Talk Sweetly to Me

“Rosie?” He blinked, looking around the room in confusion. “What is going on? Where’s Patricia?”

Rose let go of Stephen’s hand and sprang to her feet, uttering a little cry of joy. “Isaac! You’re back. Oh, you’re back. Patricia had the baby—”

“What?”

“And she’s well—and he is well—you must come see them now.”

“Wait,” her father was saying. “We’re not done here. I haven’t agreed yet.”

“Papa,” Rose said, “don’t let him fool you. He’s a rogue and an outrage.” She winked at her father. “And once you know him, you’ll like him very well. I promise.”

Stephen met her gaze, and then, ever so slowly, he smiled. “Ah,” he said with a shake of his head. “I love it when you talk sweetly to me.”

Epilogue

December, 1882

Dear Man,

I do not wish to know what the average man wants in a woman; I wish to know what you want in a woman. Tell me, how is a woman like me ever to attract you?

—Blushing in Bedford

Dear Blushing,

Over the years of my writing this column, I have received literally thousands of letters asking this question. Until now, I have never answered.

I don’t ask for much in a woman. I like mathematics, astronomy, and women who can multiply nine-digit numbers in their heads. The difficult part was convincing her to like me back.

You had all better wish her luck. I think she’ll need it.

Sincerely hers,

Stephen Shaughnessy

Committed Man