“Lady, where are you wintering this year?” asked Lady Anne’s iridescent-armoured beau.
“Burlingham. As usual,” she answered, a little bit haughty.
“But, Lady, you know who’ll be there.”
She turned a scornful look on him.
“Lady, he wears black and has horns. You cannot allow him access. He’ll eat you.”
She tutted. “I do declare, you are quite the coward to be so intimidated.”
“You think by wearing the bishop’s red you’ll be safe?”
She sighed and turned her back on him. Every autumn they had this same argument, but she’d overwinter nowhere other than Burlingham’s Insect Hotel.