As I said, you have mistaken me for another. London is full of drab little peahens, sir. Now, then, I’m leaving,” she said in a huff.<br /><br />“To change?” he asked, unable to stop from goading her.<br /><br />“To write a poem for my toast,” she snapped. “And you may suffer, for I will not help you with yours.”<br /><br />“No need, darling,” Matthew drawled, his words intending to push her away.<br />“I doubt you know a suitable word that will rhyme with fuck. ”<br /><br />“Stuck,” she said, turning to face him. “For two days, my lord. We are stuck with one another. Let us make the best of it.”<br /><br />“And how do you propose we do that?”<br /><br />“By giving each other wide berth. We will not stand together, we will not talk to one another and we will most certainly not look at one another.”<br /><br />“No problem from this quarter.”<br /><br />“Good. You may be assured that it will be no difficulty for me, either.”<br /><br />-Matthew and Jane