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When the butler, Mr. Lampers, announced them into the green parlor, a multitude of heads swiveled in their direction.

Josephine's first glimpse was two familiar faces, and one foreign one, standing to welcome them.

"Miss Yorke, Miss Whitmore," Tennyson began, directing his attention to the somber lady beside him. "May I introduce my mother, Mrs. Tennyson."

Mrs. Tennyson's humorless demeanor solidified Josephine's discomfort.

Constance and Josephine greeted her in unison, giving their most amicable smiles.

"The resemblance to your mother is quite striking," Mrs. Tennyson observed, carefully scrutinizing Josephine's appearance. Josephine almost forgot Mrs. Tennyson had been a close friend of her mother's. Isabella stood behind her mother and brother bestowing the most welcoming of smiles.

Mrs. Tennyson turned to her son, "Charles, do introduce them around. I feel inclined to sit."

Josephine and Constance gave no indication of annoyance with Mrs. Tennyson's abruptness. Rather, they felt relieved upon her dismissal and warmly greeted Isabella.

After many introductions while sweeping the room, Josephine found herself settled in conversation with Tennyson and Lord Grimsby.

"Tennyson tells me you are in possession of a rather unique hound," Lord Grimsby expressed, grasping Tennyson's shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. Charles leaned back and prepared himself for the incumbent defense of Red.

"You may speak any number of harsh words against me," Miss Yorke playfully instructed. "But, I will not tolerate the decimation of my dog's character. His kindness could rival your own, Lord Grimsby."

Charles hid his amusement, as Lord Grimsby responded, "I shall take that to heart, Miss Yorke. But personally, I find the word 'unique' to be a splendid compliment. What merit is there in being ordinary?"

"I believe the majority of the ton might disagree with you," Josephine remarked, while glancing around the guest-filled room. "Conformity is esteemed inside London ballrooms, whereas, eccentricity...well, they would rather reserve that for performers and artists."

"She has got you there, Grimsby," Tennyson chimed in, giving Josephine a slight smirk.

"I dare not disagree, nor would I need to," Grimsby joyfully remarked. "But personally, I admire the unexpected. A bird who refuses to fly, a hound who will not hunt, the world's least social man entertaining an enormous amount of guests." Grimsby gave Tennyson a knowing glance, and he returned it with a tight lipped glare. "My Uncle Ambrose would always tell me 'no need to follow the other cows, they will most likely lead you to slaughter.'"

Tennyson began to protest, "Please do not start with your tales from Uncle Ambrose. I have not consumed near enough port to stomach them."

Josephine smiled with peaked curiosity. "Do not listen to Tennyson. Some of us would relish additional stories from your Uncle Ambrose."

"Are you content with me dying of boredom, Miss Yorke?" Tennyson teasingly inquired, as he fiddled with his small gold watch.

"Of course not. If you are to perish, I prefer it to be from my own bare hands," Josephine quipped.

"Yes, because that would be entirely plausible," Tennyson dryly commented.

Lord Grimsby was enjoying their back and forth, delighting at Tennyson's relaxed joy when speaking with Miss Yorke. Even in the company of Sir Cartwright or Isabella, Grimsby had never seen him appear so at ease. The thought of Tennyson willingly giving her up in order to defy his father was disconcerting.

Lord Grimsby struggled with the most effective way to intervene. He addressed Josephine, "Tennyson is leading a large hunting party tomorrow. Normally, I would be in eager expectation, but I recently injured my wrist." Grimsby rubbed the spot which he claimed was causing him discomfort. "Miss Yorke, would you and Miss Whitmore care to join me for some archery while the men enjoy their hunt? I cannot shoot but I have heard tales of your superior aim, and I have a notion to see it."

Josephine grinned and readily accepted his invitation. Although she was no expert, Josephine very much enjoyed archery. Her skillset had vastly improved over the last two summers since her sister showed increased interest in the sport.

Tennyson ignored the pull in his gut at the thought of Grimsby and Miss Yorke spending the morning together. He loved Grimsby as if he were a brother, and knew him to be a gentleman in the truest sense. Lord Grimsby was the sort of man who might genuinely deserve Miss Yorke. Rather than bring relief, that thought only increased Tennyson's discomfort.

Trying to mask his irritation, Tennyson commented, "I am only sad I will miss the occasion. I would relish besting Miss Yorke at her favorite sport."

"I never claimed it was my favorite," she retorted. "Even so, I am certain to hit more bullseyes than you are to shoot pheasants."

"Is that so?" Tennyson coaxed.

"Oh no," Lord Grimsby tried to mediate. "He will take your challenge seriously, Miss Yorke. Are you prepared to accept it and the gloating that will ensue if he is to win?"

"I have no fear of his gloating...because I am certain to hit more bullseyes than he will pheasants," Josephine assured, smiling and scrunching her nose in mock challenge.

"Challenge accepted," Tennyson agreed, glaring into her beautiful blue eyes.

Lord Grimsby suddenly felt out place. After briefly settling the rules for tomorrow's competition, he excused himself to speak with an older gentleman.

"What will be my prize when I defeat you come tomorrow?" Josephine questioned with feigned superiority.

"Your winnings are irrelevant, seeing as how I will be the victor," Tennyson asserted. "But, I will humor you. What would you ask of me?"

Josephine bit her lip in deep contemplation. What did she want from him?

Nothing he would be willing to give me...

"I have it!" she exclaimed, holding up one dainty finger. "If I win, you have to write me an embarrassingly earnest sonnet...you know...a sappy one about my laugh or some such thing."

"I have never wrote a sonnet, nor would I ever," he challenged. But Josephine, delighting at his discomfort, refused to back down. Also, she was curious about what sort of sentiments he would write if given the opportunity.

"That is precisely why you will write one. And so, what would you ask of me if the impossible occurs and you manage to win?"

Tennyson steepled his fingers, entertained at the thought of Miss Yorke doing his bidding. However, he was finding it difficult to devise an appropriate penalty. "Hmm...have you ever danced a waltz, Miss Yorke?"

"A waltz?" she questioned, clearly confused. "I...well, no...but why would..."

Tennyson cut her off, saying, "The Rivingdale's ball, I want to dance the first waltz with you. If you lose, the waltz is mine."

She stared, dumbfounded. The moment Josephine felt confident in her understanding of Tennyson, he did or said something entirely unexpected.

He does not want you. Why would a waltz be important?

She voiced some of her internal thoughts, "Of all things to choose, why a waltz? You could have forced me to gut and clean your pheasants. I am baffled by the simplicity of your choice."

"Oh, now that would have been a magnificently
degrading choice. Shame I did not think of it first," Tennyson teased, before lowering his voice slightly above a whisper, causing her heart to race. "But, I maintain my original request. I will have my waltz. And I have my reasons, none of which I feel obliged to share." He raised his voice again to a normal volume, asking, "Your sonnet or my waltz. Are we agreed?"

"Of course."

As Tennyson playfully eyed her, her heart swelled with emotion. Like a shiny lure, his teasing smiles and witty banter were slowly drawing her in. Josephine understood the danger of being hooked, but felt the inescapable pull of him. He, too, could feel the pull between them. Unlike her, though, Tennyson resented his reaction. He needed more distance between them.

Tennyson's thoughts quickly shifted to annoyance. If she had denied the invitation, he might have had more time...

What if I told her everything?

Tennyson directed his eye about the room, "Have you begun forming your own list yet? I have several suitors in mind and am curious to hear your thoughts."

Caught off guard, Josephine stammered, "I...I...yes, I mean...no I have not yet begun a list. But yes...yes I am forming some agreeable substitutes."

"Care to enlighten me?" he prodded.

Josephine surveyed the room before settling her gaze upon a certain gentleman. "I think Mr. Buxton would make for a fine husband, do you not?" she speculated, suggestively wiggling her eyebrows.

Tennyson's forearms rested upon his knees, as he looked up at Josephine in clear amusement. "You think, a short, bald, widower, who is nearly seventy, would make you a fine husband, do you?"

"You are probably right. I doubt he will have me," she teased. "Perhaps my standards are too high."

They both lightly chuckled, before Josephine forced a more serious tone. She took a genuine look about the room before saying, "I honestly do not know...I mean...what do you think of Lord Grimsby?"

Charles immediately stiffened at the question, glancing in his friend's direction. He wished there was something negative to report. That Grimsby was broke or an inveterate rake, but he was neither.

She continued, "He was so kind the night of the fire. And I am to see him tomorrow. What is your opinion? You know his character far better than I."

Josephine had no true intentions with Lord Grimsby. He was far too similar to herself, and there was no pull drawing her closer. The only future Josephine saw with Lord Grimsby, was one of friendship. But, she perceived Tennyson's trepidation, evidently affected by Grimsby's interest in her.

Either make him want you, or find someone who does...

Josephine hoped for the former, and nothing stirs emotions quite like the bitter bite of jealousy. She may have misinterpreted Tennyson's reaction, but concluded it was worth exploring.

"Um...Grimsby?" Charles began, uncomfortable with this conversation. "His character? I have nothing negative to report, if that is what you are inferring. But, do I think you two would suit? I do not know...I suppose he is better than Mr. Buxton."

Josephine smirked, saying, "Poor Mr. Buxton. I wonder what Miss Chilcott thinks of him?"

"My Aunt? She would have to stay awake long enough to notice him," Tennyson remarked, shaking his head. He took this opportunity to redirect their conversation. "Is it true, you stitched that blanket for her?"

Josephine nodded.

When Miss Chilcott had told him of Miss Yorke stitching her a blanket, Tennyson had been overwhelmed with gratitude. For all her quirks, Tennyson loved his Aunt dearly. Not only was Miss Yorke beautiful and humorous, but she was proving to be thoughtful and kind.

"Miss Yorke, that was...you are..."

"Hello, you two!" Henry interrupted in an excited manner.

After exchanging greetings, he casually took the seat that Lord Grimsby had previously occupied.

"I hope you do not mind my interference, but Mrs. Mowbray has two very eligible daughters, and I am beginning to feel like stalked prey," Henry explained.

"What say you, Tennyson? Might we give him refuge or shall we toss him back to the wolves?" Josephine jested.

Henry raised pleading hands, begging, "Please, take pity on me Sir."

"It is only day one, that does not bode well for the remainder of your stay," Tennyson advised. "Mrs. Mowbray is known for her unrivaled determination, Mr. Whitmore. If possible, she would have you depart here, a betrothed man."

"And, if possible, I will do all in my power to prevent such an outcome. But no reason to dwell on such things...I am eager for the first hunt of the season tomorrow. Sir Cartwright tells me that your hunts are quite infamous," Henry commented.

Tennyson responded, "Cartwright has a propensity toward embellishment. Save your judgement until after we return tomorrow."

Henry turned to Josephine, asking, "Will you miss us terribly tomorrow, Josephine?"

"I think I will manage," she dryly returned. "Now, if you will both excuse me. I fear I have spent too much of my afternoon in the company of gentleman. And, Isabella looks in need of some youthful companionship."

Josephine moved to rescue Isabella from a spinster filled group of ladies. But, before departing, she leaned in and said, "I truly hope your hunt is an eventful one."

Tennyson sighed.

Let the competition begin...

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Am I boring you yet? How do you like Charles and Josephine's interactions? Are you rooting for a HEA or maybe a plot twist?
Let me know!
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