The cool air of autumn rushed about, whistling through the trees, brush and crevices like a merry child, exploring every nook and cranny along the exposed wall of the clifftop on which the sad-looking couple sat. They weren't your basic idea of a couple, for they were more or less strangers than anyone, having only seen each other about for a few months, rarely engaging in conversation or any other form of intimacy. But there was something between the two, something that, with a simple word, look, or gesture, had bound them in a modest frame of understanding. And they found themselves at last sharing their difficulties one quiet afternoon; the woman with pencil and pad and a sad look in her round eyes and the man with a cigarette between his fingers, his pleasant face careworn and distant.

"It's the only chance we've got," she was saying, her steady hand shading a bit of the sky on her pad. "The family's nearly lost everything and I have to do what I can to keep them afloat." Her companion blew smoke from his nose and, for a moment, she watched the lonely cloud dissipate in the air. She wondered if she could catch his profile in perfect detail. She turned a page on her pad.

"And by keeping them afloat, you mean slaving away for that dreadful woman, Eastbourne," he said in a tone of mixed scolding and sympathy. She snatched at the former.

"Mrs. Eastbourne pays handsomely, Mr. Cartwright. And no, she may not be the most pleasant woman of my acquaintance, but I need and am utterly grateful for the compensation she affords me."

He turned a languid gaze upon her.

"To be called 'a witlessly idiotic waif' in company must be quite natural, if not wholly acceptable, when in employment, then?"

She coloured and pressed down on her pencil. The lead snapped. He reached into his coat and withdrew another.

"Your cause is a noble one, Miss Pearson, and I'll confess you have some grit about you. To bear such insults as gracefully as you have is commendable, but..." he handed her the pencil, "I believe you've gotten more than you bargained for."

"Well, when you've got one sister with a no-good-doer for a husband, and another eager for society, a blind mother and a ruthless aunt willing to pull the house and farm from beneath you," she said with a glare, "what else can one do? I must support the family-it's all I can do!"

Silence ensued for a moment, each individual occupied with their own thoughts.

"Marry me."

"Nonsense."

The man shrugged.

"Perhaps... shall I get down on one knee for a more favourable answer?"

"Absolutely not, Mr. Cartwright! Besides, I have much distaste for such nonsense as romantic proposals. They make me feel queer."

Mr. Cartwright gave a hearty laugh.

"You are an odd one, Miss Pearson, indeed you are! But pray why did I receive your disfavour?"

She looked up from her work, surprised to find him so serious.

"Consider the absurdity of your petition, Mr. Cartwright! We know nothing of one another besides what we've just shared. I'm odd and plain with riotous ties for family and you're respectable, boring, and completely dissatisfied with everything! We'd be horrid!"

"That is true, in one case, but so is the fact that we both wish to please our families to some extent. We are both dissatisfied with life and the people about us... we can help one another."

She set her work aside.

"I'm listening."

Mr. Cartwright interlaced his fingers.

"You mean to take care of your family's financial strain, and I wish to get my parents off my back. Mother has no interest in the common girls of our society, so you'd be a perfect risk."

"Risk?" she said defensively.

He smiled.

"Yes, risk; mother will either welcome you with open arms or insult you to your face and disown me for a son-she's that kind of woman, white or black, with no shades of grey. But if Father and my sister like you, then she's overpowered anyway, so her opinion needn't matter so long as you meet one or the other before meeting the headstrong Lady Cartwright. Honesty is my sister's best policy so we shan't have trouble with her and once she's set her opinion, there's no shaking it."

"And supposing she dislikes me?"

He thought for a minute, then smiled.

"Then we'll take to our heels and introduce you to mother lest she ruin your chances before you even set foot in the door. Or we can hope to meet Father while Mother's out... and pray Lawrence is on duty," he added in a mutter.

"And how shall I benefit from your outrageous scheme?"

"Outrageous and yet you're still listening."

She waved him off.

"Go on, man."

"What else is there to say? You'll be mistress of Cartwright Manor with fine gowns, dinner parties, and your family finances will be taken care of," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Do you doubt my words?" he asked, noticing her frown.

"It isn't that. It just seems a mighty high price to pay for a wife. I have little education or background to offer you, Mr. Cartwright, and my needs weigh more than yours in this situation."

He shrugged, crushing his cigarette and casting it to the wind.

"Perhaps so, but at this point, I am willing to do anything to avoid being the centre of attention at Mother's and aunt's dinner parties unless I deem it fit." He smiled to himself. "I can see my sister's eyes rolling out of her pretty little head on the announcement of a new Lady Cartwright."

"I highly doubt that marrying me will lessen your chances of being the talk of society, sir."

"Also true, but I'd much rather know exactly what everyone's blabbering on about, wouldn't you? At least then I'll have intended to have them talk."

She shook her head as a smile crept over her lips.

He chuckled to himself, then became painfully serious. "Well? Shall we marry, Miss Pearson?"

She thoughtfully clasped and unclasped her hands while he watched the fading sky with indifference.

"You'll positively ease my family's financial strain?" she asked carefully.

"You have my solemn word," he said with a steady gaze.

"All of it?"

He looked surprised. "You think I can't?"

She frowned. "I confess I didn't take you for a man of wealth, Mr. Cartwright. Well off, yes, but rich, positively not."

He laughed outright, not in the least disturbed by her confessed ignorance.

"Well, some of us are modest men, I suppose."

She sighed, then straightened.

"I cannot promise you love, Mr. Cartwright, as I seem to be incapable of it, and so it is my opinion that somewhere along the road you'll find yourself a very unhappy man if we should bind ourselves."

"I doubt I could be more miserable than I have been of late, Miss Pearson.... But perhaps in time you could grow fond of me as I am most certain I can of you. I mean to," he added with a determined air.

She shook her head. "Respect, I've no doubt I can offer and it will be my womanly duty as a wife to see that your needs are met and be a credit to you, but love is a shaky thing, I think, and implore you not to wish it too much from me. I believe myself a heartless creature."

"Life is one of choices and I believe one can choose whom they wish to love. Perhaps you can if you set your mind to it," he said soothingly.

"I will promise no such thing, Mr. Cartwright, and only offer that which I am certain I can give. And in doing so, I accept your proposal, which, in all ways of feeling, appears to be some mad scheme!"

He smiled, then arose from his place on the ground, scanning the distant horizon.

"Well, a scheme it shall be! It is our little scheme and I mean to make a sensation of you, Mrs. Cartwright," and he extended his hand and helped her to the waiting carriage at the foot of the cliff.

~

"Life is so dreadfully predictable!"

This was the cry of Mrs. Eastbourne one tidy autumn afternoon at her handsome estate in Richmond. And indeed she couldn't be farther from the truth. The woman in her company, who frequented Missels to boast of the latest fashions her son-in-law was able to afford her daughter, relished the dissatisfied looks of her hostess thoroughly. She herself had reason to be unhappy as well, but as per usual, she meant to enjoy the complaints of her heavily buxom rival until she thought it fit to disengage her from her current state of mind.

"That girl I've taken on as companion is as high a dunce as I've ever seen and beauty--and I dare say she hasn't much of that to begin with--cannot make up for her shortcomings, which indeed are many!" she said in one breath.

"I thought it was only a fortnight ago you said she was brilliant at running errands and keeping house when Anna is out," said Mary with an all too familiar gleam in her eye. Mrs. Eastbourne pretended not to notice it but fanned herself vigorously.

"Well, that was then, Mary, and really one could expect as much," she added in her defence. "That child has no brains for imagination for all the staring she does outside and the scribbles she makes with her pencil calling it art! But I cannot expect people to be half so sensible as me, especially young girls who really are such fools nowadays."

"Yes, yes, none are quite so sensible as Diana, who's always been rather sharp like her father," said Mary fondly and wholeheartedly, for she truly doubted any girl could be as perfect as her daughter whom she considered the pinnacle of good upbringing. Mrs. Eastbourne waved a dismissive hand.

"Your lot is a rare one, Mary, and you needn't be so modest about it."

"But truly it isn't, Babbs!" cried Mary, wholly unaware that the former had meant to bring her down in pointing out the imperfections and dissatisfaction she experienced in her house. "My boy is awfully stubborn in every aspect of the word! If only he'd be decent and marry! He's high past ten and twenty and is as dissatisfied with life as I and refuses to subject himself to the tortures of marriage as he'd often put it when we discuss the matter--I truly cannot understand him! Even his father, who isn't half as strong as he used to be, wishes for an heir, a grandson to be precise, and that boy of mine can't set his pride aside for the sake of his dying father."

Mrs. Eastbourne shook her grey curls sympathetically.

"Dreadful, dreadful," but really this tone of remorse she directed at the clock on the mantelpiece whose hour hand declared her paid companion, once again, late. She clicked her tongue; Mary considered this an unbecoming habit but willed herself to ignore it for the sake of the sympathy she assumed was felt for her situation.

"Truly, I hope the dinner party will have some excitement about it," said Eastbourne suddenly. "If only someone would be murdered or some young things elope or Mr. Farthing engages himself to that young hussy of a secretary of his for the sake of my amusement, oh! How interesting things would be then!"

"I doubt all your possibilities, Babbs," was Mary's firm reply. "Such things are dreadfully distasteful."

Mrs. Eastbourne shook her head mournfully. "You were never one for imagination, Mary, and I think it is time you went away. I've got a splitting headache coming on, which happens when someone's disagreeable. Wherever is that girl?! Her singing is the only comfort I have in these trying times!"

~

The party went off with a flourish, as was to be expected at Missels, which was the esteemed home of the late Mr. Eastbourne now run solely by his promiscuous wife who had an unusual fancy for animal skin rugs, Egyptian silk and Japanese art. She put more effort into this cheerful party than any other before it and Mary had to acknowledge that old Barbara Eastbourne had indeed become bored with life, meaning to squeeze whatever excitement money could afford out of this expected occasion. Everyone and anyone had been invited and Mary, with an air of well-disguised superiority, looked about distastefully, cleverly avoiding the select few of whom she would not afford a conversation as simple as the weather. She meant to go away early but as her son-in-law's father was a dear friend of the late Mr. Eastbourne, she knew too well he'd be dropping in and she couldn't bear to miss a sight of her beloved Diana on his arm. What a sensation they'd make! She simply had to bear witness to it all!

"Ah, Mary!" cried her hostess gaily, dressed in a deep blue gown that hugged her ample figure in all the right places, her grey head ridiculously adorned with peacock feathers and a sapphire brooch from long ago. "How glad I am you've come," she handed the woman a champagne flute.

"I haven't seen your companion this evening," said Mary, her keen eyes surveying the guests. "Will she not be joining the party?"

"Who can say?" replied Mrs. Eastbourne with a severity betraying her displeasure better than any words could. "She's so absent minded I don't know what to make of her. The servants are gossiping about her courting some man, but I don't mind such nonsense. Why, she hasn't an ounce of socialism in her bones! She talks to no one but me, because I'm so obliging and good to her, you know. Not even dear Mr. Finch could get anything out of her, and he's as harmless as a lamb! If I could find anyone else I'd straight up send her away, but I keep her on because it's the decent thing to do! No doubt she'll sneak in through the back and rush upstairs before I spy her out, the little devil she can be at times. I've told her days ago what tonight will be... what I'll do with that one no one will know!"

Mary saw her daughter the minute her noble head appeared in the crowd. Hanging onto the arm of her dashing German husband, she was an elegant creature with a firm jaw and shapely neck decorated with the finest pearls. She beamed when she caught her mother's eye and the two embraced in what was probably against English customs but due to their positions and high standing in the eyes of society, even more so now that her son-in-law had tied himself to the family, the majority turned a blind eye to the happenings among the elites.

"You keep my girl well, Herr Kirchhoff," she said, proudly embracing him. He squeezed her fondly.

"I gave my word that I would, did I not?"

"Yes, yes indeed, dear boy, and you must call me Mother, never mind our company. You are a son to me now, so you needn't be shy about it. Diana, you're to convince your husband, you know."

Her daughter blushed. "My dear Friedrich will learn in time," with a fond smile for her beau, then, with glistening eyes of delight,

"You wouldn't guess who's come up with us, Mummy!" Before she uttered another word, a mischievous-looking man with a commanding aura turned everyone's head as he strode in with confident steps, a charming woman on his arm. He smiled smugly.

"Hello, Mother. Mrs. Eastbourne."

"Cedric, what a surprise," said his mother in a guarded tone. She was both confused and delighted at the sight of her first-born, who'd been absent for some time, and who, much to her displeasure, often dined at Missels with his good friend, doctor Peters.

"You don't seem happy to see me," he said with a childish uneasiness that warmed her heart. She laughed good-naturedly, opening her arms for an embrace.

"Nonsense, my boy, I am too glad." She kissed him, then stepped back and appraised him thoughtfully. "You're looking quite healthful." He smiled cunningly: a youthful vitality she'd not seen in a long time replaced his familiar haggard and disinterested appearance.

"I must confess I've been in good spirits as of late and even Peters can write me a bill of good health." They all laughed, but all the while she'd been eyeing the simple beauty on his arm who appeared pleasantly shy in a refreshing sort of way. She was still making up her mind about her when her son courteously introduced her.

"Mother, I'd like you to meet Geraldine Pearson, Geraldine, my mother, Lady Cartwright."

"It is an absolute pleasure to meet you, madam."

"Well, gracious me!" cried an astounded Mrs. Eastbourne. With a hand on her heaving bosom, she stepped fully into the circle, her generous proportions nudging the others out of her way. Her mouth gaped in disbelief.

"Geraldine? Why, bless my soul, it's Geraldine herself, the paid companion I took on! I would never have recognized you, child, for all your finery!"

Diana giggled. "She's not a companion, Mrs. Eastbourne."

"Whose to say so?" she said in a huff. "Has she gone off lying, then?" turning to face the cheerful-looking girl. Mr. Cartwright smiled patiently.

"No, Mrs. Eastbourne, I assure you my wife will no longer be in need of your employment."

"Your wife?!" the two women said at once, completely dumbstruck. The whispers among the guest had risen and everyone was bending and leaning to catch a good glimpse of the new Mrs. Cartwright, who blushed ferociously under Dr. Peter's and her sister-in-law's approving gaze.

"You-you mar- you married?" stammered his mother in shock. He threw his head back and laughed, then taking both her hands in his,

"Why, yes, I knew it was what you and father wanted, so I took the plunge and asked this charming woman to do me the honours and, well, long story short, we got married."

"Blimey," breathed Mrs. Eastbourne, staring at the new bride, her fat arms hanging limply at her sides.

His sister, with undisguised affection, took his wife by the arm. "And I knew she and I would hit it off from the moment I laid eyes on her. It is so nice to finally have a sister. Oh, Cedric, there's Mr. And Mrs. Geoffrey! We simply must say hello to the old dears..." and the two couples went away, leaving the women staring stupidly. Mrs. Eastbourne, having satisfied herself with two bubbly glasses of champagne after the beginning shock, laughed contagiously.

"And you said I had too much imagination when I wished for a sensation the other day, Mary! Why, this is better than anything!--and it happened here, at Missels! Your boy and my companion! This will be the topic of every discussion for weeks!" With that, she drifted away, gaily discoursing with her guests on how she, Barbara Eastbourne, had always known Miss Geraldine Pearson would make a bold statement in the world thanks to her own humbly generous conditioning of the girl's already exemplary nature.