Overcooked meats and lackluster tarts were just two of many offerings spanning the white lace-clad table. Tennyson eyed the mediocre refreshments with distaste. The Gastrell ball was unseasonably late and intensified his sour mood. Every coy giggle, the artless spinning on the dance floor. It was enough to make a man cast up his lots.

Tennyson thought he had despised social gatherings before. But now? Despise wasn't strong enough a word. He was contemplating if a slow torturous death might be preferable to his current occupation. While Tennyson imagined his fingernails being ripped out one by one, Sir Cartwright interrupted, "If your scowl grows any deeper, I doubt even the most determined of women will talk to you."

"I do not need the most determined of women. My choices have already been narrowed down to two. And either are eager to secure my attention." Not really his choices. Products of his father's ultimatum. Miss Durham, overly demure and painfully shy. Tennyson wasn't certain the girl could string three words together, but her dowry could fatten the emptiest of pockets. A detail his father had emphasized. Tennyson, however, was leaning toward his father's second option, Miss Amelia Becker. A decently pretty and altogether miserable human being. It was no secret why she was still single despite her lineage and enviable finances. Miss Becker was an absolute pill. Her one redeeming quality? Tennyson's guilt would be minimal when he inevitably shipped her off to a country house the moment they said 'I do'. They could easily suffer marriage in separate residences.

The thought of watching someone besides Miss Josephine Yorke walk down the wedding aisle was flaming his ire.

Sir Cartwright caught sight of Miss Durham, one of Tennyson's potential brides, sitting quietly in a corner. Prompted to speak up, he wrung his hands. "I know you do not want to talk anymore about it, but are you truly considering this? Will you seriously give up Miss Yorke?" Sir Cartwright rushed on before Tennyson could get a word in edgewise. "I know she would take you back in a heartbeat. Miss Whitmore said..."

"Enough!" came Tennyson's whisper-shout. Cartwright stiffened. "I do not care what your fiancé has said. I am done with Miss Yorke. As I told you, it was not worth the headache. I have made up my mind, so leave it be. And as a loyal friend, I expect you to drop the subject indefinitely. Do you understand?"

Cartwright gave a frustrated nod. He was the rule follower. Tennyson the rule maker.

Miss Amelia Becker sidled next to the gentlemen, her younger sister in tow. "Good evening Sir Cartwright and Mr. Charles Tennyson. Are you both enjoying the Gastrell ball festivities?"

What festivities? Horrible food and even worse company? Tennyson had to bite back that internal response.

"Yes." Tennyson's curt reply didn't dull Miss Amelia Becker's interest.

She glanced about the room, likely looking for someone to gossip about. "Have you gentleman heard..." Winner, winner. Tennyson could read people incredibly well, especially the annoying ones. "...Mrs. Gastrell's nephew was recently disinherited because of..." Her words sank into the background as Tennyson tuned out the irrelevant chatter. He needed Miss Becker to realize his lackluster interest. Marriage had been reduced to a monetary transaction, and he needed both parties to see that fact with clarity.

Tennyson sipped his claret glancing up to see a new edition to the party. Immediately, his heart rate ticked up speed. Palms began to sweat. He employed every shred of willpower to school an indifferent expression. Sir Cartwright didn't possess half Tennyson's skill. Rather, Cartwright nervously volleyed his sights between Tennyson and the new arrival, mouth agape.

Miss Amelia Becker, oblivious to the disruption, continued blathering on. Tennyson finally made an effort to appear interested in what the young gossip queen was saying. Offering well placed 'ahs' and 'I see's'. His eyes may have been trained on Miss Becker, but every other sense was occupied by the woman in the doorway. The woman standing beside Lord Grimsby. Tennyson could feel her from where he stood. Could hear her sweet laughter from across the room. He swore he could even smell her scented perfume sweetening the stifling air.

Why is Miss Yorke here? Why back in London? Why? Why? Why?

Nothing good could come from her attendance tonight. Normally, Tennyson would have already formed a plan of action. But he found himself so occupied with trying not to feel her presence, that he could do little else. Miss Yorke was choking out all thought merely by existing.

How she must hate him! Was that her purpose in being there? To let Tennyson know that she had accepted his betrayal and was moving on to greener pastures? Or was it simply to torture him? Either way, Miss Yorke had hit her mark. He was running a gamut of emotions. Excitement from her close proximity. Anger; mostly at himself. Fear; what if his father found out? But one emotion trumped all others. Love. Tennyson would do anything to ensure Miss Yorke's happiness and keep her safe. Weeks apart had done nothing to dull that particular ache.

For once in his life, Cartwright took the reigns. "Miss Becker, please beg our pardon," he interrupted, halting the lady's chatter. "I just remembered, I promised to meet in the card room."

"No apologies needed. You go on, we can spare Sir Cartwright, can't we Mr. Tennyson?" she looked to Tennyson expectantly.

He saw Miss Becker's eagerness. Looked at Cartwright's pleading eyes. "Unfortunately, I made the same promise. Good evening Miss Becker."

They made a quick exit before she could raise protests, which they knew Miss Becker would. Heading straight toward the card room. Cartwright breathlessly began, "Tell me you saw her. She was standing right there."

Tennyson gave him an 'are you serious' expression.

How could anyone not see her? She shines the brightest wherever she goes.

"Yes."

"Yes? So what are you going to do? Say? What is your plan?" Cartwright fired off, clearly invested in the drama of it all.

Tennyson didn't have a plan, but he wasn't about to confess he didn't. Rather, he downed his remaining claret. "I plan to do nothing."

"Your plan is to do nothing at all?" Cartwright sounded dubious as they huddled in a corner surrounded by columns.

"Precisely."

Tennyson wanted to run to Miss Yorke, beg for forgiveness. Tell her that every task is more difficult without her lightness surrounding him. That even breathing was a challenge. And then, give Lord Grimsby a good beating for daring to escort her.

But he wouldn't do any of those things. Miss Yorke was safer if she kept her distance. Horace had eyes everywhere. And with that thought, Tennyson formed his plan. Avoidance. Complex? No. Easy to accomplish? Nearly impossible. How do you avoid someone whom your mind and body gravitate towards out of their own volition?

"Well I think that is a foul plan," Cartwright added.

"What is a foul plan?" a new voice broke in.

Cartwright jumped at the intruding question, while Tennyson froze. First looking over their shoulders, then slowly turning to face the voice.

"Uh...uh um." Cartwright always had a way with words.

"Tennyson is a master of foul plans," Miss Yorke smirked, masking her nerves with humor.

Tennyson mindlessly retorted, "Says the lady who voluntarily locked herself in a garden shed with a deadly rooster."

"Touché."

The tension between them was palatable. Even Cartwright's breaths were coming in quick.

Tennyson scolded with no real bite. "You know, eavesdropping is an unladylike quality."

Josephine was quick to return his blows, tilting her head. "And would you consider rejecting me by way of letter as gentlemanly?"

Cartwright flinched, clapped Tennyson's shoulder and hightailed it out of there. He preferred to watch the train wreck from afar.

Tennyson and Miss Yorke engaged in a stare down, refusing to speak. He wanted to kiss away the furrow in her brow. She wanted to smack some sense into him. Make him see they were perfect together.

Grimsby entered the picture giving a low whistle, snapping their attention to him. He tucked one hand under his arm and lifted the other to cup his chin. "Well, well. What do we have here?"

"If you value your ability to speak," Tennyson threatened. "Then, I suggest you keep quiet."

"Do not be such a brute!" Josephine defended. "What has Lord Grimsby done to deserve your wrath?"

Grimsby smiled sweetly at Miss Yorke and she beamed back. Tennyson was one step from wiping the smug expression off Grimsby's face. If Tennyson hadn't been adamant about not drawing attention, he would have done just that. But instead he chose to quiet the hostility. "Give me a moment alone with Miss Yorke."

"Only if you ask nicely." Grimsby chuckled to himself. Josephine hid her amusement. Tennyson was playing right into their hands, and the scatters of jealousy were a pleasant bonus. A moment alone was all she needed. At least, she hoped it was all she needed.

"Grimsby." His name was a warning.

Grimsby decided not to press it, gracefully bowing out. He joined Sir Cartwright in watching the show from afar.

Tennyson was grateful for the giant pillar granting them privacy. With arms folded across his broad chest, he glared down at Miss Yorke. She returned with equal attitude, bracing hands upon her hips and lifting her chin.

He wanted to send her away, yet keep her forever. That defiant little look on her perfectly proportioned face was his undoing. "You should not be here. I cannot think when you are near."

Should she be offended or pleased? Josephine sympathized. Rational thinking was a challenge. But she wouldn't allow Tennyson to jumble her thoughts. Josephine knew what she wanted and exactly what she came here for. Him.

"Do you treat all your castoffs with such flippancy?" she argued.

"Castoffs?" Tennyson had the nerve to sound affronted. How could he make her understand while still pushing her away? It wasn't possible.  He became unhinged. "How can you call yourself a castoff? You are everything to me! I am consumed by you. And all my decisions, no matter how poor you think they are, have been made with the objective of protecting you!"

That should have soothed Josephine's hurt, but instead stoked her fury. "Protecting me how? By making me feel like I was nothing. Like I was worth nothing but a cold, unfeeling letter. I was gutted. Still am. If this is protection, then I would hate to see your destruction."

"Josephine, my father..." he began to protest in anguish.

"No. No! You cannot keep doing this. Am I worth it or not? I am no weakling. I made my decision and am willing to accept the consequences. I came here for you. I love you. And I am all out of moves, Tennyson. Besides, you have always been the better player. I will find a way to be happy without you. But, please...please do not make me."

Tennyson stroked his mouth breathing in deep. This was a defining moment. He knew it. She knew it. Her eyes pleaded with him, but her resolve was clear. Either sink or swim, regardless of the boulder weighing him down.

"Be my wife."

She almost didn't believe her ears. His words succinct. Be his wife. Not a question. In true Tennyson style, it was a command. And regardless of her anger for how it came to pass, Josephine found herself slumping in relief.

"May I have a few days to think about it?" she teased, trying to lighten the emotionally charged moment.

Tennyson's head was facing the floor but he brought his eyes up to meet hers. Only Miss Yorke could make a joke at such a time. And he loved her all the more for it. "No. I have wasted enough time already."

She gave a bleary-eyed smile. "Yes you have, you pigeon-livered ogre."

Even her insults were perfection. He looked around the pillar, wishing he could make the world and everyone in it disappear. "I want to kiss you."

"I want to let you."

Neither would get that satisfaction. Grimsby and Cartwright strolled back over, as if they hadn't watched every second of the spectacle.

"Before you two run off to Gretna Green, might I suggest you speak with Mr. Yorke." Grimsby advised. "Something tells me, you will have his approval."

Tennyson's gut twisted, reminding him that it's not all sugar and roses. He still had his own father to contend with. But Josephine was worth it. He would always protect her. She came here to fight for him. It was his turn to fight for her.

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Another chapter down!! Getting closer to the end!!! Finally :)
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