"Please, assure me I have heard you incorrectly," Josephine practically growled, making her indignation clear.

I cannot and will not marry you...
We are ill-suited...
I have no affectionate feelings towards you...

His previous words flooded her like a winter's stream, cold and stinging. She was drowning under the weight of them.

"Youuu are in love with me?" she spat out, jumping to her feet in an angry haze. Tennyson stood his ground, allowing her to vent as the outrage poured out around her. He had much more to explain, but Tennyson knew Josephine's anger was justified. So, feeling she deserved a moment to unleash her pent-up emotions, he quietly listened, accepting any verbal abuse that may be hurled at him.

"How very ironic," Josephine fumed, closing the gap between them. "Because presently I hate you! How can you say such a thing? How can you claim to love me? Is it your aim to torture me? Why?" She poked his chest after each question with increased aggression. Tennyson kept his feet firmly planted although her tiny finger was deceivingly forceful with every jab.

He calmly addressed her questions, answering, "For one, you do not hate me. And even if that were so, I prefer hate to indifference. Secondly, I am able to say I love you because it is true. There are very few things in this wretched world that I love and, like it or not, you are one of them...I did lie. But know that lying to you was the single greatest torture of my life. I told myself I was protecting you, but it was also my own cowardice. I should have been honest, I should have...I should have told you everything."

"You thought you were protecting me? From what?!" Josephine shouted. "The only thing I need protecting from is you! Who is to say you are not lying now, or what your feelings will be tomorrow?! What possible explanation can you offer?"

Finished with jabbing at his chest, Josephine tightly folded arms across her own waiting for Tennyson's reply. She doubted any answer would be sufficient, and anger was clouding rational thought. Josephine had never wanted to murder yet kiss someone all at once. It was the latter thought that accelerated her ire and pulse. She hated thinking that no matter the inadequacy of his excuse, still she would love him. If his cruel rejection hadn't dulled her heart, neither would his conflicting admissions or cowardice. Josephine wasn't sure what it would take to genuinely hate him, but she hoped whatever it was would occur. Soon. She wanted to hate him. She needed to hate him.

Tennyson looked down at her with all the tenderness of a new mother. Like he wanted to protect her. Like her pain was his. Like she was his. Like he loved her.

Josephine closed her eyes in attempt to shield her impulses.

Distance...

"Please sit," came his soft plea. "I want explain, and believe me, it is a complicated story to tell."

She reluctantly sat back down atop the fallen tree, yet kept her arms protectively folded. Hoping the mystery that is Mr. Charles Tennyson would soon unravel, she eyed the ground in anticipation. A swift breeze swayed the tall grass surrounding her feet.

He paced in front of her, beginning, "I never intended to meet you, nor to like you, and certainly not to fall in love with you. Our betrothal had always been an...an abstract concept, a problem to be dealt with in the future. And then, the future came and I...I was not sure how to proceed. Josephine, my father is not a good man." He took a steadying breath, and ceased his pacing. "Before I even knew you, I would not have subjected you to his depravity. And after? The mere thought of you breathing the same air made my skin crawl. You are this beautiful, pure, optimistic creature, with a naivety I can only dream of. One moment with my father has the potential to shatter all of that..."

Again, she didn't know what to think. "And so you lied? Why not tell me about your father?Why not choose honesty?"

Telling Josephine that he loved her had brought him immediate relief, but he dreaded recounting the rest for fear of her reaction. Regardless, Tennyson knew he would never regret telling her, only that he hadn't told her sooner.

"I should have been honest...I would have, had not I thought it cruel to share my feelings knowing we could not be together. How could I do such to you? The whole reason I suggested we fabricate interest in one another was to buy myself more time. I was...I...I am still trying to secure an inheritance from my grandfather which would allow me to disown my father, finally freeing Isabella and I. And, as you know, I am reliant on his financial support, which he can and would withdraw at a moment's notice. He has told me such, saying that if I did not ask for your hand before departing Loewick, I could consider myself disinherited. So, until the inheritance came to fruition, and I was independent of my father, I would not make you my wife."

Josephine chimed in, "Waiting for an inheritance? Even so, my father would lend his support. If you had been honest, I could have told you..."

"No,"  he interrupted, seating himself beside her. Tennyson hurriedly continued, "You do not understand the depth of impediment. My father is not the only reason. Nor the inheritance." He propped one knee atop the fallen trunk, shifting towards her. "What do you know of our betrothal contract?"

Growing frustrated, she moaned, "Only that it was made upon my parents marriage, prior to either of us existing...to unite our families for financial gain or some such thing. What is the relevance?"

"Yes, but for whose financial gain?" he asked, and Josephine shrugged in bewilderment. Tennyson tightly rubbed both palms against his thighs, as if releasing the tension and confessed, "The ridiculous contract is not what you think. Josephine, it would bankrupt your father. The dowry they agreed upon...it is absurd. If we were to marry, your father loses his means to support anyone, while my revolting father gains an egregious sum."

"What?" she asked in a hurried confusion. "How...how so? My father would never have agreed to such terms...he would never have..."

"He did, Josephine," Tennyson assured. "I am still unsure as to why, but I am certain your father agreed to it."

If I marry Tennyson, my father loses everything?

She studied the ground with her eyes darting back and forth. All of Tennyson's behavior came together like pieces of a puzzle. The back and forth, his holding back yet giving so much. It finally made sense. Except, why tell her now? Why be dishonest, damaging her trust, only to later come clean and tell all? And what, if anything, may be done to fix it?

Relief mixed with dread, sending Josephine's mind reeling. The revelation answered many questions, only to bring with it a host of new ones. But, for a breath of seconds, Josephine was simply a girl sitting before the man she loved, knowing he loved her too. As if Tennyson shared her mind, when her gaze lifted to his she found a unique urgency. Before rational thought could prevail, his lips crashed to hers in a desperate outpouring of suppressed emotion. If a picture can paint a thousand words, then a kiss can give ten thousand more. It spoke of his relief, his frustration, his love.

The kiss broke with a mutual gasp. Tennyson pressed his forehead to hers while still holding to the sides of her face. Through labored breath she whispered, "I love you...what are we to do?"

He stroked his thump across her cheekbone. "And I love you...but will you still love me if we are left with nothing? Living in squalor? I will not make you my wife until I am completely free of my father, which may come at a high price. And what of your own father? I do not share your optimism, and I fear poverty would give way to your resentment."

"Where you see poor and living in squalor, I see simple and happy. How could I resent you for a sacrifice made on my behalf? By choosing me, you risk a great deal and I love you the more for it. Either rich or poor, I am devoted to you." She offered a coy smile, teasing, "Besides, you will look absolutely charming in mud stained breeches."

His admiration yet grew. How was she able to see positively and jest in such a circumstance? Yet, he found himself sharing in her optimism. Josephine accomplished in him what he couldn't do for himself...she made him happy.

"Nothing you could have said would have given me more joy and hope than you just have. Miss Josephine Yorke, I will marry you. I am unsure when, but I promise you will be my wife."

Josephine stared into Tennyson's eyes and laughed inside. Many times she had scolded Constance for doing the very same with Sir Cartwright, only now, she fully understood the import. Simply staring and talking may sound like a mundane activity, but when shared with someone you love, it becomes one of life's greatest pleasures.

Tennyson stood and pulled Josephine to her feet. He adopted a serious expression. "I have news yet to tell...yesterday I was given a private letter."

She wondered how there could possibly be more! Between escaping Horace Tennyson, trying to secure an inheritance, and a devastating betrothal contract, there seemed no end to the complications hindering their relationship.

His pause made her uneasy. "And?"

"And, the letter spoke of your father. I must give you assurance, your family is in perfect health. But, I...I was hesitant to tell you what is contained in the letter. First, I needed to know how you felt about me, about us. And to explain the betrothal contract."

Josephine's anxiety grew. "Why? What does the letter say? I am unsure if I can handle anything more."

Tennyson sighed, not wanting to put a damper on all that had transpired. But, he loved Josephine and needed her to understand the truth in it's entirety. "Your father...this letter alleges that he has squandered away his fortune. It spoke of ill-advised investments, careless spending, and so forth..." She began to protest in defense of her father but Tennyson swiftly continued. "Neither am I convinced of it's veracity, but I received the letter from a reliable source. I knew this would be difficult to hear. Either someone is spreading harmful gossip of your family, or the life you have always known may quickly change. Neither of which are favorable."

Josephine turned from him, closing her eyes as she rubbed her forehead. Too much. It was all too much. She hadn't even had time to formulate solutions to the betrothal contract, which, if the letter spoke truthfully, was now irrelevant. If her father was broke, the dowry meant nothing...Mr. Yorke wouldn't be able to pay. Josephine was confident she could have found a way to undo the contract, but how can you remedy a fortune already lost? Had her father been secretly bleeding money? Were financial difficulties to blame for his misery? Seeds of doubt weaved through her. And yet, Josephine couldn't come to believe it. Her father always appeared financially responsible. Was he merely a skilled actor?

"From where did you get this letter? You yourself said it was a reliable source. Perhaps, I will not think them so reliable."

One word dashed her hopes of the letter's inaccuracy.

"Henry."

Josephine stilled, unsure how to react. It must be true. Their was no source more trustworthy than Henry Whitmore. When Tennyson had originally asked if she would love him even if they were poor, Josephine didn't hesitate. She would love him no matter what. But, her heart broke for her father and sister. How could they bear such a burden? Josephine could abide the scandal of poverty, but she had Tennyson to soften the blow. Who did they have?

Knowing her silent turmoil, Tennyson wrapped his arms around Josephine in a comforting embrace. Her head rested against his chest slightly muffling her voice. "The letter is why you decided to tell me how you felt...because the contract no longer matters if my father is destitute..."

"Yes," he admitted, his chin resting atop her head. "Otherwise, I could not suffer telling you, essentially asking you to choose between your father's wealth or a life with me...The letter made my choice an easy one. You do not have to choose if your father has no fortune to be lost. Do you resent me for it?"

"No." Josephine meant it. Although she might have chosen differently, his actions were understood, admired even. Tennyson was trying to protect her and her family, so there was no bitterness.

"So many mothers pushing their daughters on me, and I want the most complicated of them all, the very one my father chose." He sighed. "The irony is not lost on me."

"What now?" she asked, squeezing him tight.

"Now? We fix this mess as best we can. Let us hope where you lack in ability to play chess, you make up for it in skillful strategizing."

Josephine tilted her head back, looking up at him. "You do understand, the entire game of chess is measured in your ability to strategize, do you not?"

Tennyson surprised her with a quick kiss, and smiled mischievously. "I have finally found a perfect way to silence you."

Another quick kiss.

She made a note to be insolent more often....

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Eek! Was that too complicated?? This chapter drove me crazy!!! I'll try to update next one sooner!
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