Tennyson was greeted by a stoic Lampers overseeing the main hall. The butler took his hat and proffered gloves before addressing, "Sir, there has been an incident."

"An incident?"

"Yes, in Miss Yorke's room, Sir," the butler informed, warily offering the information. "There was..." Before Lampers could explain, Tennyson bolted up the stairs taking two at a time. He hadn't needed an explanation, being keenly aware of his father's current annoyance. His mother had warned of retaliation, and he had every reason to believe this 'incident' was of his father's doing. Tennyson knew that Horace did not so easily relent on his choice of a bride, but he had mistakenly assumed the subsequent punishment would be directed toward himself, not toward Josephine. Heaven only knew what disaster awaited him upstairs.

A small crowd had formed outside her door and Tennyson felt his stomach drop to the floor. Disregarding the few people gathered and their offerings of information, Tennyson flung open her bedroom door. On the brief jaunt up the stairs, he had conjured several possibilities. Perhaps his father had her clothes thrown into the fire, or stolen all her jewels as partial payment for the fortune lost. But, ruined gowns and stolen goods paled to the actual lengths his father had gone. What Tennyson beheld behind her door knocked the wind straight out of him.

His beautiful Josephine was curled up on the floor beside the hearth. Smears of crimson stained the white lace of her ball gown. An hour ago, she was beaming in a ballroom, yet now, Miss Yorke was cradling the lifeless body of her beloved pet. Henry was bent down beside her, affectionately stroking Josephine's back.

Josephine startled, looking up to see Tennyson's sudden appearance in the doorway. The tears brimming in her eyes were his undoing, and the mere sight of Tennyson created fresh sobs in her throat. Red. Her most loyal companion was dead. Bloodied and discarded on the bedroom floor.

Henry graciously stood, allowing Tennyson to replace him as her comforter. He was confused and angry but only one thought came to mind as Tennyson grabbed both sides of her face. "You are not hurt are you?"

She shook her head no as he pressed his forehead to hers, disregarding propriety. "I am so sorry. So deeply sorry."

Tennyson stroked an unbloodied strip of fur on Red's neck, guilt swarming him. He should have know his father would retaliate in a horrific manner. He should have protected Josephine from the harsh reality of his family. But he hadn't. He had failed her.

The next hour was a flutter of commotion. Somehow Tennyson managed to console Josephine while simultaneously barking orders at a pair of frightened housemaids and an overwrought Lampers. He made sure the crowd outside her door had dispersed and the scene within righted.

"I already spoke with your father," Lampers informed, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. Tennyson looked beyond the butler's shoulder to where Josephine was nestled in a chair beside the fire, Constance and Henry at either side. Her face was puffy and blotched with pink. Tennyson squeezed his hand into a fist at his side. A rage roiled within, blocking out reason and sanity. Then came a feeling of sickness at how similar he was to his father. Like Horace, Charles had a seething fury buried within. Only, Tennyson had kept his locked away. But, as he thought of Josephine's tear stained cheeks, repressing the violent person within became near to impossible.

"Your father said that he will do all in his power to find the culprit and bring them swiftly to justice," the butler continued, and Tennyson had to suppress a sinister laugh. "He was outraged that someone would dare do such a thing beneath his roof."

"Oh, I am sure father was," Tennyson dryly replied. His father was outraged alright! Outraged at him for daring to disobey his orders. In order for Horace to find the culprit, he need look no further than a mirror.

Tennyson had known his father would retaliate in some fashion, but he hadn't expected to be surprised by his callous brutality. Tennyson needed to get her out of here quickly and London didn't seem quite far enough.

A solemn Henry joined him in the corner. Speaking in low tones, Tennyson demanded of him, "You will take her back home. She is not safe here and I fear London may be the same."

Henry looked stunned by this information but made no delving inquiries. "As you wish."

The pair finalized details of the return journey and Henry promised to deliver a letter to Mr. Yorke.

With dawn looming, you could feel exhaustion permeating the room, slowing everyone's movements. Crouching beside Josephine, Tennyson took her small hand and caught it between both of his. "I know you long for sleep but it must wait until you are settled in the carriage."

Josephine furrowed her brows. "The carriage? Would it not be best to wait until tomorrow before departing to London? We are all exhausted, and I do not think..."

"No," Tennyson interjected, squeezing her trembling hand. "You will not wait. Mr. Whitmore and his sister have promised to accompany you and to leave within the hour."

"But, I am not ready to leave!" Josephine pleaded. "How can I simply return to London, and pretend all is well?" She had reached her limit, with sleep deprivation and stress turning her petulant. Her personal life was in shambles, her favorite pet murdered, and now she was expected to leave the one person who made her feel safe. Trying to soothe the situation, Josephine hedged, "Could you come back to London with us? At least for a week or two?" Then whispered, "Please, I am not ready to leave you."

Tennyson wanted nothing more than to leave with Josephine, but there were too many pressing matters at Loewick. Tennyson was still waiting to hear word from Grimsby, and he would soon confront his father over his vicious actions. A conversation he refused to have until Josephine was safely in a carriage bound for home. He eyed the floor answering, "You are not going to London. Mr. Whitmore is taking you home to your father."

"Home? But I..."

"Save your objections. I do not want you in London! You are going home with the Whitmores and the decision is final." He hated to behave so tyrannical but had no energy left for arguing. Tennyson needed Josephine gone and safely put into her father's care. The furthest place from Horace Tennyson's reach.

Josephine, too, was devoid of strength for arguing, and morosely conceded. She knew her protests would fall upon deaf ears. Josephine was leaving within the hour and half of her rejoiced at the idea. Home, father, Elise. The other half felt devastated by what she was leaving behind. Red was gone, and Tennyson would soon be a great distance away. She was leaving half her heart at Loewick, but Josephine would do as she was told, knowing Tennyson was acting in her best interest.

"And Lord and Lady Cavender? What will you tell them?" Josephine questioned, not wanting to disappoint the Cavenders after they had shown her such hospitality.

"I had Lampers inform them of my orders, and they both agreed your returning home was for the best. Lady Cavender said 'tragedy should be grieved in the comfort of one's own home.' Then she suggested I purchase you a shamefully expensive trinket to lighten an otherwise dreadful experience. And she proceeded to steal a candlestick from her room claiming it as recompense for her own nerves being rattled. Which, Lampers informed me, I graciously allowed her to do."

A ghost of a smile tainted Josephine's lips. Lady Cavender's antics never ceased to amaze.
"I have no need of an expensive trinket. All I ask is that you write to me, often."

Tennyson gave a simple nod, and brushed his lips to her forehead. She continued, "If I must return home, then so be it. I only wish I knew which state things will be in upon my return. When will I see you again?"

"I promise to come at the earliest of my ability."

Josephine never asked Tennyson who could have killed Red, such a poor innocent creature. She feared the answer and the shame it would bring to him. So the questions hung in the air, the unknown being preferable to the truth. But Josephine's gut told her that Tennyson was right in sending her home.

With their bags packed and loaded, Josephine climbed into the waiting carriage. Somehow she felt both numb and yet charged with emotion. As they began to drive away from Loewick house, a few tears rolled down her cheek. Constance gave her a reassuring squeeze, "This trip was not quite what either of us expected. Come now, rest your eyes. Perhaps tomorrow will not be so bleak."

Josephine looked across at a contemplative Henry, staring out the window. His normally bright eyes were rimmed with dark circles, and she imagined that her eyes looked similar. Slowly exhaustion took over, and she ceased fighting the heaviness of her eyelids.

The journey proved to be taxing with many horse changes and one sleepless night at the Blue Lion Inn. Josephine could hardly stomach their dinner of burnt partridge and stale bread.

Eventually they arrived at her father's home, and Josephine let out a relieved breath. Smiling her first genuine smile since the night of the Rivingdale's ball, she greeted a surprised Mrs. Biddlecomb with a hug.

"We didn't know you'd be back so soon, Miss!" the housekeeper welcomed. "Your father has stepped out, but I believe your sister and Miss Pendy are out in the garden. Miss Elise will be thrilled to see you! How was your trip?"

Josephine had forgotten all about her cousin's fiancé, Miss Mary Pendy, staying as a houseguest. She was in no mood for polite introductions and unfamiliar conversation. But, Josephine had missed her sister dearly, and thus headed straight for the gardens, even foregoing the need to change out of her crumpled traveling dress.

Elise's wide smile of surprise was a welcomed and needed sight. The sisters ran toward one another, reuniting in a tightly wrapped embrace. "Oh, how I've missed you!" Josephine exclaimed, and realized she underestimated how good it would feel to be back home. Home. Family was home. But then she felt a pang of sadness, Tennyson was now family to her. She felt his absence in every aching bone.

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Was this chapter too depressing?? Any thoughts?
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