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Henry, Constance, and Josephine entered the foyer, foregoing decorum, and bellowing in laughter.

"I can barely stand to look at it!" Josephine teased through tears of mirth, grasping her clenched stomach.

"Are you sure it is a dog?" Henry questioned, barely able to deliver the words.

Constance protectively held her painted pooch, pointing and saying, "See, clearly that is his tail...wait...or was that a paw?"

Another burst of laughter ensued.

"I believe we all agree, you have won! And most spectacularly!" Henry proclaimed.

Their jubilation was interrupted by a startled Lady Cavender exiting the double doors of the drawing room.

"Dear! What a commotion you are causing out here! I gather the day was a success?" Lady Cavender asked, smoothing her skirt and resting her hands upon her ample hips.

"The day a success? Yes! Our paintings...now that is up for debate," Josephine informed, clutching her own monstrosity unfit to be called art.

"Collect your senses, you three. We have visitors!"

Without explanation, the threesome was escorted into the drawing room. Sir Cartwright was closest to the door, his eyes immediately seeking out Constance. Tennyson stood motionless, with both feet firmly planted. Josephine ignored the escalation of her pulse at the sight of him, even with the grim expression he wore.

"This day truly is full of surprises," Josephine observed looking between the two guests, but lingering upon Mr. Tennyson.

"I am happy to find your health restored, Miss Yorke," stated Sir Cartwright.

"Thank you."

Henry took this opportunity to take his leave. He whispered to Josephine, "Be sure to ask for Sir Cartwright's opinion on my sister's masterpiece. If his answer is at all favorable, we will know for certain he is in love." This statement earned him a playful swat on the arm, and a glowing smile.

Tennyson addressed Henry saying, "Will you be joining us in the country, Mr. Whitmore?"

"I would not miss it for the world!" He replied, winking at Josephine, and bidding everyone good day.

Lady Cavender insisted both gentlemen stay for dinner. Sir Cartwright accepted with an enthusiastic smile, and Tennyson with an indifferent nod. Dinner was pleasant but Josephine sensed Charles discomfort. He made no effort to engage her in personal conversation. Instead, he spent the meal enthralled with Lord Cavender's many descriptions of beetles indigenous to the Amazon.

Enthralled?

With beetles?

If that wasn't a clear sign that he was avoiding her, she didn't know what was. Entomology was one of Lord Cavender's best kept secrets, mostly because he realized the majority of people found it as interesting as a rotting log. (The rotting of said log, may or may not have been caused by the Elm Bark Beetle)

Yes, obviously avoiding me.

Josephine had no intention of being ignored, and she possessed the subtlety of stampeding bulls. So, when the gentlemen joined them after dinner, she immediately approached Charles.

"A word please, Tennyson," she quietly insisted, with one hand propped upon her hip.

He rolled his eyes in annoyance, but gestured to the corner chairs, allowing her to lead the way.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

"Hmmm...I am currently having a private conversation with you, after I accepted an impromptu invitation to dine with you, which was the result of me coming to visit you. I fear you do not understand the meaning of avoidance."

Josephine's frustration doubled with his skillful twisting of facts. Everything Charles did was deliberate. He made more calculated moves than Napoleon. He had been avoiding her. After the fire, Tennyson recognized the need for distance in order to maintain his sanity. And, as if Charles' father could sense his son's discomfort, Horace Tennyson chose now to invite Miss Yorke to their home. Charles needed a diversion, which is why the guest list for the country party suddenly increased. More people, more distraction.

"Are you claiming to have been genuinely engrossed in talk of beetles?" she skeptically asked.

"Fascinating creatures."

Josephine narrowed her eyes.

He's obviously lying.

"Fine, have it your way." Josephine realized that trying to extract a confession from him would be like squeezing a dozen lemons hoping for orange juice. Useless and exhausting. She wanted to ask why it took him so long to visit, if he truly wasn't avoiding her. But, her pride wouldn't allow it. Instead, Josephine did what Josephine does best...she changed the subject.

Josephine tilted her head and observed the slight darkness around his eyes, "You look tired."

"I feel tired," Tennyson responded, leaning back and rubbing his jaw.

Charles hadn't slept well lately. Like carriages merging on a busy London street, all his problems were arriving from different directions but clumsily barreling toward one another. The only outcome...collision, his only solution...minimize damage.

If only he had more time, but his father was even more impatient than usual. Josephine's presence was the final ingredient in the disaster cake. By the conclusion of the house party, Charles was expected to propose.

"Your sister's progeny will surely inherit, if you cannot learn obedience," his father had threatened. Charles listened stoically, knowing his father never made idle threats. They were as sure as wool on sheep. And for the time being, Charles needed his father's financial support.

Mr. Horace Tennyson had come to London several days ago, attempting to expedite his son's marital plans.

Horace reiterated what Charles already knew. "I am through waiting on this alliance, and I will get what I am owed!" he yelled. "Give me one good reason you have not yet asked for her hand!"

"Father, I told you in my letter. I will not ask unless I am certain she will say yes."

"Of course she will say yes! Surely, her father will force her."

"And I assured you in my letter that Miss Yorke is not the sort to be forced into anything. Mr. Yorke intends to honor your agreement, but her compliance is necessary. She can and would defy him."

"I cannot say I am surprised by his rearing a willful disgrace of a daughter. He always was a weak man. And a man who cannot control his offspring is a disgrace himself."

Charles laughed within himself at that remark. For all Horace's efforts, he only possessed the illusion of control over his children. Little did he know, Charles had been covertly defying his father for as long as he could remember. Horace didn't understand that love is what breeds obedience, while tyranny breeds defiance.

"Miss Yorke is no disgrace. And if she is to be my wife, I would ask you to use more gracious speech when speaking of her."

Charles didn't flinch when the backside of his father's hand firmly struck his cheek, Horace's ring leaving a small cut beside Charles' mouth. He calmly wiped a trickle of blood, seemingly immune to physical pain.

"I will speak however, about whomever, I wish." Horace assured, as he straightened his sleeve and menacingly smirked. "I think your willful bride's influence is apparent. I look forward to showing Miss Yorke exactly what is expected of her."

Arguing was futile. Charles wouldn't shout to his father that he would rather die than allow him to touch Miss Yorke.

Inheritance or no inheritance, Charles would not marry Miss Yorke, nor would he marry anyone. Charles would never subject another soul to the oppression and brutality of his father.

He only needed more time...

"Do not be ungrateful. I have been generous with your freedom, allowing you to stay in London. You have one responsibility Charles...ONE...and if securing the affection of a silly chit is beyond your ability, you are more useless than I thought."

"It will not be a problem. I only need more time..."

"You have depleted your time. I am giving you until the end of the country party. I have business up North, but will return prior to everyone's departure. May I remind you, I have not waited all these years to have another reap the benefits. Mr. Yorke and I have a contract and it will be carried out. Understood?!"

"Understood."

Josephine's quiet words cut through his thoughts, "Oh I have an item of yours, in need of returning." She pulled out the hideous handkerchief he had given her the night of the fire. She had stroked the muted brown fabric many times since that evening, and considered hiding it away. However, Josephine scolded her own sentimental thoughts and resolved to return it.

Charles eyes glimmered with amusement. "I want you to keep it," and with a slight chuckle he said, "This handkerchief is one of the ghastliest that I own."

"Alright...well...thank you, I suppose."

"You are welcome. Miss Yorke, you know, I have the largest collection of atrocious handkerchiefs."

She listened with confused interest.

"Each of them were gifted by my sister. The first time she traveled without me, I forced her to purchase me a gift. I told Isabella that I wanted her remembering me throughout her trip. And that I thought her less likely to behave foolish, with her overbearing brother invading her thoughts." Charles relaxed, his look of exhaustion turning to wistful, continuing, "Annoyed with my protective nature, she vowed to find the worst gift imaginable. It happened to be a frilly green handkerchief with an ambiguous creature stitched about it. And now, Isabella delights in finding the worst fabrics imaginable, and I love her the more for it. So, what began as a joke, quickly became my most valuable possessions. I only ask you treat the atrocious item with care, because it means a great deal to me."

Josephine's slow smile lit her cheeks. She thought of her afternoon with Constance and Henry, knowing she would treasure her hideous painting, as if it were a masterpiece. Because physical beauty is irrelevant, true value is grounded in the cherished memories, the feelings evoked, and the love felt.

"It appears more beautiful now," she said with the brown cloth beneath her fingers. The uncomfortable fluttering in her stomach, left her feeling confused.

Stop it stomach!

Friends share stories.

Josephine cleared her throat and continued, "Lord and Lady Cavender accepted your father's invitation."

"Yes, and there are things which we must discuss," Charles stated, wringing his hands. He only had one solution that might provide him more time...

"Trust me, I know. My stomach is in knots. What if I say the wrong thing? Or misbehave in some way..."

He interrupted, abruptly demanding, "You will decline the invitation."

Did not expect that...

"We will fabricate an excuse for your inability to attend."

"Pardon me? I do not understand. I thought going to the country was part of your original scheme. You said your father and mother would not be satisfied until they saw us together."

"I know what I said!" he snapped in frustration, quelling any of her residual flutters, and causing the other side of the room to take note of their otherwise hushed conversation. Noticing their stares, Charles lowered his voice continuing, "But plans change..."

"Tennyson, please look at me," Josephine softly requested, as he reluctantly raised his gaze from the floor. "Lord Cavender has been most kind. He was obliged to write father if my behavior so much as grazed on impropriety. Declining this invitation will end Lord Cavender's leniency, and he will be forced to inform my father. In view of such, I will not decline the invitation unless you give me adequate reason why you wish me to do so."

He fought his desire for verbal confessions. Charles wanted to tell her the real reason for their arranged marriage, why he suggested their scheme, his current financial situation, and the fact he couldn't bear her being anywhere near his monster of a father. But he had no way of anticipating her reaction, nor could he ensure her silence. And so, Tennyson provided the only information he was willing to part with, "My father's patience is gone, Miss Yorke. He is forcing me to ask for your hand before you return to London. But, if you refuse to join us at Loewick House, only then might he relent, giving us more time...even that is not for certain."

Josephine quietly reflected on the matter at hand before responding, asking, "What are the consequences if you do not propose exactly when your father bids it?"

Charles rubbed his palms on his knees, saying, "The ramifications would be great indeed...a risk I am not brave enough to take."

I will be disowned...good riddance, but I will be too poor to buy bread...

And Isabella...

"You forget I also have risks! Who knows what my father would do if I were to refuse. I am no stranger to punishments, and like you, I lack bravery." Josephine's expression changed from frustrated to thoughtful as she mustered up a measure of courage saying, "All this worry...and I wonder...what is the purpose? Freedom of choice? I enjoy your company more than I ever hoped to. Perhaps, our alliance is not so ill-conceived?"

Tennyson huffed in exasperation, "There can be no marriage between us! I will not have it." He squinted at the obvious flash of hurt in her eyes, while the sharp words flew from his mouth. Charles wanted to assure Josephine that it was no fault of hers, that he would be fortunate to find a wife half as agreeable, but his cowardice settled on silence.

Josephine formulated her own interpretation on the matter, concluding that their growing friendship was clearly one-sided. She sought to trample her hurt and disappointment. Tennyson's adamant refusal of her, drudged up deep-seated feelings of inadequacy.

Josephine's father could always find something lacking in her, but since Mr. Yorke found something lacking in everyone, she had tried to ignore his scrutiny. She discovered it was difficult to ignore Tennyson's opinion, but as with her father, Josephine masked sadness with humor saying, "With your perpetual ornery tone, I am certain to be saving myself from a lifetime of misery anyway. Perhaps I will be so fortunate as to find a husband capable of smiling, better yet, maybe one capable of laughter. Imagine that!"

Tennyson took a defeated breath.

Josephine was a fixer, and if their marriage was off the table, she would find another way to fix the situation. She continued, "We are to stay at Loewick for what?...four weeks is it?"

"Yes, but you..."

"Then we must use our time wisely..." she interrupted. "I am going to Loewick. We will have four weeks...four weeks to find a suitable husband and convince him to propose. Your original plan remains, with the only difference being urgency. What say you, Tennyson? Are you prepared for the challenge?"

He nodded in reluctant agreement, as a hundred new thoughts crowded his mind.

"Good. I wish for you to make a list," Josephine smiled. "And spare telling me how ridiculous it is...I want a list of my potential suitors. I trust your opinion. As I become acquainted with each, we can mark them off accordingly. Your most difficult task is creating the list and ensuring their attendance at Loewick House. Is that within your ability?"

"Very few things are beyond my ability, but a list is unnecessary. I will see to my portion and you see to yours," he curtly replied, before standing to leave. Finding Miss Yorke a husband was quickly becoming the last thing Tennyson wished to do, but unfortunately it was the only current solution.

Josephine refused to allow his surly demeanor to affect her own, but she also knew that you do not poke a bear with a stick. So, she kindly replied, "I will...oh Tennyson, did I tell you about that boy?"

He looked confused saying, "No, what boy?"

"This boy told his mother that there were two holes in his trousers, and she told him, 'son, that is where you put your feet through.'"

Josephine smirked at her own joke, and her grin only grew as Tennyson shook his head side to side with a barely suppressed smile.

"Goodnight Miss Yorke."

"Goodnight Tennyson."

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