Chapter Ten
The Oaf of a Footman
“A woman with time on her hands is a revolution waiting to happen.”—The Librarian
Manifesto the Great stared at his meatloaf.
Normally he would have wondered about a cocktail, something “Mae West like,” maybe even eat his meatloaf in front of one of her films, but not now.
Since his mother died, he had not even removed the cover from his mirror, let alone left his room.
His grief was a deep emptiness that overwhelmed him and held him prisoner.
He poked his meatloaf, not even noticing the cheese bubbling on the top.
His relationship with his mother had been fraught with many feelings. There were words he regretted, huffs he wished he could take back, and as he had no offspring, he had no idea the depth of forgiveness a parent could feel.
His footman
