The Rivingdale's ball was the final soirée, signaling nearly all Loewick's guests impending departure. Servants bustled the halls having begun preparations for the mass exodus.

What Josephine longed for yesterday morning, now loomed dark over her head, approaching at a rapid pace. No longer did she want to leave, but knew there was little choice. Tomorrow, Josephine would return to London. She suspected Constance was also unenthusiastic about their journey back, if her friend's frequent reminders of how dearly she would miss Sir Cartwright were any indication.

Although excited for the ball, Josephine found it hard to focus on evening affairs with so many matters yet unsettled. Her father's financial situation was still a mystery. She wondered if news would arrive once she was back in London. Whether good or bad.

Yesterday, Tennyson had soothed Josephine the best he could under the circumstances. If he secured the inheritance from his grandfather, which Tennyson appeared optimistic over, then he would happily support her father and sister to the greatest of his ability. She delighted at the prospect. But, the sad reality were the inheritance not to come to fruition was a source of constant distress.

She needed to clear her head, deciding a walk with Red would do just the trick. But rather than her dog as a sole companion, Josephine sought out Tennyson. Enthusiastically knocking on the study door, a muffled voice sounded from within, "Come in."

Josephine pushed open the door, startled to behold an unfamiliar gentleman sitting behind the desk. He wore spectacles low upon his nose, giving him a contemplative appearance. Holding a quill in one hand along with parchment beneath the other, he eyed her with curiosity. Josephine felt guilty for interrupting the stranger, immediately apologizing, "Pardon Sir, I was looking for Mr. Tennyson. Please forgive the intrusion."

Josephine turned to leave when his words halted her. "You look just like your mother. It is almost uncanny."

She faced the gentleman, a bit confused, but feeling comforted by his smile. This man knew her mother?

"You said you were searching for Tennyson?" the man continued. "Well Miss Yorke, you have found him. Mr. Horace Tennyson, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

With that admission she didn't know whether to run or bravely face the person Charles had warned her against. 'My father is not a good man' echoed within. But, this pleasant sounding man hardly resembled the monster Tennyson had described. And her curiosity trumped any thoughts of fleeing. Not to mention, she was a guest in his house.

"A pleasure to meet you Sir," Josephine politely responded, cautiously stepping forward. She knew she would need to tread carefully with her words. Josephine had no way of knowing exactly what information Horace was privy to. "Did you know my mother well?"

"Well enough. It is hard to forget eyes as hauntingly blue as yours. I believe she bested you in height, however. Quite a small thing you are," he remarked, still poised with quill and parchment. "And who do we have here?" Horace whistled and Red wagged his tail while slowly sauntering forward. Horace abandoned his spectacles and turned sideways in the chair, grabbing Red's collar and roughly patting the hound's back. Horace Tennyson seemed normal, kind even. She wondered if he reserved all supposed misbehavior for members of his immediate family. Just as her own father generally did.

"His name is Red," Josephine informed, smiling down at her favorite four-legged friend. "He has neither bark nor bite."

"All creatures have a measure of fight in them, do not mistake laziness for docility. The hippopotamus lazes around nearly twenty hours each day, but is hailed to be more dangerous than a lion." He took Red's snout between his large hands, "Yes, I believe you have more bite than anyone shall give you credit for...So, Miss Yorke, have you enjoyed your stay at Loewick?"

"Yes, very much. I am grateful for your hospitality."

"Do not thank me dear child. Let your thanks go to my wife and son. For I have been a most absent host! A fact which I hope you can forgive."

Josephine faintly smiled. If Horace Tennyson was a wolf in sheep's clothing, then he wore the costume well. She couldn't decipher a hint of malice or artifice. "There is nothing to forgive. And your wife and son have been very gracious hosts."

"Of that I am sure," Horace remarked, sliding back underneath the desk and adjusting his spectacles. "Well, I am keeping you from your original mission. You were seeking Charles, were you not?"

Josephine's cheeks slightly blushed. "Yes." She and Horace were well aware of the betrothal contract but neither had spoken of it. She supposed that was for the best. But their brief conversation had confused her more than anything. Tennyson had spoken so ill of his father that she half expected Horace Tennyson to breathe fire. But the master of Loewick house had surprised her. He had been pleasant, welcoming. "...yes, I shall go find him. Again, it was a pleasure." Josephine left the study with Red close at her heels, an odd sinking feeling in her stomach. She didn't know what to make of it all.

                                      ~••••~

Charles Tennyson was approaching the doors, hesitant to see his father. The muffled voices caused him to pause, jumping back as Josephine exited the study, quickly shielding himself from her sight. Why was she in there? His father is in there! If not for the pleasant expression upon her face, he would have been furious, and would have rushed to give her comfort. But, she looked as if nothing was amiss. Horace must have played nice. First, Tennyson would speak to his conniving father, then he would ask Josephine what took place behind those doors. If Horace had treated her with a shred of civility, he clearly had a purpose in it.

Once Josephine was out of sight Tennyson slipped into the study. His father didn't deign to look up, as if his papers held more importance than the arrival of his son.

"You are back," Tennyson stated, like saying it might make it untrue.

"Yes," Horace sharply answered. "And the sky is blue. Are there any other pointless facts you wish to give?"

Tennyson cleared his throat. Where to begin? Charles was still waiting to hear word from Grimsby. Until then, he needed to deal delicately with his father. He also wanted to ascertain if Horace knew of Mr. Yorke's dire financial situation, and how that would influence his father's plans.

Tennyson tried to deflect his father's insult. "Life is full of pointless facts...I offer you another. You have spoken to Miss Yorke?"

"Been spying on me, have you? I thought to have taught you better manners than that." Horace finally seceded, raising his head to meet his son's glare. Removing his spectacles, he rubbed his nose where they had laid. "And congratulations. You have secured the chit's affections just in time for them to be useless to me."

Father knows about Mr. Yorke.

"And why is Miss Yorke now useless?" Tennyson pretended ignorance.

Horace apparently bought into his son's lack of knowledge. "She is useless to me because her father is a coward! Yorke would rather be penniless than see me spend his fortune. Gambled the whole lot trying to thwart me. A real fool he is. He underestimates my penchant for retribution...Forget about Miss Yorke, I have a new bride chosen for you. And this one is quite willing, worth a pretty sum, too."

Charles tensed, "What are you not telling me? How can you so easily discard a betrothal contract which has been shoved down my throat since infancy?! Why was it made in the first place?" He would marry Josephine regardless of his father's wishes, but Horace Tennyson was further complicating matters. A new bride? He would never agree to it. Charles needed answers. He raised his voice repeating the question. "Why? Why the contract?"

His father's low rumble of laughter made Tennyson clench his fists. Amid the humorless laughter, Horace answered, "Like father, like son. It is funny how history repeats itself...Your anger betrays you, boy. How long have you been pining for the blue eyed beauty?"

His father had keen perception, too bad he used the skill for evil rather than good. Charles chose to remain silent. There was no sense in denying what his father already knew. Who wouldn't fall head over feet for Josephine?

Horace leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers and looking toward the ceiling. "Consider yourself fortunate. Miss Yorke is likely as fickle as her mother was, the wants of a female change on a breeze. You ask me why? I suppose you thought money was my sole motivation? Further proof of your ignorance."

Charles remained still, fists clenched and lips in a taut line. He knew limited words would be his best course, and endeavored at indifference. "If not money, then for what purpose?"

"Payback!" Horace roared, slapping his hand atop the desk. "She was my promised bride, long before Yorke came around! Mine! The stupid chit refused to uphold her end, no matter the cost to her or her family. She foolishly abandoned my hand in favor of a lesser man! Yorke was a joke even back then. Imagine being slighted for that fool! Needless to say, I made the price of her freedom very high. A small fortune then, and a larger sum in the future. A sum to be paid when my heir received the wife which I had been deprived! Her firstborn daughter would bear my last name, another steep price."

Charles heaved a heavy breath, barely restraining his enmity. "You are informing me that my entire future was built around your quest for vengeance?"

Horace quickly stood, within seconds his breath was hot on his son's face. "Have I taught you nothing?! A man must take what is his, otherwise someone else will!"

Tennyson was tired of playing his father's twisted games. Penniless he could handle, but another day with this poisonous man? No, he was done.

He calmly replied, "I am going to marry Miss Yorke."

His father snarled. "No. You will not.  The plan has changed. You are at liberty to thank me."

Tennyson resolutely repeated, "I am going to marry Miss Yorke. You said a man must take what is his otherwise another man will. Well, Miss Yorke is mine, and I will not give her up." Tennyson braced for a physical blow that never came. Instead, Horace turned, sitting back down at his desk.

"Such certainty." Horace clucked his tongue. "Go. Find your future wife. I have work to do."

When Charles hesitated, Horace boomed, "I said go!"

Tennyson was alarmed by his father's quick dismissal, but was anxious to leave. Thus, he walked out without protest, firmly shutting the door in his wake.

Tennyson had never needed anyone quite like he needed Josephine in that moment. His pulse was still racing, as he craved her reassurance. Tennyson knew he was making the right decision in defying his father. Horace may have lost his intended bride, but Charles wouldn't follow in those spiteful footsteps. He would marry Miss Yorke, no matter the cost.

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Whew! Another chapter down! Any thoughts??
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