London 1987, Duke of Wellington mansion
The Duchess of Wellington, entered the mansion looking so exhausted severely in need of rest.
She located her husband in the visitor's lounge reclined to an armchair a goblet perched as usual in between his fingers...
She was beyond galled with his newfound habit and had cautioned him severally which he pretended to concur to but manage to sneak in a bottle whenever she steps out of the house.
“Bryon why don't you ever listen” she berated him catching him off guard as he hustled to hide the glass away from her.
“You are already discovered so no need for all that childish concealment” she forged in her thick Scottish accent.
Bryon snickered setting the glass back on the table
“Pardon your old wig, my dear wife...A man once in a while will need
