Her Butler, Intent Part Four
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And that’s how you’d ended up traipsing about the damned docks of London in the middle of the night, the foul stench of chamber pots thrown from windows upon the streets below and rotting manure caking the cobblestones permeating the air.
Still you wore the deep cobalt dress that you’d chosen earlier, the fabric held high above you waist as you stepped carefully through the soiled, shadowed streets, the fabric now barely obscuring your bloomers from view; though that little fact was something that hardly bothered you. Felix had tried to convince you to wear something a little more practical for what the both of you could only assume was to be a slaughter at your hands, but you had declined, stating that enough time had been wasted as it was.
Which left you as the sole being to ensure that it didn’t become yet another ruined piece from your wardrobe.