruin it by sending it.)
He turned towards his door with a beam when it opened, but the look on Elsie’s face was so far from anything Tyb could have predicted that for a moment he just teetered on the spot, wide-eyed and horrified.
“What’s happened?” Tyb breathed out, darting over and slinging his arms around her in dismay, hoping that he wasn’t responsible for her tears in some way. “Els, what’s wrong?”
