Evening gowns dominated, as people exited a barrage of carriages lining the drive. Loewick's neighboring home was occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Rivingdale whom spared no expense in impressing tonight's many guests. Torches brightened the dwindling light of sunset, with assorted roses flanking the entry doors.

Josephine thought it silly for each of Loewick's guests to arrive by carriage when Mr. Rivingdale's home was a short walk away. Despite her observation of that fact, Miss Yorke descended the carriage with practiced entitlement. Her gown's delicate white lace overlay reflected the waning sun's orange hues. Constance, too, looked a vision in cream silk with pearl beading. Lord Cavender gazed appreciatively upon his wife and the girls before leading them up the broad steps.

Constance whispered, squeezing Josephine's wrist, "Savor tonight. Your problems will still be there come morning. Fret over them then. If you let them steal your joy tonight, you have only created a new problem for yourself." Although Constance could not view her own life with such level-headed scrutiny, she had a gift for reasonableness while examining other people.

"I make no promises, but since this could be my final ball before acute poverty befalls, perhaps I should enjoy it." The negativity felt foreign on Josephine's tongue. "Forgive me for bombarding you with my difficulties earlier. And I apologize for my sour mood tonight...it...
it is simply...ugh! I do not know, you and Sir Cartwright have it so easy and I am rife with jealousy. Why can it not be such with Tennyson? Must it be so complex? And all while my family is amidst financial ruin!"

"In the least, you will know how important Tennyson truly is to you. I would have abandoned that cantankerous man at the first inkling of difficulty," Constance teased, and further prodded. "What I mean to say is, you are young and so very beautiful. If there are any doubts, you could easily find a husband whose fortune is not at risk and..."

Josephine censured her with a look. "Constance..."

"Yes, yes. You love him, unwilling to give him up, and so on and so forth."

"Precisely so." Miss Yorke clasped arms with her best friend as they were ushered into the massive ballroom.

Josephine tried to focus on the lush decor and surrounding merriment, but found the attempt futile. After she left the study, Tennyson had sought Josephine out and revealed even more revelations during their afternoon walk. His father had treated her with such kindness that Josephine felt shocked by what Tennyson had related. She was shocked by her mother's broken engagement to Horace Tennyson, and shocked by it being the reason behind the betrothal contract. Josephine gathered that her father must have been hopelessly in love with her mother to have agreed to such terms. That thought warmed her heart only to break it again when thinking of her mother's premature death. Of course Mr. Yorke was melancholy, he gave up so much for a wife that would never see thirty.

Although not shocked by his demand, the hardest to hear was that Horace now disapproved of his son marrying her. With the absence of a fortune, Josephine was no longer a desirable wife. Even Horace's jilted spite was abandoned in favor of a rich heiress for his son. Tennyson assured her that he would not obey those orders, and had told his father the same. He again promised Josephine they would be wed, but she couldn't help the guilt building inside. She didn't want him to sacrifice so much. What if she, like her mother, died young? Would Tennyson regret taking her as his wife?

Tennyson's deep voice sounded in her ear, "You clean up nicely, Yorke."

Josephine turned around to a smirking Tennyson, wine glass generously tilted heavenward. "I wish I could return the compliment, but sadly you still dress as dull as ever," she teased, with a knowing glint in her eye. Tennyson easily outshined every man in the room.

He let out a low chuckle. "Feeling feisty tonight, are we? Need I remind you of our current predicament?"

Josephine endeavored to take Constance's advice...

"Shhhhh..." Josephine glanced over at Constance, who was amid conversation with her aunt. "A very wise friend told me to savor tonight, and I intend to do just that. Will you pretend with me Tennyson? Pretend all is well, and that tonight is simply a lovely party?"

He deeply sighed, and the corner of his mouth turned up as Tennyson nodded his agreement. He wanted to give her all that and more, but although Josephine could pretend all was bright, Tennyson doubted his own ability to convey such contentment. Their uncertain future weighed heavily upon him, muting tonight's festivities. Josephine continued to handle every obstacle with such grace and optimism, that Tennyson felt unworthy of her affection. Can darkness ever reconcile with the brightness of day? He wasn't really sure.

"So, will I discover your two left feet tonight?" she jested, with a touch of sincerity. They had never danced before and Josephine eagerly anticipated the opportunity. Judging by his graceful movements and sporting abilities, she doubted Tennyson would be anything less than a fine dancer. Hoping to be proven correctly, she waved her dance card to and fro in obvious solicitation.

Tennyson eyed the alluring bait but masked his interest, remarking, "Hmm...I hope you are able to fill that this evening."

Amused by his nonchalance, Josephine returned, "I suppose I could find a few gentleman willing to oblige. Shall I go stand among that assemblage of dandies and wait for offers to appear?" She carefully examined the dance card, squinting in concentration. "Oh would you look at that! My first waltz is still available. Whoever shall I grant it to?"

Tennyson loved her playfulness and the way she looked at him with full trust. Snagging the bare card from her grasp with the speed of a jungle cat, he frowned and scrawled his name for a scandalous number of dances. After tonight, Tennyson's intentions toward Josephine would be apparent to all, dancing more than the acceptable two times. He had stolen four of her dances, beginning with the first waltz.

"Why the unhappy look? I was merely teasing, and you are not truly obligated. I did not mean to press you for dances." Josephine tried to assuage him, fretting over his disgruntled expression.

"I am only angry that I cannot steal them all." Tennyson glanced back at her with his mouth in a firm line. He didn't want her dancing with anyone other than him? His jealousy delighted her, although Josephine knew it was in vain. Tennyson was her match in every way, turning other men into forgettable cast-offs.

After two others had claimed her for dances, Tennyson was heading back into the ballroom with a drink for Josephine in hand when someone caught his upper arm in a firm grip. He spun around to find his own mother attached to it.

"Yes mother?" His impatience was clear.

Mrs. Tennyson didn't mince words with her son. "Your father is not here to scold your behavior. But, I am to bring back a full report. Did he or did he not tell you that Miss Yorke was no longer a prospect?"

"He did, and I will tell you precisely what I told him. I am marrying Miss Yorke with or without your permission. If you will be so kind as to release my arm, I would like to return to the lady in question." Tennyson could make his mother cower almost as easily as his father could.

She unhanded him but not before getting the last word. "As you wish, but your father will make you regret it."

Tennyson didn't even supply a response, casually walking back into the Rivingdale's massive ballroom. He had anticipated his first waltz with Miss Yorke for some time, and he refused to allow his mother to spoil the occasion. He would deal with his parents later, choosing to adopt Josephine's mantra for the evening...to savor every second of tonight and pretend all was just as it ought to be...

Their first dance together was all that it ought to be and more! Josephine nearly swooned at his close proximity and tightened hold on her. Tennyson, too, was overwhelmed by the exchange. He was thankful for his dancing expertise because thoughts of kissing her made concentration impossible. In the middle of one perfectly executed turn, Josephine asked, "You are finally collecting that prized waltz you had bargained for. Why was it so important to you?"

Tennyson looked down into her blue eyes sparkling from exertion, and leaned in closer to whisper. "At the time, I did not know if I would ever be able to hold you in my arms. And I would have done anything to experience it." Josephine felt warm all over and riddled with gooseflesh. He paused in reflection before continuing, "It is funny how I still managed to undervalue it."

Had they been alone, Josephine would be burying deep into his chest, soaking in the sandalwood scent. Tennyson was walking, talking comfort, and there was no such thing as close enough. She had never felt safer or more contented than in his arms. And he had never wanted to protect someone so much.

Completely disregarding his mother's warning, Tennyson had barely left Josephine's side all evening. For every scowl his mother gave toward the couple, Isabella and Constance retaliated with smiles of approval. Henry would have joined in the scowling if not for being so heavily occupied with ambitious dance partners.

When the quadrille ended, a breathless Henry rushed over to beg Josephine, "My Aunt and Uncle entrusted me with your ride back to Loewick, and I may expire if I do not leave within the hour. I will gladly abandon my sister if she does not comply but for you I wanted to be a gentleman and give fair warning. So please, please tell me you are ready to flee."

Josephine smirked at Henry, whose words came out in heaves. Although she wasn't as eager as Henry for the night to end, it was late and she was exhausted. The knowledge that tonight was her last before heading back to London gave her pause before answering his request. "Alright, I surrender. I am not anxious to leave but I am quite fatigued." She turned to Tennyson who was silently listening to their exchange. "Will you be dreadfully sad if I save my dear friend here and retire a bit early?"

Her hopeful expression made answering anything other than as you wish impossible. And so, Tennyson begrudgingly encouraged her to accompany Henry back to his ancestral home.

Josephine sat beside Constance on the ride back to Loewick. Henry handed Josephine down from his carriage whispering in her ear, "I am glad to see you so happy Josephine. And I think Tennyson will take care of you, but never forget I am here for you if need be."

She smiled warmly and gently kissed Henry's cheek. "You will make some lady very happy one day."

Constance ignored their interchange, stretching her aching limbs. After the three climbed the staircase toward their perspective bedchambers, Josephine noticed her bedroom door was ajar.

All the splendor of the evening came crashing down in an instant. Josephine gasped in terror at the sight waiting behind her bedroom door. Her audible cries sent Constance and Henry running back to her side. Taking in the bloody scene before them, both were shocked and horrified, Henry quickly pulling Josephine into an embrace. She sobbed into his shoulder. "Who would do such a thing?!"

Henry tried to soothe her. "Shhhh, it will be alright. Shhhh, I am so, so sorry Josephine." But Henry knew that no amount of reassurance would make it alright.

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Any thoughts on this chapter?? Let me know!
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