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Tennyson found Miss Yorke bent down beside the white rose hedge, affectionately stroking Red's floppy ears.

Josephine lit up at the sight of him, and reflected on how fallible first impressions can be. Tennyson's once irritating scowls, now brought with them cheerful comfort. His sharp words, were now witty banter. And his wasted good looks, were now appreciated to the full.

As they meandered through the gardens, Josephine regaled him with stories of her well-spent youth.

"....and so I named the horse Indigo. I thought it such a courageous name, fitting for my little adventurer," Josephine finished her tale, stopping to rest on a stone bench flanked by tall hedges.

She watched Red spin in several circles before collapsing at her feet. Tennyson's eyes remained steady on Josephine, quickening his pulse, while desperately holding back from brushing his hand against hers. In an attempt to redirect his thoughts, Tennyson inquired, "Tell me Miss Yorke, do you often adopt colors for creatures' namesakes?"

A knowing grin spread across Josephine's cheeks.

"You named your favorite hound, Red, and now have entrusted the adventurous horse with Indigo."

She couldn't hold in her light laughter and said, "I fear you are too perceptive Tennyson." He loved her laugh, feeling innumerable joy to be the cause. "You are correct. I only choose colors as namesakes."

"Is that so? For any particular reason?" he asked, feeling pride at his attentive observation.

"I suppose I should tell on myself." She bit her lower lip before starting yet another childhood story, explaining, "It began when I was no more than seven. Remember I told you about my obsession with frogs?"

He nodded.

"Well, prior to my obsession, I was a tad afraid of them. My cousin John said I would not dare touch a frog. Obviously, I did not want to be thought of as a coward, especially not to John..."

"Certainly not," he said with mock-enthusiasm.

"So when he was not looking, I went down to the water and snatched three frogs, trapping them in the fold of my dress, and you should have seen the surprise when I dropped all three into his lap," Josephine related, grinning like a cat with cream. "Well, the first two quickly hopped away, but one seemed to prefer our company. And, after an afternoon of playing with the remaining frog, we deemed it right to give him a name, only John and I rarely ever agree. John said to me, 'We will never agree Josie, we might as well name him green frog'. And there it was, we called him Green. And I have been using colors as names ever since."

"I wonder, shall you and Lord Grimsby name your first daughter Violet?" Tennyson teased, bumping his shoulder against hers.

Why would he ask such a thing? Does he still care so little for me?

Josephine stiffened at the implication, quietly asking, "Is that what you wish? For me to marry Lord Grimsby?"

Her question had momentarily silenced Tennyson, making him unable to form an appropriate response. Before Tennyson could scrutinize his actions, his hand had seized the side of Josephine's delicate face, pulling her into a gentle kiss. He was met with no resistance, as she sweetly returned the sentiment. But, it was over as quickly as it had begun when Tennyson jolted off the bench, as if she was comprised of fire.

"Forgive me, please," he rattled off with a remorseful groan, placing a hand over his mouth. "I should never have..."

Josephine was torn between elation and defeat. The kiss confirmed his reciprocal feelings, but Tennyson's apology and obvious shame trampled the glimmer of optimism.

She abruptly took to her feet, tired of the uncertainty and mixed signals. Josephine stared directly into his disconcerted eyes, demanding, "Why are you apologetic Tennyson? And sadly, I doubt it is my reputation that concerns you. Tell me truly why you regret kissing me, because I have not a solitary regret over it!"

"Miss Yorke, I..."

"Please," she barked, crossing her arms protectively across her chest. "At this juncture and given our current familiarity, I give you full leave to address me by Josephine."

"Fine...Josephine," he began, tightly closing his eyes while saying her name. "You are right. It is not your reputation that causes me grief. I am sorry for my lack of self-control, and am angry for allowing it to occur. You must understand that I cannot and will not marry you, although my deplorable actions might speak otherwise."

Josephine's heart pounded fiercely in her chest, fueled by anger and disappointment. She began shouting, "For someone so adamantly against our betrothal, your actions are more conflicted than a Scotland-born Brit! And please spare me the embarrassment of revealing the extent of my own attachment. I loathe, loooooathe the idea of being bound to someone who does not want me! So you may feel at ease, because, unlike our fathers, I have no intention of forcing your hand. But I do hope you have the decency to offer me an explanation."

Tennyson exhaled a strained breath, formulating his best course of action.

Tell her!

He remained silent.

While Tennyson's eyes were directed heavenward, Josephine's were boring into him with all her hurt scattering over his tight expression. She wondered how someone so beautiful, inside and out, could behave so ugly.

Am I not even worthy of an explanation?

Between his father's inevitable cruelty, and the financial ruin of  Mr. Yorke, Tennyson knew he could not be with her. What he could not anticipate was how Josephine would react to knowing this information.

Tell her and find out!

He doubted she would understand the extent of Horace Tennyson's viciousness. Whereas, he was well-versed in his father's misbehavior, clothed in a plethora of scars to validate it. Tennyson knew the moment he proposed, Josephine would become Horace's primary target. And, the only way to eliminate that outcome rested in the retrieval of a rogue document, or that of no proposal at all.

And even if Tennyson gained his own financial independence, Josephine's father would still lose the lion's share of his fortune as part of their marital contract. Losses so great even Tennyson himself could not give aid. He couldn't expect her to choose between them. How would she react to that? Is it more painful to let her think he does not love her, or to confess his love but both knowing nothing can ever come of it?

If she was to have any chance at future happiness, he needed to let her go. Tennyson reasoned that if he were in her position, he would welcome the lie.

As her blood began to boil, Tennyson finally opened his mouth to speak, curtly saying, "I was reluctant to give you my explanation for fear of injuring your pride..."

She loudly scoffed at his stupidity. Her pride was currently in shambles.

He trudged on, trying to ignore the dull ache in his gut. "Again I apologize for kissing you. My actions are unforgivable. Although I clearly appreciate your physical beauty, I find our characters to be vastly ill-suited. And have no desire to further our connection, given I have no...no affectionate feelings towards you."

Josephine hadn't known what to expect in the way of an explanation, but the simple fact that he disliked her character had baffled and crushed her.

How can I feel this much, while he feels nothing?

How can one even argue with his reason? When you fall in love, you have little control over it. Likewise, we are powerless against our feelings of apathy. She assumed that Tennyson wished he reciprocated her feelings, knowing it would have made this situation infinitely easier. But that, sadly for him, he could not make himself love her no matter how hard he tried.

Josephine felt like such a fool for having misread his actions. From the outset, Tennyson had tried to help her find another husband. A husband that was not him. Still, as her own affection grew, she ignored his unwavering goal: not marrying her. And instead, she sought clues where there were none.

"I understand you perfectly. And, wounded pride or not, I am grateful for your honesty," Josephine calmly stated, bridling her emotions until she could get far, far away from him.

Her look of dejection nearly brought him to his knees. Tennyson had to repeatedly reason: you are hurting her now but protecting her future...

"Again, my apologies," he added, before turning to leave her alone with her disjointed thoughts.

She watched his retreating form and once he was out of sight she collapsed back onto the bench, eliciting a yawn out of Red. Josephine became wholly aware of her attachment when she realized that Tennyson would never be her husband. The thought making her physically ill.

She remembered Constance's despair when John had become engaged, and she felt renewed sympathy for her closest friend. As if thinking of her caused her friend to materialize, an excited Constance startled her from the melancholy ruminations.

"There you are!" Constance exclaimed, thrusting her hand into Josephine's face, oblivious to her friend's current state of devastation. "Do you notice anything different?"

Constance wiggled her dainty fingers drawing Josephine's attention to the shiny heirloom now adorning her hand. While Tennyson was busy breaking Josephine's heart, Sir Cartwright was making Constance's whole again.

Josephine did her best to fabricate enthusiasm.
"Oh my! What a beautiful bride you will make. I am so happy for you!" She wrapped Constance in a suffocating embrace, partly for congratulations and partly for subconscious comfort. "You deserve all the happiness in the world," Josephine sighed, wiping a tear threatening to escape. "Let us walk back and you can tell me everything..."

Constance readily agreed, still blind to her best friend's distress. Josephine would have made a splendid actress. They walked arm and arm as Constance gushed over each detail.

Josephine wanted to confide in her friend, but she would never put a damper on Constance's happy news. Josephine could stew privately just as easily as she could commiserate, a small sacrifice for a great friend.

Josephine had dined in her room, feigning a headache. As she laid beneath her plush covers chasing sleep, Josephine longed to be back home. She had replayed the afternoon events, over and over again, sometimes imagining different outcomes. Sadly, reality reared it's ugly head. She was in love with Tennyson, and he did not feel the same.

For the first time in her life, Josephine felt empathy for her father's misery. Losing someone you love is miserable, and she felt just as miserable as him.

But unlike her father, she would not sulk her days away.

She needed to make a new list...

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Sorry for the super slow update! Things have been crazy!!!! Sooooooo? You mad Tennyson didn't tell her?
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