Wilma’s heart raced as she hurried to catch up. “Master. You’re back, and this lady is?”
Tyrone kept walking without stopping, heading straight ahead: “My woman, don’t worry about it and go on down.”
Wilma caught up again: “Madam has already gone to bed, should I…?”
“No, don’t let her disturb us.”
Right now, Tyrone didn't want to see Cecilia. If he had to see her, it could wait till tomorrow. He didn’t want anything delaying his “feast.”
Wilma watched as Tyrone carried Quintessa upstairs, sighing to herself. Young people were so passionate, burning the midnight oil like this.
Quintessa’s head spun from being jostled, she said, “Tyrone, put me down first. Can’t we have a proper conversation?”
Tyrone nodded, very seriously: “You’re right, what can’t be conversed in bed?”
Wilma blushed at overhearing this. The young master could actually say such things. Oh, the openness of youth.
Tyrone kicked open his bedroom door, carrying Quintessa inside.
After hesitating for a good ten minute downstairs, Wilma finally decided to dash upstairs.
She had been working for the York family for years, and it was the first time she saw the young master bring a woman home. Such explosive news, if she didn’t tell Madam, she’d definitely be blamed tomorrow!
Wilma ran to Cecilia’s bedroom door and knocked a few times. No response—she must be asleep, so Wilma knocked harder.
Eventually, the door opened, revealing Cecilia, with a mask on her face, appeared before Wilma.
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