Fury stared at the rain gleaming down the uneven glass of the café window, obscuring almost all of the bustling harbor front. Not that she was able to take in much of her surroundings. It had taken Lady Margaret less than a minute to recommence berating her. The instant they sat down in fact. Something about a delay finding a porter.
"Of course, it is all my fault, Mama."
After all, they'd traveled for over five months together across France. Most things were.
A wonder though Lady Margaret hadn't just on-boarded the bags herself, the rest of the Julie-Anne's supplies too, then piloted the vessel across the sea to Dover, fanning it there with her large black ostrich feather fan. Nothing to a woman of her sterling capabilities.
"Did I say that?"
"A first, then," Fury murmured to herself, smoothing a tendril of damp hair back from her forehead.
"You said something?"
"No, dearest Mama. Certainly nothing of interest."